Their mouths collide, sliding over one another’s like silk. They hold each other close, and their love is evident to all within the room.

It makes me feel sick.

They have no right to be so happy, so cared for, while they’re doing something so terribly wrong. It’s wrong for them to be together. It’s wrong for them to flaunt it.

Harry Judd and Danny Jones: the golden couple of British pop.

While I’m nothing, I’m ignored. Sure, Tom’s acknowledged- song writer, lead vocalist and all that crap. But I’m just the bassist- lurking in the background, simply there to fill stage space and give the music more depth. No-one cares about me. It’s all an act. On stage, we all look so close. Nobody has any idea that in reality I’m excluded.

Well, I’m sick of it.

In the near future, people may ask why I did what I’m about to do. Why I, Dougie Poynter- quiet, shy member of the chart-topping McFly- decided to kill my three band mates.

I couldn’t tell them why. Not because I don’t know…no…I know full well what I’m about to do. But because there is no way, no words in English language at least remotely suitable to detail my utmost loathing for them. How they make me feel, how they torture me- without even trying.

I hated them from the minute they accepted me into this pathetic excuse for a band.

So convinced that they were better than I was. They were so condescending. They still are. They need to be sorted out.

I take out Tom first. It’s a simple matter. I place a pillow over his face as he sleeps, and put what’s almost my full weight onto it.

He wakes up halfway through and struggles against me. His hands find my face and his fingernails scrape down my flesh. I press down even harder in retaliation. His legs kick, his body bucks and writhes as he tries to escape what has been destined to happen since he labelled me ‘baby’.

Tom Fletcher- with his acting, his song writing, his overall talent. Spare me. If he was so amazing, he wouldn’t have been turned down by the first band he auditioned for. He thinks he’s the boss- like he lords over everyone else just ‘cause he’s the eldest. Screw him. I don’t need him breathing down my neck, ordering me about.

He suddenly goes limp as he looses consciousness, his hands dropping back to the bed like dead weights. His body stiffens, and then nothing.

Did I do it?

With a shiver of excitement, I pull the pillow back to look at his face. His eyes are wide, and still contain remnants of the fear that filled them only moments before during his last few moments fighting for his life. His mouth is open in a silent scream that would never sound.

I stare at him, transfixed. He seems so much smaller now, so insignificant. He’s dead, while I’m still alive. I killed Tom Fletcher. I shift backwards away from the bed, leaving him there.  He would be discovered when the time was right.

One down. Two to go.

Next I move into Danny’s room. He’s lying on his back, fast asleep. He’s alone. I creep towards his bed, and place a hand over his mouth, before driving the butcher’s knife I took from the kitchen straight into his stomach.

He jerks awake, and his face contorted with pain. He focuses on me, and his mouth takes on a shocked shape. He doesn’t speak. He can’t.

He cries out as I twist the knife in him, and pull into back before driving it again, but any noise he makes is stifles by my hand.

A slash across the neck and he’s gone.

I stare at all the blood in awe. I’ve never seen so much. Never smelt death so clearly. I can’t stop. Not yet.

There’s still one of them left.

I tear myself away from Danny and exit his room. Again, he will be found when it is time.

But for now, there’s still one left.

I go into the bathroom, and wash the knife over the sink. I watch as the water cleans the steel, carrying the blood down the plughole. Away from me forever.

I’m free from two of them. There’s only one left. I’m like a prisoner that has managed to free his ankles and one wrist from his chains, and now he just has to release the last one.

Soon I’m on my way downstairs to complete the mission I began. Behind my back, my fingers curl firmly round my final prop, which is tucked safely into my waistband. I enter the living room with no hesitation.

Harry looks up from his book, “Oh, hey, Dougie.” He frowns, “What’s wrong?”

Damn it. He’s always had a sense for when something was up. “Nothing.”

He closes his book and sets it aside, “Doug…” He catches hold of my wrist and pulls me down onto the sofa next to him. I have to be even more careful the weapon doesn’t show. “You’ve been acting weird for a while now. Is there something wrong?” I stare deep into his eyes. They’re filled with faux concern. He doesn’t care about me! Why pretend?

“No. It’s- There’s nothing.” I try to change the subject, “Why are you still up? Danny’s in bed.”

He lets out a deep sigh, and I sense his vulnerability. I reach back and remove the fatal object from its place. I set it up and prepare to do the job. “Things aren’t going so great right now…” I pause. Danny and Harry? Not going great? Pull the other one, Judd. It’s got bells on.

“What d’you mean?”

He shrugs nervously, “I guess I’ve been having feelings for someone else.” My mind reels. So he’s breaking up with his boyfriend ‘cause he has feelings for someone else. Who? They’ve always been the two everyone’s seen together.

“Who?” I blurt out. Damn it. I wasn’t meant to actually ask. I don’t care about him and Danny. They don’t care about me, why should I? Why haven’t I shot him yet? What am I waiting for?

He looks up at me, then leans in. His lips touch mine, and he pushes his tongue past the lips that parted in shock. I don’t stop him. I don’t return the kiss, but I let him kiss me. My whole body’s gone lax. So much so I’m in fear of dropping what’s in my hand. He pulls back, and stares at me.

I tense up. He can’t like me. No-one in this band likes me. I’m the weird bassist that they only put up with because they have to. I clench my fist, only realising what I’ve done as the instrument goes off.

One single shot.

I’m choking. There feels like there’s a wide, gaping hole in my back. I hear Harry cry out in anguish.

“A gun?! Dougie!!”

I barely hear him. I can barely focus. My vision is swimming. I can’t breathe. I fight to take in air, but my lungs simply won’t comply. My chest hurts, my head hurts. My whole body is a mass of agony.

I’m weak. I slump against the side of the sofa as my vision starts to darkness. I drop the gun, and put a hand to my back. My hand returns into my limited sight with the fingers stained with blood. I’m failing. My head feels like it’s about to explode. I still can’t take in air. I meant to kill three. I managed to kill three. It simply wasn’t the right three.

My last word is an oath, a curse:

“Shit.”

Then my eyes close for the last time and my body gives up the fight.