Like a Moth to a Flame

"...He's a murderer. He's deluded as hell. I... come on, just get in the house, okay? I'll pour you some wine and we'll... get help from his friend. You really need to stop the fantasy nonsense. He's not just going to stop killing people, is he? I-If he's doing to stop competition, then he'll be doing it his whole damn life, because there's always going to be some up and coming new designer, or a famous face revealing some new fancy collection. It's inevitable," sighed Sandra as she did her best to push her friend towards the door. Despite her own injury, her main focus was on getting Timothy in the house and breaking down the idealistic bullshit he was coming out with.
 
Rummaging under the large pot, he picked up the key as he peered up at the large home. With a frown, he stepped in and immediately tugged off his shoes, out of habit. Taking in the fancy home, it only made him more uncomfortable at how caring the man was of his things. Wandering towards the kitchen, he peered around for the heaviest alcohol he could, to drink it. With a soft sniffle, he pressed his head against the home's kitchen island.
 
Placing herself down opposite him, Sandra began to fiddle with her Minnie Mouse necklace to distract herself. The home was absolutely gorgeous, she had to admit that. Every furnishing was modern and expensive, but it wasn't cold. Instead, everything felt so cosy and warm, it was hard to imagine that the man who spent weeks on end here had also murdered people in cold blood.

Cringing to herself at that, she hurriedly forced the thought away and smiled brightly to her best friend once the alcohol was poured out into glasses. "...We should go on vacation together once this is dealt with. I've always wanted to go to Florida, obviously. Or maybe France, they have a Disneyland in Paris, don't they?"
 
"I don't know, maybe..." he murmured and, while he took the glass, he didn't move his head from the table. "To be honest, I don't think I want to go anywhere for awhile. I think I could probably sleep for, like, a whole week. I dunno. Like, do you know how big of a bummer this is? The first boyfriend I got, and he's a murderer. That's a bummer, man."
 
"...Try not to think about him, it'll just make you upset," she suggested, though it was hardly an easy feat to just forget about Alexander when they were sat in his home, around his things. Knowing that Alexander's friend would have received the message from Alexander by now, and would be making his way over, Sandra made a subtle effort to tidy her hair. The last thing she was going to do was flirt with the man, but she wanted to at least look respectable, and not a total mess... though hiding the bloody mess from the wound in her head was bordering on impossible.
 
It would be a solid half hour, and a whole bottle of wine down from Timothy, before anyone knocked on the door. In that half hour, the cop had wandered up to one of the bedrooms after chugging down nearly $200 in alcohol, and most likely would regret it the moment he woke up. Though, it was most likely for the better as Alexander's friend began to knock harder.

Alexander may try and pretend to be some well-adjusted man living the lavish lifestyle of a fashion designer, and most of time Randy matched his aesthetic, often wearing nice suits with his hair properly taken care of. Unlucky for Sandra and Timothy, though, the man was far from being in a good mood.

"Hey, Alex called me over to look after you two? Is, uh... something wrong? I hope so, he woke me up just to take care of two, fully grown adults. How ridiculous is that?" He asked, while tapping the ash from his cigarette wearily. "Look, I'm Randolph. He said I had to babysit his boyfriend, he fell on a doorknob or something?" The man babbled, while strolling into the house casually. He was hardly impressed by the house and the decor, since his normal house was pretty damn similar in size and design. What he was impressed was Sandra, as he ran his hands through his messy locks.

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Having been nervously chewing her fingernails until Randolph arrived, Sandra had been trying to put together some sentences to convince him that his close friend wasn't what he claimed to be. She had realised that she wasn't going to be believed, at least not without some convincing evidence. Alexander said he'd known Randolph since he was a child. If their friendship went back that far, then he was hardly going to believe Sandra, who was pretty much a stranger, other than the few words Alexander had said about her.

When he strolled in, she did her best to keep her cool. She wanted to shout out for Timothy and just run out to Randolph's car, because Alexander could arrive back at any time, but she somehow managed to keep her composure.

"He's a liar," she quietly murmured after sitting back at the kitchen counter to grab her glass of wine. "He knocked Timothy out, punched him, apparently. I... look, we... need to leave before he gets back-- god, this sounds insane, but I-I can't be here when he gets back. Neither can Timothy, o-okay? He's... fucking insane-- he almost killed me today! I could have fractured my skull, o-or something."
 
"Yeah, Alex can be pretty rough, huh?" He mumbled to himself, though his casual expression didn't seem to change. Wandering to the kitchen himself, he stretched his back 'til he heard a snap, before sighing in content.

"He mentioned that you hit your head, sure. I got a med kit to fix that thing up, he insisted to clean the wound. In the matter of you two leaving, that's a big no-no, not until you two get better. Wait here, I'll go wrap up your head proper, how does that sound?" He asked carefully, though not out of fear. He wanted to calm the woman down, and if treating her like a child did the trick, he'd do it.
 
Except, rather than sigh in relief and agree (her head was agonisingly painful, after all), Sandra stared at this man in genuine concern. How on earth did the news of Alexander's violence be shrugged off so nonchalantly? Hell, she had blood staining her blonde hair, and he barely reacted. She didn't expect him to believe her, at least not immediately, but she thought he would have looked a little more... shocked...

"...You know, don't you? You know what he is, what he... does," she quickly blurted, blinking fast to force back any signs of fear, though it was hard not to take a few strategic steps towards the staircase leading upstairs. "Oh fuck, you do know, you must do... Stay the hell away from me, alright? I-I'm going to go get Timothy, then we're going to leave, you aren't stopping us, understand?"
 
"Look, I'm not going to hurt you. Why would I? I have nothing to gain. Yeah, I know about Alex. He's always been pretty fucked up, sure, but I also know that he can be worse if he doesn't get what he wants." He reminded, while offering an attempt at a caring smile.

"Look, let's at least get that blood out. Even if you were to miraculously escape and head out into the road, your head would get infected pretty quick, and you'd die. If Alex found you, you might die. I promise I won't, like, push your head into the sink or anything. Again, what do I have to gain from it?"
 
"You could be as fucked up a-as he is, g-god. I don't trust him, and he's my best friend, so why would I trust you? O-Oh god," she grumbled, sucking her breath inbetween her teeth and wringing her hands nervously in front of her. This was the only chance she thought she had to get her and Timothy out, so learning that this man was fully clued up on Alexander was... horrendously soul-destroying.

Instead of dashing upstairs -she knew she would just inevitably throw up at the top, anyway-, she stayed backed in the corner with a grimace. She knew how Alexander was - he could charm anyone with his smooth-words and affable personality. It wasn't a stretch to think that his childhood friend was the same way... but she still found herself trusting him. At least, enough to take care of her injury.

"...After you help me, me and Timothy are going, got that? I... well, I'm not waiting for him to come back."
 
"We'll figure it out later." He declared, before leading the other to the sink carefully. "Do you have a concussion? I mean, if your friend was only punched and got one, I'm sure you're feeling terrible. Wait by the sink, I'll get the kit. If you want, you can wet your hair with the sprayer. I think I can trust you with that, right?"

With a charming smile, despite his clearly exhausted bags under his eyes, he whistled as he wandered towards the door once again. He took the time out in front of the house to peak at his phone, while his smile immediately dropping.

"where the fuck are you? your friend is fucking annoying, seriously. the fact that you wake me up so late doesn't help either. you fucking owe me," he wrote, while rummaging through the back of his car for the aforementioned med kit. Yeah, he was annoyed, and somewhat heartless, but he wasn't one who advocated for violence. Not to mention, the girl was pretty damn cute... even though that didn't matter.
 
Despite his suggestions, Sandra followed after him and stood at the doorway of the fancy country home. She didn't trust the man to be left alone, and keeping an eye on him made her feel a hell of a lot safer. Hell, for all she knew, he could pull out a gun and just shoot her. She was fully aware that Alexander could kill her, and her being his best friend didn't count for much. A young makeup artist who he claimed was like his 'sister' had died at his hands, so clearly he didn't have boundaries.

Once she noticed him texting, she did shiver and turn her head to examine the birds in the trees, because she knew almost immediately who he was texting.

"...What, are you asking him to bring a butcher's knife to slaughter me or something? F-Fuck, are you like him? Is this a partnership kind of thing?"
 
"Do you want to read my texts? Jeez, relax, will you? I'm just asking when he's getting back. If you couldn't tell, I was sort of interrupted from something I was already doing to watch you two, and I want to get back home. It's pretty shitty, too. I mean, I text him all the time, but he rarely comes up to see me. What do I get to do to see him? Watch two adults because he did something stupid. Look, I have literally no intentions of hurting you. If I did, I would have already." He reminded, while pulling out an actual medical kit, and offered a tired smile.

"The closest thing I have to a knife is some scissors to cut the gauze, I guess. They're tiny, too, so relax. Just, get back in the house, will 'ya? I'd like some of that wine myself."
 
"Yes, and... all I'm saying is that I know karate, so I can have you keeled over on the floor before you know what's hit you," she threatened, albeit with a quiet frown. She knew she was an awful liar, and, despite the bravery, this was a blatant lie. She had taken one lesson and quit because she bruised her hip badly. It was a statement she felt she had to make though - he was hardly going to find someone who wore Disney jewellery and cutesy pink skirts threatening.

"...Fine, you can stitch me up. I suppose I have to trust you," she continued with a less than subtle yawn. "...Alexander's never mentioned you, you know. And he's my best friend, so I know him well-- or thought I knew him, I guess."
 
"Yeah, nah. We knew each other before the whole fame and riches and whatnot, so we sort of just keep to one another so we don't let our friendship get muddled, you know? I mean, we text on a daily basis, multiple times a day. Now, keep your head under the water." He advices quietly, and proceeded to do as promised. Hell, he even cringed at the sight of blood, which was just evidence that he wasn't one for bodily fluids as a whole.
 
"You sure he didn't tell you to kill me, because you're doing a damn good job of hurting me, Randolph. H-Honestly, this is-- are you done yet? I-I'm fine, I don't need you going overboard. I guess I'm lucky and have a hard skull or something, because I don't feel dizzy or anything. Timothy looks worse than I do, but I guess that's understandable. Alexander's a big guy, I'd hate to be punched by him," she mumbled, trying to fill the quietness with her babbles. It only really hit her seconds later that this Randolph guy was actually rather cute. It hadn't been her first priority to check him out, especially when she figured he already knew about Alexander's vices, but now she had started to trust him -he hadn't tried drowning her, which was a sure sign he was at least semi-trustworthy-, she could take the time to glance up at him properly.

"...So what is it you do, again? You're rich, that's what Alex said. He didn't give many details, really."
 
"I'm an inventor, I like to invent. I've also got investments in the oil industry, but the inventing thing is my real passion," he explained before leading her to the dining room to sit as he rummaged through the med kit in search of the proper stitching tools. "It's pretty fun, but I've got hell of a lot of time on my hands. It gives me something to do, when I'm not in meetings. See, I may be friends with Alex, but we have completely different ideas on success. This is going to hurt."

With that warning, he moved to carefully start sewing the open gash, while trying to keep a cool composure. He wasn't a stranger to DIY medical care, since he often went hiking alone, but it took quite a bit of him from vomiting as he spotted the skull.
 
Sandra, before day, had rarely sworn. She never saw the delight in it, thinking it was a poor way of expressing things and only used when someone was incapable of finding the right words. However, today had proved to her the usefulness of a good swear or two, and now was no different, letting out several in a long string to try and deal with the pain. She clutched her kneecaps, digging her nails into them in an effort to focus on that lesser pain.

"O-Okay, okay, I... I can deal with it," she grimaced, shooting him a grateful grin for his help. Hell, he didn't have to, and he was clearly uncomfortable with the sight of her injury. "I-I mean--"

"Oh, you-- Jesus Randolph, I would have stitched her up! I only asked you to clean the wound and keep it covered. I'm better at the sight of blood-- look, you look like a ghost, you're all pale," chastised Alexander as he strolled into his home, dumping the bags of clothes he had brought and moved the other side of Sandra to examine the workmanship. "...You've done alright, actually. Have you two got talking? Sandra's a pain in the ass, but she's a good pal, aren't you~?"

Not comfortable enough with him to deal with his playful jibes, Sandra shakily gt to her feet to fill her wine glass up again, downing almost the whole thing in one. "I... I'm going to lay down with Timmy, I think."
 
"I couldn't just let her stand there with her head cracked open, Alex. You act as if you were expecting any less of me, I'm actually pretty offended." He replied, albeit lightly once finishing the impressive stitching fully. Even if it wasn't great, it was better than nothing, and he stepped back a tad to take in the stitches himself. With a proud - but sleepy - grin, he offered a nod towards his childhood friend.

"For fuck's sake, Alex. What the hell did you even do? You're usually smarter than this, seriously. You owe me massively, you know that, right? I mean, if it weren't for me, you'd probably already be in trouble. So... What exactly are you planning to do? Just, hope that everything settles out? I can only help you with so much." He reminded, while running a hand through his hair with a grown.
 
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