stay sick

The organ droned on as I walked in, a hollow, half-assed sound spilling from the pale old man hunched over the keys, like even the church knew this funeral was fucking bullshit.

The way she died was brutal—no one’s denying that. But the blood, the screaming, the mess of it all… it didn’t cleanse her. It didn’t wash away the shit she did, the way she made people feel. She wasn’t suddenly this pure little angel just because her death happened to be a tragic one.

She was a bitch to the very end.

I knew it.

Everyone in that room knew it, even if they were doing their best to pretend otherwise.

And now?

It felt like God finally knew it, too.

That thought alone was enough to make me smile. But alas, grinning at a funeral is generally frowned upon. So I swallowed it, let the amusement burn a little at the back of my throat, and kept walking, slipping my arm through Roman’s as we made our way toward the front of the church.

Brookes casket sat heavy before the altar, half-open like a raw, bleeding wound no one wanted to look at for too long. Fucking Catholics and their sick little rituals. I mean, really—who wants to stare at a corpse? Well, at least this way I knew for sure the bitch was dead. May she rest in piss.

My eyes locked on her face, and a jolt of pure, ugly hatred twisted inside me. How the hell did she still manage to look so damn beautiful after the carnage? Like the claws, the teeth, the blood never even touched her skin. Her long brown hair spilled over the pillow, framing that pale face like some fucked up fairy tale Snow White. Too bad she was the one who’d constantly poisoned everyone around her.

Slowly, my gaze drifted lower—to the closed half of the casket.

It was shut tight, her lower half locked away from the funeral attendees, hiding the real nightmare beneath it. The animal that attacked Brooke had shredded her beyond repair—ripped her apart like it hated her too. Word was, it started with her cunt.

Which felt fitting, honestly.

Like it knew exactly how much of one she'd been in life.

Is it too fucked up to say it felt like poetic justice?Because it did. It really fucking did.

“You're smiling, you know,” Roman’s voice was low, his breath hot against my ear as he leaned in.

Shit.

I wiped the smirk off my face before glancing up at him. Roman’s green eyes were already on mine, glinting with quiet amusement—as if my cruelty was the funniest thing he’d seen all day. His lips curved, just barely, but enough for me to know he was biting back a smirk of his own. Of course he was. Roman knew how I felt about Brooke. He always had.

He was part of the reason why, after all.

I knew what I was getting into when I started dating him. Roman had a reputation. He'd earned the fuckboy title and worn it proudly, but when he told me he wanted me—just me—l let myself believe him. We made it official. Exclusive.

Brooke, his occasional hookup before I came into the picture, didn't take it well. And she made sure I knew it.

For the past year, she did everything she could to wedge herself between us. I'd lost count of how many unsolicited nudes I found when I scrolled through Roman's texts. He never replied—never encouraged her—but he never deleted them, either. And that little detail? Yeah, it tore me up more than I liked to admit.

Technically, he wasn’t cheating. I knew that. But if he wasn’t still interested in her, why keep the messages?

I'd delete them every time. We'd fight. Then we’d make up with the kind of desperate, mind-numbing sex that made me forget why I was even mad in the first place—until she slithered back into our lives again, like a boa constrictor tightening its grip around my throat, squeezing out every last bit of peace I thought I had.

Roman untangled his arm from mine, taking my hand into his and giving a comforting squeeze as we approached Brooke’s family. They looked shattered—faces wet with grief, shoulders trembling like they might cave in any second. The kind of pain people expect at a funeral. The kind that demanded sympathy.

I kept my voice steady, practiced. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

It sounded hollow, even to me. I could feel their eyes searching mine, desperate for comfort, for some sign that I felt what they did. But inside, all I felt was the weight of everything Brooke had done—the lies, the backstabbing, the poison she spread.

They didn’t know what kind of bitch they’d lost. And honestly? I wasn’t about to be the one to tell them—no matter how badly I wanted to.

“It was a tragedy,” Roman told them, his voice soft—too fucking gentle for what Brooke deserved. “A real fucking tragedy, losing someone so beautiful so soon.” And just like that, my heart stopped beating.

Umm… I’m sorry, what?!

Was he trying to offer his condolences or confess he still wanted to fuck her?

Brooke’s father reached out, gripping Roman’s hand in both of his, like he was holding on for dear life. His voice cracked, eyes shining. “Thank you, Roman. She would’ve loved knowing you still held her in such high regard.”

Oh, I bet she fucking would.

I forced a tight, polite smile, biting the inside of my cheek just to keep from telling Roman exactly where he could shove his ‘high regards’ for Brooke. God, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this—to play the grieving classmate, the supportive girlfriend—all so I could stand beside my boyfriend and the corpse he apparently still fucking worshipped.

If he missed her that much, I’d be thrilled to reunite them. Probably through strangulation. Preferably soon.

Roman didn’t even glance at me. Just gave Brookes father a heartfelt nod, like he hadn’t just ripped my heart out and handed it to her parents on a silver platter.

We followed the slow shuffle of black-clad bodies down the aisle, filing into a pew near the back. I sat down harder than necessary, arms crossed tight over my chest, jaw clenched tight enough to break a molar if I wasn’t careful—though that’d probably feel better than the jealousy churning in my stomach. It was enough to make me feel sick. I let out a pointed huff, loud enough for him to hear, because clearly subtlety wasn’t doing me any favors today.

Roman finally looked at me (took him long enough), just as the priest started droning on about what a ‘bright light’ Brooke had been in this world.

A bright light. Sure. If by that, he meant a spotlight-hungry, attention-starved manipulator who thought boundaries were just suggestions and other people’s boyfriends were fair game, then yeah—he was spot-fucking-on.

Roman leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, “What’s up with you?” he whispered, way too casual for someone currently mourning his ex-fuck buddy like she was Princess fucking Diana. “I thought you were happy about this funeral.”

I turned to him with a smile so fake it could’ve been molded onto Barbie’s face and tilted my head like I was about to purr something sweet and tender into his ear. “Oh, nothing, I was just wondering…” I started, voice dropping low, soft enough to sound like affection to anyone eavesdropping nearby. “Do you wanna crawl in the coffin with her, babe? Maybe spoon her into the afterlife?”

His nostrils flared, and he had the audacity to roll his eyes like I was the problem here.

“You’re so fucking dramatic, you know that? I was being nice!” he hissed, whisper-shouting now like we weren’t on the verge of a public spectacle. “What the fuck did you expect me to say? It’s her funeral. Her parents deserve to hear something nice about her.” He leaned in, jaw clenched, green eyes flicking to the pews around us. “I’ve slept under their roof, eaten at their table—they know who I was to her. They probably thought we were a couple. We were hooking up last year, and everyone knew—”

“And thank you for that lovely little walk down memory lane, Roman!” I cut in, voice rising just enough to earn a few side-eyes from the row in front of us. “Because, you know, the unsolicited photo album of her tits I found in your phone clearly wasn’t enough of a reminder!”

A loud, sanctimonious “shhh!” shot at me from behind. The priest didn’t pause, just kept droning on about light and loss and eternal peace, while my face burned hotter than hell and Roman stared straight ahead with his hands balled into fists in his lap like he hadn’t just been emotionally fingering his ex-blowjob-bimbo under the guise of sympathy.

We stayed silent for the rest of the service, but inside, I was vibrating with rage.

Listening to Roman kiss her parents’ asses and call Brooke beautiful was already enough to make me puke—but now I had to sit through the group delusion that she was some kind of ethereal saint.

Whispers floated around me like incense and bullshit.

“She had such a beautiful soul.”

“Truly a giving girl.”

“She touched so many lives.”

Yeah. She touched them alright—usually while their girlfriends were in the next room.

And now, every last revisionist fairytale about Brooke’s golden heart was being spoon-fed to us over Wisdom 4:7-15 and some hollow prayer, like Brooke didn’t spend senior year turning my life—and my relationship—into a full-time job of damage control.

God really does have a sense of humor… and apparently, I’m the fucking punchline.

After what felt like forever, the organ crept back to life—dragging out some slow, dramatic hymn that was just a shade less suffocating than the one I’d walked in on. Probably gave Brooke a nice little ego boost knowing she’s still the center of attention, even if she’s about to take a permanent nap six feet under.

The ushers moved in perfect tragic unison, all somber and reverent, lifting her casket like it wasn’t stuffed full of four years’ worth of manipulation, backstabbing and enough bitchy rumors to fill a book.

One by one, people rose, teary-eyed and clutching tissues like we were in the final act of some tragic love story. I watched as they followed behind her, heads bowed like she was royalty—Queen of The Homewreckers, crowned posthumously.

I started to rise too—ready to get the fuck out of this church and away from all the Brooke-was-an-angel propaganda—but Roman’s hand closed around my wrist, tugging me back down with just enough force to piss me off more than I already was.

I shot him a look sharp enough to kill—and trust me, I wanted to—but he just rolled his eyes, shook his head, and leaned close, whispering, “Just wait until everyone’s out of the church.”

Right. Of course. Because why not prolong the emotional torture just a little longer?

So we sat there in that near-empty pew while her casket floated past us like she was the grand marshal of her own funeral parade, and everyone pretended she hadn’t made half the girls in our class cry and the other half paranoid.

I watched her parents trail behind her, shoulders trembling, hands clasped tight like they were bracing for a world without her. And fine—for them—I felt something. Not sympathy exactly, but the tiniest flicker of human softness. Because parents always think they raised angels. Even when the wings are fake and covered in someone else’s blood.

Once the heavy wooden doors finally shut behind the last of the mourners, the sound echoed through the empty church like the closing scene of a bad play. Curtain dropped. Applause optional.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding—sharp, bitter, laced with something dangerously close to grief. But not for Brooke (as if I’d waste a single tear on that cunt), but for the version of myself that had to sit through this entire charade with a straight face while my boyfriend gave his best impression of a grief-stricken ex to the dead bitches parents.

I turned toward Roman, already gripping the pin of my next snarky grenade like it was a stress ball, fully expecting him to defend ‘Saint Brooke’ one more time, maybe even get misty-eyed for effect.

But when he stood and held out his hand toward me, there was none of that smug deflection I expected to see on his face. Instead, there was something softer in its place—genuine. Annoyingly so. Like he actually felt bad for dragging me to this circus.

And God, I hated that it made me hesitate. Hated that one flicker of sincerity in his eyes made my anger wobble, even for a second.

“Come on, babe,” he said, voice low, calm, like I wasn’t three seconds away from launching a verbal Molotov. “I don’t want to fight. I just want to show you something. Make this day up to you.”

Make it up to me? Cute.

It would take a public apology, a new pair of diamond earrings the size of the Ritz, and maybe an exorcism to clear Brooke’s ghost out of our relationship—but fine, I took his hand anyway. Mostly because I wanted to know what he thought would fix this. And partly because curiosity is a sickness, and I was dying to know whether this would end in redemption… or me taking a crucifix off the goddamn wall and stabbing him with it.

Roman pulled me to my feet, his palm warm and sure around mine like he hadn’t just set a match to the last nerve I had left. He led me from the pew, up toward the altar, my heels clicking against the marble floor and echoing through the empty church like gunshots. The silence between us wasn’t peaceful. It was a loaded weapon.

By the time we made it up the red-carpeted steps, my patience snapped like a rubber band stretched too thin. I planted my heels into the floor, defiant, forcing Roman to stop before he slowly turned to face me, annoyance flickering behind his viridian eyes.

“So what’s the plan here?” My voice was low, but it cut. “Drag me up here so you can feel closer to the dead girl?” I tore my hand from his like it burned, folding my arms tight over my chest just to stop myself from slapping him. “Hate to break it to you, Ro, but she’s already in the process of becoming worm food; so if playing corpse-fucker was really that high on your bucket list, you should've taken my suggestion and climbed into the casket with her.” My eyes flicked up to meet his, my breath a hiss between us. “Because you’re still nowhere fucking near earning my forgiveness.”

Roman stood in front of the altar, the wall of flickering candles casting gold halos on the stone and throwing warped shadows across the massive crucifix above him. Jesus stared down, arms outstretched, a pained look on his face like even he was sick of our bullshit.

Roman’s green eyes burned brighter, amusement sparking behind them as he stood there, silhouetted in holy light like the world’s most arrogant saint. And the smile that spread across his mouth wasn’t sorry. It didn’t beg for forgiveness or ask for peace between us.

No, it was that wolfish twist of his lips that said I was waiting for this. I knew you’d snap. Like my reaction was exactly what he’d anticipated, maybe even what he wanted. Did it turn him on? Watching me unravel in the house of God?

Wouldn’t surprise me if it did.

“You finished?” he asked, voice low and lazy, like I’d just told a story he didn’t find particularly interesting, and he was humoring me until I burned myself out.

Fucking asshole.

I tilted my head, a bitter smile curling at the edge of my mouth. “I don’t know,” I bit out, every word dripping with irritation. “Are you finished being a dick?”

His smile deepened, a short laugh escaping him. He shook his head slowly, sighing like I was a stubborn child he couldn’t help but adore. “God, you’re exhausting,” he muttered, but there wasn’t any heat behind it—just that maddening glimmer in his eyes, the one that said he found my temper tantrums over him adorable.

And that pissed me off even more.

“Listen,” he said, taking a step closer, voice low and annoyingly calm. “I know you’re pissed. Pissed you had to show up at all. Pissed you had to sit through that service and pretend Brooke didn’t make your life hell. And now you’re even more pissed—because you think I still want her.”

My jaw clenched, but I didn’t respond. My silence was a flashing neon yes, asshole!

“But the truth?” he continued, his voice softening in that way men do when they’re about to about to lie to you with their whole chest. “I brought you here because I thought maybe if you saw her cold and grey in that coffin, you’d finally stop thinking she still means something to me. She’s gone. Dead. And she can’t come between us anymore.”

I arched a brow, a dry, disbelieving laugh slipping past my lips. “Oh, really?” My eyes met his, steady, unflinching. “Because calling your dead ex-fuck buddy ‘beautiful’ doesn’t exactly scream closure to me, Roman. But nice try—you almost sound like you believe your own bullshit.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and I knew then that I’d finally hit a nerve. His jaw ticked, muscle jumping as he ground out his next words.

“Oh, would you fucking just—” His voice cracked, frustration bleeding through every syllable as he dragged a hand through his hair, like he was physically trying to pull the anger out of himself. “Would you let that go?” he bit out, chest rising and falling hard. “I told her parents she was beautiful because I didn’t know what the fuck else to say, alright? Brooke was shallow. The only thing she ever had going for her was that surface-level beauty. So yeah—forgive me if that’s the best I could give her grieving parents.”

“Yeah?” My voice broke like glass, trembling with the rise of my emotions, but still sharp enough to cut. “You’re right. She was shallow. But you liked that about her, didn’t you?” My arms wrapped tighter across my chest, trying to hold in the ache clawing its way up my throat. “Shallow little Brooke, who just couldn’t wait to flash her body for attention. Who sent you those photos like she was handing out candy, and you—” My breath caught, anger swelling until it nearly choked me. “You didn’t delete them, did you? You kept them. Like some sick little trophy to look back on whenever your right hand starts reminiscing.”

My chest rose and fell too fast, anger heating my skin until it burned. My vision started to blur as tears threatened to spill and my nails dug half-moons into my arms as I thought about all the times l'd seen that stupid bitch naked on my boyfriend's phone. I could still picture it—her perfect skin, her perfect hair, the way she’d posed like she knew I’d find them.

And he’d let me. Over and over.

Because if he didn’t want me to see them, he would’ve deleted them. Right?

He exhaled through his nose, long and slow, then scrubbed a hand down his face like he could physically wipe away how much he hated this conversation. “Jesus,” he muttered, voice strained, tired of arguing with me. “You really think I brought you here to rub her in your face?”

I let out a sharp breath, disbelief twisting into a smile that barely hid my anger at how stupid that fucking question was. Did he seriously need me to answer that? Like I’d deny it? “Well, if the shoe fucking fits, Roman!”

God, I wanted to take that hypothetical shoe and shove it so far up his ass he’d never walk straight again. That might be enough to make today up to me.

Roman’s lips parted, the frustration on his face melting into something dangerously close to regret. His eyes went all soft and green and sorry, that puppy-dog look he pulled out whenever he realized he’d pushed too far—like he’d just chewed up the wrong shoe and was waiting to see if I’d still pet him after.

I knew that look. I hated that look.

Because it was the same one he gave me every time we argued about Brooke—the one that came right before he'd pull me in, mouth hot and desperate, like he could fix everything by fucking the fight out of us.

And every damn time, I let him.

I turned on my heel, unwilling to give in—to let my anger slip through my fingers like it always did. But as I took a step toward the stairs, Roman caught my hand, his fingers lacing through mine like he could anchor me to him if he just held on tight enough.

“Wait,” he said softly as he pulled me toward him, but I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to meet his gaze. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go… I meant it when I said I didn’t want to fight.” Roman sighed before his fingers slipped beneath my chin, guiding it up until I had no choice but to look at him; his green orbs steady and unguarded, searching mine like he was trying to piece together what had gone wrong. “Can we start over?” His mouth curved just barely into that arrogant, teasing smile I loved so much, only this time it was softer, almost tender. “Please?”

It’s actually annoying how that one look could melt me on the spot—those big, stupidly gorgeous green eyes pleading with me not to walk out, like he hadn’t just driven me insane five seconds ago. And that smile. That heart-stopping, infuriating smile. The way his upper lip curls inward and disappears completely when he grins. Every damn time, it reduced me to puddy in his hands.

I wanted to stay mad, to make a point, but my body clearly didn’t get the memo. My mouth stayed shut, my pride hanging on by a thread, and my head—stupid, traitorous—nodded anyway.

Roman didn’t waste a second. He pulled me into him, claiming my lips in an all-consuming kiss that screamed he was sorry and begged me to believe I was all he wanted. His plush lips moved against mine with an urgency that made my head spin, like he could fix everything with just the pressure of his mouth.

Still stubborn, I tried to hold onto that last spark of anger. My hands moved up, ready to shove him away and tell him to go fuck himself—but instead, my fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. He guided me toward the altar, the harsh marble biting into my tailbone as he pressed me flush against him. And just like that, we slipped right back into our Brooke-induced cycle.

Roman's fingers dug into my hips, pulling me impossibly closer, and I felt it—the heat, the need, the hard evidence in his pants telling me exactly how much he wanted me. My stubbornness crumbled under his touch, every rough graze of his lips and whisper of his voice making it impossible to resist.

He lifted me onto the altar, the cold marble licking at my thighs as he drew me flush against him. My legs bent at his sides, hugging him close as instinct took over. His hips moved against mine—slow, deliberate—each roll sending heat spiraling through my core. Between kisses, his voice came low and filled with need, the sound reverberating through me until I could feel nothing but him.

“God... you drive me crazy,” he breathed, his teeth grazing along my jaw, sending a shiver down my spine. “Brooke never mattered. And I know today was fucked, but I swear—“ his voice dropped, rough and reverent, “the only person in this church I want to worship...”

His lips dragged down my neck, over my collarbone, slow and deliberate, before he sank to his knees in front of me. His hands slid up my thighs, firm and unhurried, lifting the hem of my dress until cool air met heat. He looked up at me, eyes big and wanting, before pressing a soft, reverent kiss to the inside of my thigh. “..is you.”

Butterflies stirred low in my stomach, a dizzy mix of anticipation and disbelief. My breathing quickened out of sheer excitement as Roman continued his slow, teasing trail of kisses, moving up to my core before deliberately passing over it. His warm breath ghosting over the lace of my panties before he shifted to my other thigh, his green eyes flicking up to catch my reaction to his teasing.

A soft moan slipped past my lips as his teeth grazed my thigh, and I caught the way Roman smirked against my skin, clearly reveling in the sight of me unraveling beneath him. He drew a slow, deliberate stripe up the crease of my thigh, along the edge of my lace panties, sending a shiver straight through me.

Needing to steady myself, I leaned back on my hands, breath quickening, my eyes never leaving him, waiting for the moment his mouth would finally reach exactly where I wanted him most.

As if sensing my impatience, Roman's hands hooked beneath my knees, pulling me closer to him before settling them over his shoulders. His fingers traced the delicate lace of my panties with deliberate, possessive intent before sliding them aside and leaning forward to place a slow, almost sweet kiss against my clit.

“Christ,” he murmured against my skin, his warm breath ghosting over me, sending a shiver straight through me. “You’re fucking soaked.” He smirked up at me before sweeping his tongue through my slick folds, and I couldn’t help the sharp gasp that escaped as my hips bucked against him.

Oh, fuck— I bit my lip, trying my best to stifle the string of moans coming from me as Roman’s tongue fully dove into me, alternating between gentle licks and firm, teasing pulls on my clit.

At this point, I was sure anyone left in the church would hear me—my mewls bouncing off the walls no matter how desperately I tried to stay quiet. I couldn't help it; Roman had a way of pulling every sound from me, making me forget everything but him.

My arms shook as pleasure coursed through me, sparking from my fingertips all the way down to my toes, forcing me to collapse back onto the cold marble of the altar. One hand shot down, tangling in Roman's hair as he slid two fingers inside me, slowly pumping them in and out as he continued teasing my clit. “Ro—ahh,” I gasped, my body constricting around him as he filled me.

Roman groaned against me, clearly taking pleasure in the reactions he drew from me before his mouth broke away, hovering between my thighs as his fingers continued curling inside me, moving at a sweet pace.

“What?” He smirked, his voice dropping low and teasing. “Is this getting you off or something? Defiling a church like this?” His green eyes glinted with dark intrigue, the way he looked at me making it clear he was getting off on it too. “Or maybe…” he purred, his mouth inching closer to my aching sex, “…you just like being the one on the altar now—the only one worthy of devotion.”

I could only whimper in response, feeling myself tighten around him as his tongue swept back over my swollen and tender clit, his teeth gently grazing against it once more. My head spun, my eyes fluttering shut from the overload of sensation and the exquisite, twisted thrill curling low in my stomach. Because Roman was right—it did feed something dark and awful inside me. Knowing that Brooke had been laid here less than thirty minutes ago, praised and cherished like a saint, while now I was in her place—alive, trembling, and desecrating the very spot she’d been worshipped on.

That thought alone, combined with the way Roman increased his pace and intensity—sucking and finger fucking me until my arousal dripped down his hand and onto my thighs—was enough to undo me completely. My body shook around him, my fingers fisting his hair, a desperate cry tearing from my lips as l clenched, my orgasm ripping straight through me in waves of breath-stealing pleasure.

I barely had time to steady my breathing before Roman was on his feet, hands gripping my hips, lifting me effortlessly and bending me over the altar. His knee pressed between my legs, forcing them wider, and the sound of his belt sliding free made my nipples harden and the pulse between my legs throb once more.

Roman tore my panties off with one sharp tug, the cool air brushing against my already sensitized sex before the heat of his body enveloped me. He fisted my hair with one hand and gripped my hip with the other hard enough to bruise, arching me back against him, the head of his cock sliding against my entrance until I practically panted with anticipation.

“Fuck,” he groaned, slowly sinking into me inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight.”

My breath came out in soft pants; I was beyond wet, but accommodating Romans’ size was always an adjustment. Slowly though, my muscles began to relax and my jaw unclenched, my hips pushing back at him, desperate for more.

“That’s it, baby.” another, more guttural groan slipped past his lips. “You take me so well, don’t you?”

“Mmhmph” I managed an incoherent reply, but even that soon faded into a string of moans as Roman slammed into me, settling into a fast and brutal rhythm.

“Good girl” he purred from behind me, his fingers digging deeper into my hip before slamming into me again, this time hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

I squealed, my mind blanking at his sudden force, and I barely had time to catch my breath before he started moving again.

“Now, tell me…” I let out a small cry when he fisted my hair tighter, pulling my head back until his mouth was next to my ear. “Does this make you feel better, hmm? Knowing Brooke would be rolling in her grave if only she knew what we were doing?”

Part of me didn't want to answer him, knowing how wrong it sounded—how terrible it made me for being turned on by the idea of finally hurting that bitch back. But the truth slipped out anyway, the admission falling from my lips before I could stop it.

“Yes.” I whimpered, my voice barely there. A strange mix of shame and satisfaction flooded me, sharp and euphoric, as I let the confession sink in. The thought of Brooke seeing us—watching Roman pound into me over and over, hearing the sound of his skin slapping against mine—sent a shiver of wicked delight racing through me.

“Good, then consider this—hah—” Roman moaned. “A final ‘fuck you’ to Brooke.” He released his grip on my hair, allowing me to slump against the altar, the marble cold against my heated skin.

He pulled back so that just the tip of his cock remained inside me, then snapped his hips forward again, plunging deep with another brutal thrust. Again and again, my hips collided with the altar so forcefully I knew they'd be bruised by the time we were done—but I didn’t care.

Tears and drool slicked the marble beneath me as Roman pounded into me mercilessly. I’d been reduced to a wreck, only held together by mind-numbing pleasure and the satisfaction that Roman was completely, and undeniably mine.

This wasn’t just sex. This was pure, hard fucking in the form of vindication… and it was exactly what I needed.

My eyes fluttered shut as I reveled in this feeling—sweet, burning, spiteful satisfaction. I hated Brooke more than I could ever put into words, and the thought of finally getting even with her made my pulse sing. I'd taken something from her today—something meant to celebrate her, to honor her—and I'd ruined it. Made it dirty. Just like she did when she sent her pathetic little nudes to my boyfriend.

But just as fulfillment washed over me, my breath caught—eyes flying open—as Roman's hand slid between my thighs, his fingers rubbing tight, relentless circles against my clit.

Tears of pleasure blurred my vision, yet even through the haze, I could make out Jesus on the stained glass above the church doors. Sunlight spilled through the colored glass, scattering across the pews in a kaleidoscope of red, blue, and gold, setting them ablaze in holy light.

And I knew, right then, that the only blaze waiting for me was in hell. Because after today, that’s definitely where I belonged.

But God—when Roman's harsh thrusts tore another string of wanton moans from me, the promise of eternal damnation started to feel almost... deliciously worth it.

“Oh fuck… oh God…” I panted when he hit the spot inside me that made my toes curl. Need coiled low in my stomach, and heat moved down my spine, building and building until I clenched around him, sparks of pleasure igniting in every vein, consuming me completely.

My legs shook beneath me, my whole body trembling as my orgasm ripped through me like a lightning bolt—so sudden, so explosive I barely had a moment to register it before it struck. Clamping down on him, I felt him shudder and jerk inside me, groaning as he spilled into me.

I lay there, slumped against the altar, my body quivering with pure bliss as Roman's palm traced slow, deliberate circles along my back, kneading into my muscles until I nearly purred, melting under his touch.

“Feel better?” He asked casually, as if we hadn’t just violated the sanctity of a church.

“Uh-huh.” My mind was still too dazed to string together a proper sentence. Maybe Roman had just exorcised me—ridding my body of the demon that had burrowed under my skin for over a year, the one otherwise known as Brooke Bluebell.

“Good.” I could hear the smile in his voice, as if seeing me limp on this altar like a lamb brought to slaughter amused him. “Now get dressed before we traumatize a nun.”

Oh, right. I'd almost forgotten we were out in the open, our lower halves still naked as the day we were born. Slowly, I pushed myself up, smoothing my black dress over my thighs before turning to face Roman, watching the candlelight trace the lines of his shoulders as he buckled his belt.

As if sensing my gaze, he glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth tipping into that signature smirk. “So,” he started, walking back toward me, eyes half-lidded, hands resting on my waist, “was that a great apology or what?”

“Hmm.” I tilted my head, finger brushing my lips as I pretended to think, a smirk slowly curling on my lips. “That was your best one yet, Ro. Seriously.”

His smirk widened, emerald eyes glinting with that dangerous mix of pride and mischief that always made my stomach flip. “Good. Because I've always wanted to fuck in a church.”

“Well, I’m happy to help you check that off your bucket list.” I giggled, sliding my arms around his neck as I rose onto my tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “Do you think the Catholics would excommunicate us if they ever found out about this?”

“Definitely.” He let out a breathy laugh. “But it was so worth it. Even better than I’d imagined.”

… what?

Confusion creased my brow and my arms slid from around his neck, palms falling flat against his chest as I put some space between us. “Roman, did you… did you plan how today was going to go?”

Heat crawled up the back of my neck as the realization took hold. Roman didn’t even have to answer, I knew for a fact he’d definitely planned this.

Roman’s eyes went wide for a second before he squeezed them shut, jaw flexing like he’d just realized he’d fucked up. When he opened them again, the corner of his mouth twitched, a nervous smirk threatening to surface before he swallowed it back down. “Planned might be too strong a word,” he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck. “More like… hoped it would turn out this way.”

My fingers curled in his jacket, then fell uselessly to my sides. Tiny shocks rippled through me, anger tangled up with disbelief. “…Why?” I whispered, the word cracking like thin ice underfoot. I wanted to sound furious—but it came out small. Hurt.

Roman sighed, his big green eyes holding mine, steady and unflinching. “Don’t be mad, okay?” His voice was low, almost careful. “It’s just… I’d always wanted to do it in a church. And Brooke had become—” he paused, searching for the right way to spin this, “—our best kind of foreplay. You hated her so much that every time you saw her name pop up on my phone, it flipped a switch in you. You had to remind me who I belonged to.”

And just like that, everything clicked into place. Why Roman never deleted the texts. Why he always kept her nudes. Why he always let her slither back into our lives.

It was never about her.

It was about me—the way my jealousy twisted and snapped, the way I still reached for him even when I wanted to hate him. That was what got him off. The proof that no matter how awful he was, how terrible he made me feel, I’d still claim him with my hands, my nails, my teeth—leaving marks on his body like an animal marking its territory.

“So when the opportunity came, I kind of…” he trailed off, words softening into something almost apologetic. “I don’t know. Thought we could put her behind us. Send her off with a bang, so to speak.”

I just stood there, lips parted, trying to hold onto the anger I should be feeling, but his words kept looping in my head.

You had to remind me who I belonged to.

Was everything with Brooke just Roman’s twisted way of trying to feel wanted? Needed? Loved?

Heat crawled up my spine, spreading through my chest, filling it with warmth, and I hated that it felt good. That the thought of him scheming, plotting, using someone else just to get under my skin made something dark and wicked inside me purr.

I should’ve been hurt. Furious. Betrayed.

Instead, a shiver of something entirely different shot through me, and I couldn’t stop the small, knowing smile that curved my lips.

Because right then, I understood.

Roman had never lied about not caring about Brooke. He’d manipulated me, sure—gaslit me until I couldn’t tell up from down. But Brooke was never the point. She was collateral damage. A pawn.

I was the point.

The obsession.

The queen he’d been trying to take all along.

And God help me, knowing that didn’t make me angry. It made me ecstatic.

A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it. “You know,” I started, stepping back into him and wrapping my arms around his neck once more. “you’re a real dick sometimes. If you wanted to fuck in a church, you could’ve just asked. I'd have gladly picked that over listening to everyone kiss Brooke's ass.”

Roman’s lips twitched again, softer this time, almost relieved. “Yeah,” he murmured, fingers digging into my hips. “But asking doesn't get you this worked up.” His hand slid down, squeezing my ass, and I knew instantly it was time for round two.

Maybe this time we could defile the confessional? It certainly felt poetic enough.

He could confess to being a manipulative asshole—

All you see is red. 

You were letting the warm water run down your back, closing your eyes in bliss. 

But when you opened them, you were met with red. Dripping down your thighs and staining the water going down the drain. 

You sigh with frustration at the fact that you’re early. 

Of all days, you had to get your period on Halloween. 

With how your luck has been lately, you’re not surprised. 

You get out of the shower, dry off and grab a tampon, hoping that you can still have a fun night out with your friends. 

~ 

A crisp autumn breeze makes you hug your arms closer to you. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you look around at the busy street. Everywhere you look, people are dressed in costumes. They’re either waiting in line for the club you’re standing outside of or walking to another destination. 

You grow uneasy as you don’t see any sight of your friends who said they would meet you there.  

You shift from one ruby red slipper to the other as you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching you.  

It’s a heavy feeling, one that makes you feel claustrophobic.  

But you look around and find no one staring at you. 

You try to take a deep breath to calm yourself down. You realize you’ve been a little paranoid since you got fired from your job last month. 

You’re not exactly sure why. Whether it was a blow to your confidence or you felt that you pissed off the wrong guy in town. 

Hemlock Grove is small and he takes up a large part of it. 

“Hey!” 

Your breath hitches as you turn around, finding your friends in front of you. 

You feel yourself relax as you take in the familiar smiling faces. So stuck in your mind, you guess you didn’t hear them approaching you. 

“Sorry we’re a little late. Abby couldn’t find her cat ears.” 

You notice Abby roll her eyes and fix the ears on top of her head.  

“You look amazing!” Sara changes the subject, looking you up and down. 

You can’t help but grin before complimenting her on her own costume. 

“Thanks for waiting in line. Looks like we’ll be let in soon,” Sara says as she eyes the decreasing line ahead. 

“I’ve been waiting for this all week,” Abby says. 

“Is that why you lost the most important part of your costume?” 

Abby makes a face at Sara’s teasing.  

“I just hope some guy in a cheap vampire costume doesn’t hit on me like last year.” 

You and Sara just laugh at Abby’s comment as you all are let inside the club by the bouncer. 

As you walk in, you feel like your ears have gone inside your head. With the music and the amount of people, it’s deafening. 

The only lights on are colored. You blink, your vision going from purple to green to red. 

You and your friends walk up to the bar, lit up and decorated with fake spiders and cobwebs. 

Sara eyes the decorations before noticing people being served a bright blue drink with gummy eyeballs. 

“We have to get those,” she tells you and Abby. 

You nod, just wanting some sort of alcohol in your system. 

But while your friends order drinks, you can’t help but look around. 

They really went all out this year, you think, your eyes wide with awe. 

Your eyes scan the plastic gravestones before seeing someone that takes any wonder out of you and replaces it with a colder feeling. 

He stands across the room, staring at you. 

In a sea of people dressed in costumes. He’s the only one who isn’t.  

He takes his cigarette out of his mouth before letting the grey smoke furl from his pink lips.  

It surrounds him like a cloud before vanishing and then the cigarette is back in his mouth. He inhales, ready to do it again. 

For some reason, you continue to watch him.  

And he does the same, making that intense eye contact with you that you never liked. Even in a dark place like this, you can still make out that his eyes are green. 

It doesn’t even cross your mind that he shouldn’t be smoking in here.  

But that’s probably because rules don’t apply to men like Roman Godfrey. 

You finally turn away from him, but it feels difficult as if it takes all your strength to do it. 

Before you can think too much about why Roman does what he does and what he’s doing at this club on Halloween night, Sara hands you your drink. 

You take a much-needed gulp of it, tasting the sugar masking any alcohol. 

You follow your friends to a corner of the club, away from Roman. And when you gather the courage to look at him again, you find that he isn’t there anymore. 

Your eyes flit in a panic. You hated the idea of him standing in one spot, staring at you. But not knowing where he is now makes your heart race. 

You try to swallow down your fear before you see that a group of guys have approached you and your friends. 

You take another gulp of your drink as one of them walks up to you. It looks like he’s fighting off a smirk as he looks you up and down. 

“Dorothy, huh? That’s adorable,” he says and you can hear the condescending edge to his tone. 

You look at his own costume, noting the lack of effort that he put into it. 

You decide to at least smile, giving him some sort of reaction.  

He introduces himself and you look over at your friends, who seem preoccupied with the guys hitting on them. 

You had somewhat hoped that this wasn’t what you guys would end up doing this year. But you decide to play along.  

At least you know you won’t be going home with the guy since that time of the month came early. 

You offer up your name to him and try to answer his questions over the loud music. 

After a little while, he asks you if you want to dance. 

At first, you’re hesitant but when you look to where your friends were standing and don’t find them, you agree. 

Any thoughts of Roman disappear when you finish the blue liquid in your cup. 

And any thoughts of the guy you’re with disappear when you surround yourself with a ton of sweaty dancing bodies. 

The bass of the music shakes the floor and you can’t help but close your eyes as all you can focus on is that. 

It isn’t until the song changes that you open your eyes. 

When you do, the man you were with has completely vanished. You look around, unable to find him and you don’t think you can even remember what his name was. 

You search until you feel someone standing right behind you. 

You freeze, not able to move as if your feet have been planted to that exact spot on the dance floor. 

You want to move but he puts his hands on your shoulders like he’s stopping you.  

He waits a few moments before dragging them down your arms and you feel like you can’t even take a breath. 

You know who it is, as his pale hands try to grab yours.  

But you tear away from him, snapping the roots that were keeping you hostage. 

You turn to face him and you’re not surprised to find Roman looking down at you. 

You can’t read a single emotion on his face besides the slight trace of annoyance. 

But you think you have him beat on who is more annoyed. 

You don’t waste any time in storming away from him and the dance floor. But before you can get very far, he grabs your arm, yanking you toward him. 

“What’s your problem?” he asks, annoyance now more prominent in his expression. 

Your confusion turns to anger as you send him a searing glare. 

“My problem?” you echo. “What do you think my problem is, Roman?” 

He stares back at you with a question in his eyes and you don’t know if you want to laugh at him or pity him. 

You suppose that there’s a softness to Roman’s face, a boyish quality in his big round eyes and pouty lips. And that’s what lures you in, until you realize there’s something more sinister behind those eyes and in the curve of the ever-present scowl on his face. 

You’re not even surprised he’s trying to sleep with you now. You heard that’s something he does with all his assistants. 

You almost found it odd that he never tried anything with you the whole time you were employed by him. 

You take your arm out of his forceful grip. 

“I’m not going to sleep with you or whatever you want right now, Roman. You fired me for no fucking reason,” you yell but your voice is still not loud enough over the music. 

“I was good at my job. I did everything you asked and then you threw me out in front of everyone. It was humiliating,” you stop yourself when your voice cracks. 

For once, Roman has nothing to say.  

All he does is avert his gaze from you and all you can do is shake your head and walk away.  

You just want to get out of there but you realize you need to go to the restroom first. 

After searching for a couple minutes, you’re surprised to find the restroom with no line outside of it. 

The bathroom is dark, painted black with red stall doors. That uneasy feeling comes back as the space is strangely empty with no one around. 

You find a stall and lock it. 

You check your phone and see a message from Sara telling you that they have left without you.  

Of course, you think, rolling your eyes. 

You would be out of here right now too if you hadn’t gotten your period. 

You check your purse for a new tampon after taking out the old one. But after scurrying through the contents of your purse, you find nothing. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper. 

There’s absolutely no one around and you didn’t notice any tampon dispensers in the bathroom. 

Deciding that you’re about to leave anyway, you pull up your underwear and hope for the best. 

You leave the restroom, eyes on the floor as you think this might be the worst Halloween you’ve ever experienced. 

“Where’s Toto?” 

You almost can’t believe it when you hear his voice. But then you find him standing right in front of you. 

His height almost makes you feel trapped but it doesn’t stop you from showing how you really feel. 

“What?” 

One simple word from you holds every ounce of resentment you have towards him right now. 

“You’re supposed to be some slutty version of Dorothy, right?” 

“You’re such a dick,” you spit out before trying to go around him. 

He stops you with a light touch from his large hand. You look up at him, waiting for him to say something. 

He’s quiet for a moment while he runs his other hand through his hair, fighting with himself to get what he wants. 

Finally, he says your name. 

It’s soft but slightly demanding. 

You keep your attention on him like it’s something you don’t have to think about. 

The exit sign nearby bathes him in a blood red light. 

“Let’s talk outside,” is all he says. 

And for some entirely unknown reason, you agree. 

You follow him through the nearby exit, out into the alley. 

The music and sounds of the club are muffled now and you take in the eerie silence. 

You fix your gaze to him, waiting for him to speak. 

“I don’t want you to think I fired you for no reason,” he begins. 

You can tell it’s difficult for him. Roman doesn’t seem like the type to apologize or to willingly talk about his feelings. 

He looks at you and you can’t help but look back, gazing deeply into his eyes. 

“I fired you because I couldn’t stand being around you.” 

You feel like you’ve been kicked in the chest. 

“And it’s not what you think,” he continues, starting to walk toward you. 

You back up, each step taking you closer to the brick wall behind you until your back hits it, a small grunt leaving your lips. 

He steps closer and closer to you until he closes the gap between you two. 

You’re nervous, unsure of what to do, but all you can do is stare into those eyes. 

His voice gets lower as his mouth gets closer to you. 

“I fired you so I wouldn’t do something I regret.” 

You open your mouth in confusion, trying to form the words but instead he stops you with his lips hungrily kissing your open mouth. 

He licks inside your mouth as you breathe him in, your fingers twisting up the fabric of his black sweater. 

He moves his mouth away from yours and finds your neck. You move your head back to let him lick the column of your throat, nibbling at the delicate skin that covers the blood pumping through your body. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt hungrier,” he whispers until he hesitates. 

His hands move down your body, going under your dress and finding your underwear. 

But you stop him, your hand finding his. 

“Roman. I can’t.” 

He shushes you and says, “I could smell you from the moment you walked through the door.” 

You furrow your brow at his words and you almost stop him again but his movements are careless as he quickly rips off your underwear and kneels down before you. 

You look down at him, waiting for his reaction but he barely even takes a look at you before putting his tongue to your core. 

A moan escapes your lips as you throw your head back. He continues to lap at you, drinking the blood that pours from in-between your legs. 

You tangle your fingers into his hair as pleasure courses through you, the feeling rising within you as each cry comes from your mouth. 

He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on the swollen bud and letting his tongue brush over it.  

He moves his lips down, through your bloody folds and your eyelids flutter as you pull Roman’s hair harder. 

He continues like that while pleasure has completely replaced any disgust you have for Roman’s actions.  

Your breathing is fractured and as he takes your clit into his mouth again, you feel complete bliss overtake you as you let out one last moan. 

Your mind feels hazy as Roman stands back up. 

Then you blink, finding Roman’s lips and chin covered in blood. 

Confusion, fear, and disgust cloud your mind as you watch him slowly lick his lips as if he wouldn’t want to waste a single drop of you. 

His stained lips curve into a smirk before he brushes his thumb across your chin. Then he says something in that usual cocky tone of his. 

The bedside lamp she tried reaching for falls to the floor with a thud.

Her scream is cut short as the squelching sound of the knife going into her chest fills the room. It continues long after her body has stopped moving, the light leaving her eyes.

Her killer finally stops, taking in his handiwork. He moves his foot away from the growing pool of blood.

His gloved hand rips the gold chain off her neck. He stands to his full height as the necklace swings from his fingers. The tiny heart with BFF engraved into it, now forever broken.

He sizes up the full-length mirror across from him, considering this act of violence as a piece of art, something to be proud of. His knife gleams as crimson drips to the floor.

The mask on his face covers the smirk on his lips.

All day, everything has been in slow motion. The feeling of your friend’s hand on your back has been numbed, the weight of it feeling like TV static instead.

The tears stopped a while ago, none left in your body. The only touch registering, is the touch of cold metal in your fingertips. The necklace you’ve had on since grade school, way past the point of realizing it’s tacky.

But it didn’t matter because you shared it with one person only.

Now she’s gone.

It still doesn’t feel real.

“Are they still out there?”

“Right in front of the dorm.”

You’ve been sitting in the same spot all day, the couch molding around you, your friends have taken turns comforting you.

They’re upset too, but no one knew Cori as long as you did.

Right now, Andrea is comforting you. It’s mostly been her and Simone by your side. The guys just giving you space.

You think it’s better that way, not really wanting a bunch of frat guys doing what they think is helpful to someone in a time like this.

Except for your boyfriend, you suppose.

“They’ve been out there all day.”

You lift your eyes from the floor for the first time in the past hour.

He’s annoyed, sighing through his nose. But you can tell the reporters outside your dorm is the least of his worries.

He glances at Andrea, still fighting his annoyance.

“Can I have some time with my girlfriend now?”

“Go for it,” she replies curtly.

Her warmth leaves your side.

You see her join her own boyfriend, looking out the window at the news vans parked across the street.

He takes her spot quickly, not leaving you cold for too long. He brings you closer, his arm hanging off your shoulder. Your eyelids fall shut as he presses his lips to your temple. A moment of solace on this dark day.

“Can I do anything? Get you anything?” His mouth is at your ear, a hush falling over his voice.

You shake your head no, a word not being able to form just yet.

A few minutes pass, while contentment falls over the two of you, something you haven’t felt all day.

“Rafe?”

“Hm?”

His blue gaze settles on you.

“Who would do something like that?” You rasp out.

He pauses for a moment, shrugging a little.

“Probably some maniac. There’s some real fucked up people out there.”

His response doesn’t quell your fears. He notices how your shoulders tense under his arm.

“Did the police say anything about who it could’ve been?”

You remember your time spent answering questions late last night. It feels like forever ago. You’ve tried to block the whole thing out, how it was you who found her body.

You’ll never get that image out of your mind.

“No, they have no idea.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You want to crack a smile at his protectiveness, but your lips end up twitching instead. You feel his heavy gaze on you, it’s almost suffocating knowing that he’s upset just because you are.

But it does make you feel better knowing his heart is in the right place.

Cori and your boyfriend never really got along. A tug of war with you in the middle, both sides of you being pulled. Cori always had something to say about Rafe, how he’s an asshole, frat guy who will just end up breaking your heart.

Rafe, in turn, called her a stuck-up bitch. He told you his theory one night after a few drinks, how Cori must be in love with you if she can’t let you have a boyfriend.

You just rolled your eyes, pinning his crude comment to being drunk.

There were the times where the insults would stop for your sake, and you loved them both for it, for trying.

He might not show it, but you know Rafe is grieving along with you. He may not have liked her, but it’s not like he wanted her dead.

“I don’t think I can ever go back to my dorm.”

The one you and Cori shared.

“You shouldn’t have to. The university should put you in another one or even another building.”

“They’re probably all full until next semester.”

“It doesn’t matter. They can’t expect you to go back there.”

You shake your head slightly. “Believe me, they probably do.”

“Until they move you, you’re staying here.”

“Rafe-.”

He says your name in a chastising way. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, alright? And the guys have no problem with it.”

He glances at the guys around the room. “Right?” He calls out.

“Right,” they half-heartedly yell out.

“Hey, I get it. I don’t think you should go back to your dorm either,” Matt says to Andrea, his hand on her knee as she sits on his lap.

She simply rolls her eyes. “So, you’re going to protect me from this psycho?” She jokingly asks. “You can’t even kill a spider.”

“What are you talking about?” An offended look on his face.

Everyone joins in her laughing, even you breathe out a chuckle.

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone.”

“Even if you could fight this guy off, I can’t leave Simone all alone.”

“Thank you, Andrea. It’s almost like if you don’t have a boyfriend, you deserve to die,” Simone sarcastically says.

You wince a little at her offhand comment.

“You can stay in my room, Simone. I don’t have a problem with it,” Chris says through the chewed-up chips in his mouth.

Simone visibly cringes. “No thanks.”

“I think they’re finally leaving,” Dan says, still peeking out the window.

“Then maybe we should get going.” Andrea eyes Simone.

“You’re leaving?” Matt asks.

You start to zone out at their back and forth. The distraction of the people around you only lasting so long.

The pain in your chest comes back. She’s gone and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You make it through the next few days. The school holds a candlelight vigil for Cori. You thought it would be a nice way to remember her. Instead, you were faced with people who barely knew her, acting like she was their best friend.

You left early.

Your parents offered to come visit you, but you refused, just wanting to get through the rest of the semester. They talked to the university on your behalf, demanding them to move you to a new dorm. The school agreed but said it would be a couple weeks, leaving you to stay with Rafe. He hasn’t left your side, staying true to his word. Which you have to admit, surprises you.

You love him but you can’t call him the perfect boyfriend. Except lately, he’s been everything you want and more. He’s been attentive and affectionate, and getting you anything you want.

When you needed some things from your dorm, he went instead. When you can’t sleep at night, he brings you closer to him, your head on his chest as his heartbeat lulls you to sleep. He always makes sure you fall asleep before him.

Usually when you two spend the night together, he would make some vulgar remark and pressed himself against your ass until you had no choice but to give in to him.

You never felt like he was forcing you, but saying no to him always felt wrong, like you weren’t being a good girlfriend.

But the past few nights, he’s put you first. You haven’t exactly been in the mood for sex, so he hasn’t brought it up.

Except one night, when sleep wouldn’t come to you and the vision of Cori lying cold in her own blood wouldn’t stop pestering you, a distraction felt like the best thing.

Rafe was hesitant at first, asking you whether you’re sure. But once you said yes, he was eager to please you. He pushed your underwear down, making circles on your clit with his tongue, sucking it lightly. You wrapped your fingers in the soft strands of his hair, moaning loud enough for the whole house to hear you.

After you came on his tongue, you expected him to want something in return. Instead, he just sweetly kissed you and let you fall asleep in his arms.

You don’t think you could be more in love with him.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright? I don’t have to go.”

“Rafe, you’ve been glued to my side for the past week. You’re allowed to hang out with your friends.”

You can’t deny that you’re nervous to be alone for the first time since Cori was murdered. But Rafe deserves a fun night without you.

“I wish I could bring you, but Chris wants this to be a night with no girlfriends and-.”

“Rafe.” You cut off his long explanation. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around his middle, your body against his. You leave a quick kiss on his soft lips, smiling just to show him how okay you’ll be.

“I’m just going to get some homework done, then probably go to sleep.”

He nods, stepping away from you, your arms falling from him in the process.

“Don’t have too much fun,” he teases while slipping on a gray jacket.

You playfully roll your eyes before following him down the stairs to the door.

“I love you. Call me if there’s a problem,” he calls out as he steps into the cool, autumn air.

“Will do. I love you too.”

You close the door behind him, leaving you in the empty house. It’s weird to be there when there’s no football blaring from the TV or music blasting from someone’s speakers.

Rafe was the last to leave, deciding to meet the rest of them at the bar. You don’t think too long on being alone, deciding to distract yourself with the paper you have to write.

But after a couple hours, the words on your screen start to blur, dozing off in Rafe’s desk chair.

Before the peaceful promise of sleep can take you in, the doorbell wakes you up.

You blink, looking around the room. Before you can dismiss it as a sound from your subconscious, it rings again.

You make the trek all the way to the front door, swinging it open.

No one is there.

A chill goes up your spine at the cold air hitting you. You step onto the front porch as you shiver, looking around, trying to find your unknown visitor.

You bite your lip, retreating into the house. You push the door closed, making sure to lock it.

You don’t hear anything behind you but when you turn around, you’re faced with a dark figure, dressed in black from head to toe, except for the white on his mask. He towers over you, and you try to figure out if this is a joke.

Before you can ask, you notice the glint of the shiny knife in his hand.

He lunges towards you as a shriek leaves your throat. His hand almost reaches you as you run from his grasp.

You run up the stairs, knees almost buckling. His loud steps follow you and before you can make it to the refuge of Rafe’s room, you feel your attacker grab your shirt, pulling you closer.

He pushes you, your shoulder slamming into the wall. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears as you stare into the dark, empty eyes of the mask in front of you. Your breathing is labored as you feel pinned, his body up against yours.

You know you should try fighting him off, running away. But you can’t move, your muscles frozen as he slowly drags the knife down your chest, between your breasts. One wrong move and you’re a goner.

Something inside you snaps, the adrenaline rush helping you bring your knee to his groin in one movement.

As he bends over in pain, you get away, locking Rafe’s bedroom door behind you.

You use your body to keep the door closed as your attacker pounds on it.  He gives up quickly, the house going quiet. You spot your phone on the desk, dialing 911.

You hang up after the woman tells you the police will be there soon. You try to steady your breathing, hoping the man is gone.

You jump when the doorknob jiggles.

A familiar voice yells out your name.

“Are you alright? Why is the door locked?”

“Rafe?”

A flood of relief washes over you.

“Yes, it’s me, baby. Open the door.”

You open it to find your concerned boyfriend. His brows drawn together.

The tears that have been building finally start to run down your face as you find comfort in his strong arms. You hide your face in his chest, no doubt soaking his shirt. He holds you close to him as he coos in your ear.

“Shh. You’re okay. I’m here now.”

All you can think about is finally feeling safe. You don’t see how the dim lighting casts a sinister shadow on his face, or the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

You try to tell him everything, but your sobbing gets in the way. It doesn’t take long for the police to show up, the red and blue lights shining into the windows, sirens blaring.

They search in and around the house, finding nothing. You give them the full story, a blanket draped over your shoulders.

Rafe stays as close to you as he can, keeping a watchful eye on you. They don’t hesitate to ask him questions also.

“You said you found the front door open?”

“Yes. You think that’s how the guy left?”

“So, from what your girlfriend said, you must’ve gotten here just a few minutes after the attacker left. But you didn’t see anything suspicious?” The officer asks incredulously.

“Just the front door wide open.” Rafe pauses, glancing at you again. “I’m sorry I didn’t see anything else. I was just focused on making sure my girlfriend was okay.”

“I understand.”

“I mean if something had happened to her…” He trails off, looking to the ground.

A pitying look falls over the officer’s face, replacing any suspicion.

“Are you gonna be able to catch this guy? I just don’t want this maniac coming back around here, or anywhere on campus.”

“Yes, we know, Mr. Cameron. We’re working on it.” He leans in closer to him and continues, “Keep an eye on her and call us if you see anything unusual. Thank you for your time.”

He nods to you before getting into his car.

Rafe puts an arm around you as the red and blue disappear.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Andrea’s arms wrap around you tight. She finally lets up as Simone puts a soothing hand on your shoulder.

Andrea continues, a worried look on her face, “That literally sounds so scary. Some guy in a mask chasing you?”

“Thank God you’re such a badass. Or you’d be…” Simone stops herself, not wanting to finish that thought.

“I just don’t know why he would come after me. Or why he went after Cori.”

You blink back tears, promising yourself that you won’t cry anymore.

“So, the police have no idea who it is?” Andrea asks.

You shake your head.

That’s what has been bothering you the most. What does a stranger have against you? You barely slept last night, that mask burned into your vision. You were worried you’d wake up with him right above you, his knife plunging into your heart.

Rafe calmed you down as best as he could, but even he can’t make you feel safe when there’s a killer out there.

As you stared at the dark ceiling, Rafe lightly snoring beside you, the conclusion you came to is the person behind the mask has to be someone you know. Or someone who knows you. How else would they have known you’d be home alone?

That thought scared you more than all this happening by chance. It means you’re being hunted, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Fuck, dude! There’s no way we can throw a party tomorrow night,” Chris yells out to Rafe, his phone in one hand. “The university is placing a mandatory curfew. No one out after 9 o’clock.”

Everyone else in the living room hears him, their attention turned to him. You can tell Rafe is mulling over his options, that faraway look in his eyes. You cross your arms, having hoped for a different kind of reaction.

“A fucking curfew on Halloween! They can’t be serious,” Matt shouts.

“There’s a literal killer on the loose,” Dan says looking at everyone in the room. “One that broke into this house last night, when Y/N was here. Did everyone already forget that?”

“We haven’t. But I guess someone else did,” Andrea says, giving her boyfriend a slight glare.

Matt notices. “I haven’t forgotten. But come on, it’s Halloween.”

Andrea rolls her eyes, not amused. “There are other things to do on Halloween besides getting drunk.”

“You know we throw a party every year, people count on us for this type of thing. Also, we’re all Seniors. We’re not gonna be able to do this next year,” Chris jumps in.

“Grow up! Cori is already gone. Something could happen to any of us,” Simone says with a sneer.

A silence settles over the room.

Rafe is the first one to break it.

“We’ll all be fine, alright? We’re having the party. I’m sure we won’t be the only ones anyway.”

Excitement washes over Chris and Matt’s faces.

Chris pats Rafe’s shoulder, “Yes!”

Him and Matt start planning. Matt muttering, “We need to get the kegs, what else?”

Before they leave for the kitchen, Chris calls out, “And you girls can decorate!” Letting out an obnoxious laugh afterwards.

Dan just shakes his head, heading upstairs.

Your angry eyes are settled on your boyfriend, casually sitting in one of the sofa chairs.

“Really, Rafe? A party?”

His lips part as his eyes meet the floor.

Andrea and Simone shift uncomfortably next to you.

“Are you going to say anything?”

You try to show how upset you are with him, but you can tell it’s bleeding out.

He finally looks up. “Can we have some privacy?” He harshly asks as he moves his eyes between the two girls standing on either side of you.

They silently ask you for your opinion. You just give them a nod.

Once they’re gone, Rafe gets up, walking towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re upset. You love the Halloween party just as much as everyone else, maybe more.”

“It’s not really the time for a party. I won’t have much fun if I have to constantly look over my shoulder.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you continue, “It’s like you don’t care about my feelings at all. I was attacked last night after my best friend was murdered. Something bad could easily happen tomorrow night.”

“But it won’t. You won’t be leaving my side, alright?”

“Rafe, stop with that! You can say that and all, but even you wouldn’t be able to protect me from a guy like that.”

His jaw ticks.

“It seems like only Andrea, Simone, and Dan have any common sense around here.”

“Dan? What, you like him better than me now?”

You let out a sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Dan doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He only said all that because he knows if the killer comes for him next, he’s done for.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“What? It’s true. You’re the one saying that even I couldn’t take this guy down, so how does Dan stand a chance?”

You shake your head, the only thing you can do is let out a sarcastic laugh. This is the Rafe you know and try to love. You should’ve known that all the sweetness and understanding would come crashing down soon enough.

Now that you’ve had a taste of what he could be like, this feels like going from five-star dining to eating McDonalds.

Maybe Cori was right.

“I’m not doing this with you.”

You don’t want to even try and fight with him, knowing it never goes anywhere.

“I’m staying with Andrea and Simone for a few nights.”

He starts to say your name, but you ignore him, running up the stairs.

He doesn’t follow you.

“Should we watch A Nightmare on Elm Street or Halloween?” Simone keeps her eyes on the TV screen.

“Maybe we should watch something with less murder,” Andrea suggests.

“A horror movie without murder. I don’t think they make those.”

“We could watch Hocus Pocus.”

“What, are we 12?”

“Hocus Pocus is fun, no matter how old you are, Simone.”

Their bickering blends into the background as you stare at your phone. You expected that Rafe would have texted you at least once since yesterday. Actually, you thought he would be calling and texting you non-stop.

Instead, radio silence.

You peek past the curtains, spying on the house across the street. You would have to be blind to not notice the huge party happening. You thought more people would listen to the curfew.

Your stomach twists knowing that Rafe is having fun without you, easily able to ignore you, not worrying or checking up on you.

This killer shouldn’t get in the way of you celebrating your favorite holiday.

“I think we should go to the party,” you interrupt them.

They stare at you like you’re speaking gibberish.

“What? Aren’t you scared the killer is going to come back?”

“The truth is, Andrea, the killer could break into here if he wanted to. Maybe it would be better if we were around more people.”

She’s not convinced.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I already got into a whole argument with Matt about not going.”

“I guess you guys don’t have to go. It is just across the street.”

“No, you’re not going alone,” Simone adds.

“We don’t even have costumes,” Andrea sighs out.

“We can wear old ones. I’m sure there’s something around here.”

You start searching through the closet of their dorm room.

Jack o’ lanterns adorn the front porch, along with plastic skeletons and fake cobwebs. The air inside the house is warmer and stickier compared to the cold air outside. Probably because there’s so many people. You swear it’s a bigger party than in the past.

You can barely see who anyone is because of how dark the house is. The colorful lights around the house have been used sparingly. The costumes don’t help much either.

“We should try and stick together,” Simone yells to you and Andrea. Her voice sounds muffled because of the loud music playing, having to work harder to hear her.

The three of you were able to find costumes, somewhat. Normally, yours would be more elaborate, but the best you could do is put on a red dress and devil horns and call it a day.

You and Andrea agree, the three of you moving as one. You trudge through the people around you, finding the drinks in the back of the house. They have everything from kegs to Jell-O shots.

As you all start pouring your drinks of choice, a voice startles Andrea.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming?” There’s an edge to Matt’s voice.

“I changed my mind. I am allowed to do that,” she says nonchalantly, sipping her drink.

“Yeah, after you said I was a horrible person for throwing a party at a time like this.”

You and Simone share a glance, trying not to stare at the heated exchange in front of you.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I still think it wasn’t the best idea, but honestly who knows what’s a good idea. I’ve never had to deal with a serial killer before.”

“Yeah, me neither. But I doubt he’s here, so this is probably safer than being in your dorm.”

“That’s what we figured.” Andrea looks at you and Simone, giving a reassuring smile.

You don’t know what you would do if you didn’t have Andrea and Simone. A friendship like that is more important than any guy, and that’s something you’re coming to terms with.

“I really want to talk to you. Alone, if that’s okay,” he leans in closer to her.

She nods before looking at the two of you again. Before she can say anything else, Simone cuts her off.

“Go ahead. We’ll be fine.”

“See you later,” she says, taking Matt’s hand.

“At least someone’s having fun tonight,” Simone quips before chugging her drink.

You try to have a good time, but you can’t help but look for Rafe in every face you come across. You don’t even know what he dressed up as.

Maybe you shouldn’t have blown up at him like that. Especially, since you’re here anyways.

You also can’t help but scan the faces around you, looking for that mask. The same one that’s been on your mind since you saw it.

After a few drinks, you tell Simone you’ll be right back, declining her offer to go with you.

You think you can handle a few minutes upstairs by yourself.

As you wash your hands, you start to hear commotion coming from downstairs. You turn off the faucet, stopping to listen.

You realize that it’s sirens that you’re hearing. The music cuts out, a loud voice carrying through the house. You can’t tell exactly what they’re saying, but the decrease in noise tells you the party’s being broken up.

It’s probably best to stay in here.

You text Simone, asking her what’s happening.

You decide to take off the horns, leaving them on the counter, your head needing the break from the tight headband.

You check your phone again, still no response.

Once you hear complete silence, you leave the bathroom. You leave your purse and phone in the bathroom, thinking you’ll be back in a couple minutes.

You slowly step down the stairs. The lights are on and the only person you see is Dan.

He’s visibly annoyed, already starting to throw away plastic cups. He quickly notices you, sighing.

“Oh, I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” Before you can explain, he continues, “Have you seen Rafe? Or anyone who lives here? I swear they all disappeared.”

“No. I mean I saw Matt a while ago. He went somewhere with Andrea.”

“Of course,” he scoffs.

“Wait. Are you saying you don’t know where Rafe is? When was the last time you saw him?”

“Around the time people started showing up, I guess.”

“So, what happened? Did the cops show up?”

“Yeah, we got busted for throwing a party after curfew. Like I knew we would. We got a ticket, but I’m sure Rafe can deal with that. It’s the university I’m worried about. Who knows what they’re going to do.”

He looks up at you, finally, setting down the trash bag.

“Anyways, maybe we should try and find Rafe or Matt or someone.”

“Yeah.”

It’s all you can say. The fact that Rafe has completely vanished makes you uneasy, millions of thoughts swarming your brain.

You follow Dan back upstairs, deciding to knock on Matt’s door first.

He tries a few times, even calling out his name.

Nothing.

He hesitates at first but turns the doorknob anyway.

“Matt?”

The room is dark, but you think you see the outline of someone on the other side of the room.

“What the fuck? What am I stepping in?” Dan asks, looking down. “Can you turn the light on?”

You fumble with the light switch, the yellow lightbulb finally turning on.

That’s when you see it. Or him.

“Oh my God,” you say with your hand over your mouth, your lips opening involuntarily.

“Oh shit.”

You both stare at Matt’s mutilated body, slouching in his desk chair. Red soaks his shirt while his arm hangs down, blood dripping to the floor.

Dan looks down at his feet again, immediately stepping back.

It’s puddle of the same crimson that drips from Matt.

You stare at it, realizing that it can’t be from Matt. Your chest feels tight, and you look back at Dan with glassy eyes.

You drag your eyes to the door, knowing that once you look behind it, there’s no going back.

Clenching his jaw, Dan swings the door back.

“No. No. No.” You break down as you find Andrea sitting against the wall, lifeless. Blood stains her lips and chin and you can see where she was stabbed, the white lace of her bra now red.

You tear your eyes away from her, not being able to look at her like that. The girl who could make anyone laugh, gone forever.

You rush into the hallway, the air in the bedroom suffocating you. You feel like you’re going to pass out.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Dan mutters to himself.

Tears have filled his eyes too. He takes a deep breath, collecting himself.

You’re bent over, trying not to throw up all over yourself.

“Y/N. We need to get out of here.”

Your eyes are still on the floor, Dan’s voice sounding like white noise.

He grabs your shoulder, “Y/N! We need to go now!”

You finally look over to see Dan’s wide eyes.

“We need to find Rafe,” you say, your voice cracking.

You can tell Dan wants to say something else, but he settles on agreeing.

“We can’t spend too long on this. If he’s not in his room, we’re leaving,” Dan tells you as you walk to Rafe’s room.

You don’t bother knocking, barging into his room.

Empty.

“His window’s open,” you unconsciously observe.

The curtains billow in the wind.

“That’s probably how the killer got in. We need to get out of this house.”

When you don’t budge, he screams, “Now!”

You snap out of your daze, trying not to think about how your boyfriend could be lying dead somewhere.

You and Dan run to the front door. You can almost taste your escape.

Dan swings open the door so fast, he doesn’t see the dark figure on the other side of the door.

You stop in your tracks and before you can say his name, Dan is yelling out and clutching his abdomen.

It only takes another second for the killer to drive his knife right into Dan’s neck.

You watch in horror, screaming as Dan stops moving.

The gloved hand pulls the knife back out, leaving Dan to fall to the floor with a thud.

Your fear affects you the same as the last time you were in a situation like this. Your feet won’t move even if you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You expect the figure in front of you to run at you, killing you too. Instead, he stands there, tilting his head, as if he’s playing with you.

This is a game after all.

You finally start to budge, deciding that going through the back door would be better than going upstairs like last time.

You see his foot move, fingers adjusting his grasp on the knife. He’s getting ready to chase you, but you take your chances running away anyway.

You sprint through the kitchen, almost reaching the back door. Just as your fingers find the metal of the doorknob, a hand grabs your neck, pulling you back.

You try your hardest to rip the leather clad hand from your skin, you end up pushing against him, moving your body so you can use all your strength to shove him away from you.

His hand slips from you, breathing becoming easier. You use this advantage to run again, this time to the front door.

What you don’t anticipate is how slippery the floor has become. You lose your footing, hands and knees hitting the hard floor. You fall right into the puddle that has grown from Dan’s body, blood covering your exposed skin and the smell of copper filling your nose.

Dan’s lifeless body being this close to you makes you falter, fear clouding your mind.

You’re snapped out of it when you feel a hand on your ankle, trying to drag you towards him.

You let out a scream as he moves your body across the floor. When he lets up a little, you turn around to face him, kicking his leg.

He only falls back a little, but you crawl away from him. You try to stand up, but it’s hard to get traction on your heels from the blood on the floor.

You crawl around Dan’s body, not giving it a glance.

Just as you reach the open door, the killer is faster than you, blocking it with his body, looking down at you.

You take your next best option, finally able to stand up and run up the stairs. You left your phone in the bathroom, you could lock yourself in there and call the police.

You reach the hallway, the bathroom not too far from you.

But you’re just not fast enough.

He catches up to you, not letting you go this time.

He grabs you, pulling you into him, arms wrapping around you tight. The mask rubbing against the side of your face.

His fingers reach up to your neck, roughly tearing off the necklace that you haven’t been able to take off since Cori’s death.

He throws it to the floor, clattering on the hardwood.

Tears stream down you face as you know what’s coming next. You close your eyes tight as you anticipate the sharp blade penetrating your skin.

“I got you, baby.”

You feel everything stop, your blood turning to ice, and your breath catching in your throat.

“You’re okay.”

You slowly open your eyes at the familiar voice. You feel your stomach twisting into knots.

He continues to softly mutter in your ear.

“You’re mine now.”

You feel him shift, reaching up to take off the mask, his hood falling off in the process. You feel something in you break as you find his dirty blond hair and blue eyes.

There’s no more denying that it’s him.

It’s your boyfriend under the mask.

He throws the mask to the floor but keeps his knife in one hand.

Sobs erupt out of your mouth, it’s all you can do.

You feel him nuzzle into you, his lips on the top of your head. He tries to shush you, comforting you in his own twisted way.

That’s when you feel it, something poking your backside. It’s not his knife. You tear yourself away from his arms, wanting to get as far away from his as you can.

You try to still your trembling lip.

“What is wrong with you, Rafe?” Your voice is hoarse, but you struggle through the words.

You stare at him, still having a hard time processing everything that has happened in the last half hour.

His brow furrows like he doesn’t understand why you’re upset with him.

“I just wanted to protect you,” he says with a heaviness.

“Protect me from what? You’re the one who hurt… our friends.” Another sob leaves your lips.

“They were trying to get between us. Trying to… take you away from me.”

You can see the tears starting to fill his eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“I thought killing Cori would be enough. She always said you that you were too good for me. And sometimes… I thought you loved her more than you loved me.”

He tries to blink the tears away, but they fall down his cheeks.

You’re speechless, the words not forming so he continues.

“But then Andrea, and Simone,” he pauses, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t leave you alone, and they didn’t have to say what I knew they were thinking.” Something settles in his eyes, darkness filling his voice. “So, I did what I had to do.”

“Wait, Simone? You-.” Your voice catches, the realization hitting you that she didn’t get away.

“I caught her outside before she could leave.”

Your tears fall into your mouth. All you can taste is the saltiness of them.

“Why Dan?”

“Dan always had a thing for you. I just didn’t think he would ever try doing anything about it,” Rafe spits out angrily, his eyes hardening. “Then all of a sudden, you’re telling me that you like him better.”

Your eyes shut, not believing what you’re hearing. “That’s not what happened. You still think that’s what I was saying?”

“That is what happened, Y/N. See, you don’t even realize how they were getting into your head.”

“No one was-.” You stop yourself, finding it to be no use arguing with him. “What’s your excuse for killing Matt? I barely even talked to him.”

“Matt was a tragic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But getting rid of him was for the best, I don’t need any loose ends.”

“Did you kill Chris too?”

You don’t even want to ask.

A sickening grin makes its way onto Rafe’s face.

“No. Chris is passed out in his room, thanks to what I slipped into his drink. I need someone alive to pin all this on.”

You take a second to think about his words.

“You’re going to frame an innocent man?”

“It’s either me or him. And it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.”

The nausea has gotten worse.

“Also, Chris is a douchebag, even you have to agree with that.”

“You’re sick, Rafe,” you say quietly.

The look on his face tells you he didn’t hear you.

“You’re sick,” you say with vitriol.

He steps closer to you, so you quickly step back.

“Stay away from me!”

He puts his hands up defensively, the knife still between his fingers.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I did this for us.”

“You just chased me all over the house! And what about that other night?”

“I thought scaring you would bring you closer to me.”

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry until you have nothing left in you.

You feel hopeless until you look over and see Rafe’s room, the plan of how you’re getting out of here already forming in your mind. Just lock him out and leave through the window.

You see his eyes follow yours and you dash for his door, trying to close it on him.

But just like he’s faster than you, he’s also stronger than you. He pushes the door open so hard. The doorknob cracks the wall.

“You still think you can get away from me? This is me going easy on you.”

“Rafe, please.”

You don’t know what else to do.

As you inch closer to the window, he grabs you away from it, your back being pushed against his chest.

“You want to know the other reason I chased you?” His warm breath tickles your ear.

I also thought it was fun. You being the helpless victim and all. Playing with you, leading you right where I wanted you.”

The knife in his hand is back at your chest, he trails it along your exposed skin, blood being left in its trail.

“Stop, Rafe. You’re scaring me.”

“Good.”

He moves the knife to your shoulder. You gasp as he cuts the strap of your dress with the blade.

“You know, it took everything in me not to bend you over and shove my cock inside you that night. And I could’ve, you were so scared, you would’ve let me do anything I wanted to you.”

He takes a second to glance over you, how your chest heaves, drinking you in with his hungry gaze.

“It’s not like you’ve been giving me much to work with. I’ve had to use all of the restraint I have, hoping it would mean you trusted me more. But instead, you blow me off, treating me like I’m second best,” he says the last sentence through clenched teeth.

Moving you closer to the bed, he pushes you down, pinning you down with his weight.

“I should’ve just taken you while you were sleeping next to me. Pinned to the mattress, no choice but to feel me deep inside you.”

You look up at him, his face blurry as you blink back the tears, lashes drenched.

“I would’ve done it if I had known it was going to be the only way for you to realize you’re mine. And only mine.”

He keeps the knife at your shoulder, pressing it into the skin, just enough to draw blood. You hiss at the pain, and he watches the deep red come to the surface.

He doesn’t waste a second before his mouth is on your wound, licking it, giving it a kiss.

He moves away, your blood staining his lips.

You’re horrified at the image.

But the taste is worse.

He presses his lips to your own. You try to keep your mouth closed, but he pushes his tongue inside, the taste of copper filling your mouth.

The feeling of leather on your thigh alarms you. He squeezes your skin before reaching under your dress, dipping a finger into your underwear.

“Please, Rafe. Stop,” more sobs rack your body.

He ignores your pleas as his lips find your neck. You push his shoulder, trying to get him off you. But he stays put, his finger continuing to rub you.

He adds another finger, pushing into your cunt. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. He moves them inside you, harsh in his movements. While he works you open, his mouth marks up your neck. Kissing, licking, and biting. Anything to get a reaction out of you.

You try to ignore the pleasure building inside you and you’re glad when he takes his fingers out of you. But that feeling doesn’t last for long.

Your stomach drops as he pushes your underwear down, fumbling with his jeans.

“Rafe!” You try pleading again, kicking and shoving, anything to get him off you.

Instead, Rafe puts all of his weight on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the bed.

His lips part as he thrusts inside you, a strangled cry leaving your throat at the feeling of him stretching you open.

He keeps one of his hands on both of your wrists, bringing the other to your mouth, moving his fingers past your lips. You can taste yourself on the leather, and a hint of copper. Your stomach twists at not knowing where, or who, it’s from.

He pushes them down your throat, making you gag. His pace gets harder and quicker as he trails his spit-soaked fingers to your throat. Fear runs through your veins as he wraps his fingers around your neck.

“You’re mine,” he says through quick breaths. “And if you ever try to leave…”

He stares at your teary gaze, his thrusts becoming easier with how your body ignores your horror, betraying you instead.

“Just know how easy it is for me to do this.” He squeezes harder around your neck. “I could wring this pretty neck anytime I want.”

He lets up and a sob leaves your mouth.

You look up at him, trying to find the man you fell in love with.

The man who never let you leave his sight without a kiss or let you pay for dinner.

He looks like him, but there’s something different about his gaze, a darkness that wasn’t there before.

Or maybe you just never noticed it.

He pauses his movements as he flips you around, treating you like a ragdoll that he can use and do whatever he wants with.

A moan escapes you as he pushes back inside you. You can hear his skin slapping against yours, his pace almost unbearable. His moans have gotten louder, and you feel his hand on your head, keeping it glued to the mattress.

You can feel your orgasm approaching, horrified, but also not fighting against it.

You have no fight left in you.

Something snaps inside you, and you feel the pleasure wash over you. A whimper leaving your throat.

Your walls squeeze around him, and a groan escapes his lips. He stills, spilling into you.

He replaces his hand with his lips, kissing your hair and breathing you in.

“I’m not ever letting you go,” he whispers against you.

~

It used to be something innocent. 

When days felt long and dreary, or entirely too empty, you found yourself wandering through the woods.  

It was your way of connecting to something living when the world of the small town of Jericho wasn’t so forgiving. Roots deep in the earth growing and breathing with tree trunks like bone. When the wind blew through the branches, shaking leaves, it sounded like they were whispering. They were better than most humans.  

Your favorite was the Skull Tree.  

It was the tree children made up stories about to scare their friends. A dare no one ever wanted to complete because of the possibility of those stories being true. Some said it was a portal to hell. Others said a body was buried at the base of the tree. Either way it creeped out every normie kid in Jericho. 

You heard that even Nevermore kids had their tales about it. 

You can’t deny that the stories frightened you as a child. You couldn’t have been paid money to go near the tree. 

But just like most things from childhood, you outgrew that fear.  

All it is, is a tree that has a trunk that resembles a human skull. Of course, you admired that fact. That nature was able to grow something so different than all the rest. 

You visited the tree on the days you felt the loneliest. When you wished someone would just listen to you. You don’t believe any of the stories about the tree are true. 

But you’ve wondered if someone really is buried there. You decided you would never know for sure, and for some reason it became a habit that you would speak to this hypothetical corpse.  

You would sit under the tree for hours, talking about your life, sometimes almost waiting for a response back.  

It was something that comforted you, something ridiculous, but it helped make those cruelly cold late afternoons feel warmer. 

You were content with that being your life. It might have been lonely, but it felt safe. 

Until someone slipped through the cracks of the walls you built around yourself. 

Rain softly hits the windows while piercing screams ring out from the TV. The soft light from the screen illuminates your face.  

You sit on the couch, alone, watching a slasher movie you’ve seen about a hundred times before.  

It feels like the right kind of night for it. Neighbors have already started putting out freshly carved jack-o-lanterns.  

You revel in the fact that your parents went out, leaving you to have the house to yourself for the night.  

You can eat popcorn straight out of the bag and watch the goriest movie as loudly as you want. It doesn’t matter how old you are. They still treat you with the same kind of rules you had in high school. 

Your eyes are glued to the TV as a tense scene begins. Everything is quiet, except for the music that is supposed to make your heart beat faster in anticipation. You know exactly what is going to happen, but you feel the way the main character does, fearful as they walk through the creepy old house. 

Just when the killer comes out of the shadows, you hear a booming thud at the front door. Almost like someone is using the weight of their body to knock instead of their knuckles. 

You freeze, immediately pausing the movie. You think maybe it was just a random noise outside or it’s the sound of your parents getting home. 

Until you hear it again. 

Now the fear you feel is real. This isn’t a movie. You don’t know if someone is trying to break into your house or just pulling a prank on you. 

Your heart races as the thundering noise continues. You decide your only choice is to open the door and see what it is for yourself. 

Before you do, you grab a knife from the kitchen. One with a glistening sharp edge. Your arm trembles a little as you keep the knife by your side. Swinging the door open, you expect to see a bunch of kids or some creepy man ready to murder you.  

It’s neither of those things.  

What you do see leaves you with your jaw dropping and your brow furrowing. It’s difficult for you to even comprehend. 

You almost think it’s someone dressed in a costume until the strong scent of death and decay invades your nostrils.  

With a closer look, you realize his skin is rotting, the bone underneath apparent. 

You don’t understand how this could be, how there could be a seemingly undead creature right on your doorstep.  

He stands there, unmoving, wet from the rain and just staring at you, watching every twitch of your brow. 

Until finally, he groans and his leg moves, trying to step into your house. 

You blink as if you’ve been woken up from a drug-induced coma, and you scream. The sound erupts from your mouth before you can even think. 

You quickly try to grab the side of the door, meaning to close it on him and keep him out.  

But he stops you with an unassumingly strong hand, pushing the door open wider as he makes his way over the threshold.  

Another cry falls from your lips before you run up the stairs, not thinking through your escape plan. 

You rush into your bedroom, closing the door and collapsing against the painted wood. You try to steady your breaths when you look down at your empty hand. Panic floods you as you realize the knife you were holding must have slipped out of your hand. 

Your breath hitches as you hear heavy footsteps getting closer to your bedroom. You keep your weight against the door, hoping that would be enough to stop this creature from getting to you. 

But hope isn’t enough to keep him out.  

Determined to get into your bedroom, he doesn’t let up until he pushes the door open so hard that you fall to the floor. 

With the plush carpet beneath you, the creature towers over you, staring at you with dead eyes.  

All you can do is look up at him with unshed tears building. This is it, you think. You would’ve done things a lot differently if you had known you were going to be murdered in your own home by a zombie. 

He takes one step closer to you, and you instinctively screw your eyes shut, waiting for the end. 

Except, you hear the footsteps go past you, and you sit there waiting while nothing happens. 

You finally open your eyes, turning around to find the creature more interested in the iPad sitting on your desk. 

His gloved fingers trace the screen, his hand jerking back when it lights up. 

It only takes him a second before he starts to press on the bright icons on the screen. 

You watch this, confused but slightly endeared, almost like you’re watching something innocent experience the world for the first time. 

Swallowing down any nervousness, you stand up with unsteady legs. You step closer to him while still maintaining a safe distance.  

“Who are you?” You ask softly like you’re just voicing your curiosity out loud, but you don’t expect a reply. 

He looks at you, regarding you with a stare that lingers a little too long. You wonder if he’s trying to tell you something with only his eyes. 

He looks away. His eyes are not on anything specific until they stop on a picture you have on your wall. 

You follow his gaze and find the picture you took of the Skull Tree last autumn, right when the leaves were turning to bright shades of honey and cinnamon.  

You stare at the picture with him for a moment before you turn back toward him, realization lighting up your eyes. Your lips part, not knowing what to say before you finally whisper, “It’s true.” 

“Those stories are true,” you continue, the absurdity of the situation still sinking in. “But how-.” You stop yourself, knowing you won’t get an answer.  

His attention shifts around your bedroom, taking in the things you own and the way you’ve decorated the space.  

You cross your arms, unsure of what to do or say. It doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt you, but what do you do with him? Even if you made him leave, where would he go? 

You don’t have much time to consider your options before you hear your parents’ car pull up in the driveway.  

The creature is oblivious to your panic before you grab his arm, pulling him into your closet.  

“Stay here,” you tell him firmly before closing the door, cloaking him in darkness. 

After you go downstairs and bid your parents goodnight, making sure they haven’t found anything out of the ordinary, you return to your bedroom. 

You hear it as the door clicks shut. A quiet ticking sound, like a clock that has been muffled. It’s something you wouldn’t hear unless complete silence surrounded you. 

Unsure of where it could be coming from, you open the door to your closet. The sound is a little louder, but the creature is still standing there, waiting for you to come back. 

You let out a short sigh, deciding you have no choice but to keep him. 

You forget about the ticking sound, telling the creature that he can stay, but he cannot leave your room under any circumstances. 

He just stares at you with that same deadened gaze, his face unmoving, but you think he understands. 

So, your life adjusts to living with a zombie. 

Once the fear that he’s going to eat you completely goes away, it’s kind of nice to have someone there with you. 

You stop taking walks in the woods. Instead going straight home after your shift ends at Ghosts in the Attic, a local antique shop. 

You spend your afternoons rambling about your day to the creature. You think he must be listening because he keeps his eyes on you the entire time and sometimes, he’ll groan in response to something. 

You start to notice changes in his appearance, only when you wake up in the morning or get home from work. His flesh doesn’t seem so decayed, and his bones aren’t peeking through anymore. His hair is growing longer. Almost like he’s becoming more alive.  

You don’t understand it. But you also don’t understand how he was reanimated in the first place. 

Everything seems like it’s going well. Besides a curious thump from upstairs every now and then that they shake their heads at, your parents never give any indication that they think you’re harboring a zombie in your bedroom. 

Until your mother complains to you about dirty footprints on her new rug. 

She tries to blame you, angry that you tracked mud into the house. All you can do is apologize and help her clean it up. 

But you know who the culprit is. 

You try to explain to him that he can’t be seen by anyone or something terrible might happen. You don’t know what upsets you more, that someone less understanding than you could put him back in the ground or that he wants to leave, and he might find something more interesting than you. 

Just thinking about it makes your chest tighten and leaves a tear falling down your cheek. 

Suddenly, you feel the smooth texture of his gloved thumb wiping the tear off your face.  

He sits next to you on the side of your bed. You stare at him, blinking away your tears. He’s changed so much since he showed up on your front porch. He stopped smelling like a corpse a long time ago. But he still hasn’t said a word to you. And you wonder if he ever will. 

All the while, he doesn’t move his gaze from you. Something unbeknownst to you hidden in his dark eyes. 

You look away first, blinking away the rest of your tears and trying to swallow down the embarrassment you feel. 

“You can sleep in my bed tonight,” you say after a while. You don’t see the harm in it, and the closet probably isn’t comfortable for him anymore. It probably never was. 

And maybe it’s your way of making sure he stays. 

You’re already in your pajamas, so you turn off the light and settle into bed. He hesitates, just watching you for a moment before following you and lying on top of the covers on the other side of the bed. 

He still wears the long brown coat he showed up in and lies flat on his back, rigidly, like he’s in a coffin. 

He keeps as much space as he physically can between the two of you. It hurts your feelings a little bit, but exhaustion clouds your mind.  

“Goodnight,” you whisper to him before you drift off to sleep. 

You don’t know that he turns his head to watch you as your breathing steadies. It isn’t the first time. Since you let him into your house, he’s made it a habit to watch you sleep during the night. 

He waits a little while before he gets out of bed. Footsteps deft as he walks over to your side. 

Moonlight washes over him as he looms over you. He brings his hand to your cheek, his touch ghosting your skin. You don’t stir. 

He whispers something to you, his voice gravelly, proof it hasn’t been used in decades. 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

~ 

You wake up the next morning, blinking the blurriness away before you find the other side of your bed empty. 

You immediately sit up, eyes scanning your room for any sign of the creature. You get up and check your closet. Worry rises in your chest when you find nothing but your clothes. 

You run downstairs thinking your parents might have found him. Instead, you find them in the kitchen, sipping coffee, and making breakfast. 

They notice the look on your face and try to ask you what’s wrong. Ignoring them, you go through every room in the house, looking for him. 

But you don’t find him. 

You can’t stop the tears that well up, an old, buried feeling taking hold of you. One you haven’t felt since your boyfriend of six months broke up with you in high school. 

But you push it down, telling yourself to stop crying.  

He made his decision and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

~ 

You worried the weight of your loneliness would be even heavier now that you don’t have anyone waiting for you when you get home. 

But it quickly becomes something you forget about when you’re told to train a new girl at work.  

She’s a little older than you and someone you haven’t met before in the small town of Jericho. And after she tells you how much she likes your outfit, you two become fast friends. 

It becomes a ritual to get coffee with her after work. So, when you get home, you don’t think about what is missing. 

She even invites you to a Halloween party that she’s hosting, casually mentioning that there will be a lot of cute guys there. She’s made it her mission to try and find you a boyfriend by the holidays.  

You finally feel happy, or at least not sad. You try not to think about the creature, even if you can’t help the fact that he crosses your mind at least a few times a day. 

Sometimes you wonder if you imagined the whole thing. There being no trace of him anywhere. 

It isn’t until Halloween morning that you finally hear something about him. You find your parents huddled around the TV, a local newscaster’s voice blaring through the house. 

“The Jericho Police Department has concluded that a recent string of homicides are connected. The victims appear to have had their brains removed from their skulls. There is no suspect at this time but...” 

You can hear your parents murmuring in shock while you try to process what you just heard. 

Could he be doing this? You almost feel stupid for even wondering. Who else could be eating people’s brains? 

But something makes you stop. But he was around you for all that time, why did he spare you? 

~ 

Darkness has replaced the bright blue of the sky and from the number of times your doorbell has rung, you don’t think the murders have deterred anyone from going out. 

You finish getting dressed in your costume and head downstairs. Your parents are horrified by the killings and have told you about a million times that you shouldn’t go out. 

You ignore them, seeing how hypocritical they are as they hand the kids at their door candy. 

They send grimaces your way but let you walk out the front door into the chilly air. 

It’s only a five-minute walk to get to Lisa’s house. And when you get there, you think she must have invited everyone in Jericho. 

You squeeze through groups of people dressed in everything from angels and devils to niche costumes like Drew Barrymore from Scream. 

The music is deafening and shakes the floor you stand on. Everyone is either bathed in red, purple, or green light. You wouldn’t want to be the one to clean this place up in the morning. 

Finally, you spot Lisa in the kitchen waving at you to come over to her.  

She pulls you into a tight hug, telling you how much she loves your costume. You say the same to her, being careful not to crush her fairy wings. 

“I want you to meet someone,” she yells over the music, gesturing toward the man standing next to her. 

You hadn’t even noticed him, but he smiles at you, shaking your hand. 

He tells you his name, but you can’t tell if he says Justin or Austin. 

So, you just nod and yell your name at him. 

A moment passes that feels too awkward for your liking. 

“I’m going to get another drink,” Lisa says before loudly whispering something in your ear. 

“Good luck.” 

She grins at you before vanishing into a crowd of people. 

Your mouth twists up. You had hoped she wasn’t serious about setting someone up with you. Now you’re stuck with a man dressed in a toga, which might be one of the worst costumes someone could pick. 

You suffer through small talk with him, but you only hear about every three words he says. You let him get you a drink, watching him pour it. But the alcohol isn’t helping the night get any better. 

“You want to go somewhere quieter? It’ll be easier to talk.” 

You don’t exactly hear the words that come out of his mouth, so you just smile and nod. He walks toward the stairs, and you think he needs to use the bathroom. Except he waits for you at the bottom, motioning for you to follow him. 

Unsure of what to do, you end up following him up the stairs. 

He knocks on a couple doors until he finds an empty bedroom.  

You carefully step into the dimly lit room. You think about turning around, making an excuse about why you have to leave, but then he closes the door, standing in front of it. 

Clearing your throat, you glance around the room, doing anything to not have to look at him. 

It is quieter up here. Too quiet. 

“You’re really hot, you know.” His voice sounds too close. You turn around, finding him right behind you, staring at you like you’re a piece of meat to be eaten. 

If you weren’t so uncomfortable, you would wonder if there was a thought behind those eyes. 

You keep your gaze glued to the floor, hoping he would take the hint that you aren’t interested. 

If he does see that you aren’t, he doesn’t care. 

He lunges forward, trying to catch your lips. You move out of the way just in time.  

“I’m sorry...” You try to remember his name but come up with nothing. “But I want to go back downstairs.” 

“Why would you want that when it’s more fun up here?”

You don’t have any time to react before he’s lunging at you again, pinning you against the dresser.  

He grabs at you, and you try to push him away, yelling at him to stop. 

Bile rises in your throat, and your chest clenches in fear. 

Until he stops.  

You open your eyes and find that the man has been pulled away from you, another figure behind him. 

Confusion is written on the toga man’s face as he turns around.  

“What the hell-.” 

His sentence is prematurely stopped.  

Your eyes widen in horror as you watch the top of his head get bitten into and his brain be sucked right out of his skull. 

Your nails dig into the wood of the dresser while all you see is red. 

His body hits the floor with a deafening thud. Blood pours out of him, staining the carpet beneath him. 

Your savior licks his lips, blood still sticking to them and staining his chin. He finally meets your gaze, his eyes softening slightly. 

You know it’s him. The creature. But he looks almost nothing like the last time you saw him. You recognize the coat he’s wearing and the dark curls that have grown longer, falling onto his unblemished skin. 

Looking at him now, you never would have thought that he used to be a corpse made of rotting flesh.  

The only remnants of his former condition being a sickly pallor to his face and the dark circles under his eyes. 

But he might have looked like that before he died. 

He steps over the body on the floor, almost closing the gap between you. 

You flinch, unsure of what he’s going to do. 

He stops, eyeing you closely. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

You watch his lips as he speaks. And you feel a flutter in your chest when you hear his voice. 

He speaks softly, as if you’re a bird he’s trying to catch, not wanting you to fly away just yet. 

You believe him because you know he had plenty of chances to hurt you, but he didn’t. 

Almost like a reflex, your eyes fall onto the body on the floor. No breaths being taken and blood still seeping out of him like a leak that can’t be fixed. 

The creature who doesn’t look like a creature anymore keeps his gaze on you, knowing exactly what you’re looking at. 

“Did you have to...” you struggle to find the words. “...eat him?” 

He takes another careful step toward you. “The world isn’t going to miss an asshole like him,” he says slowly, letting each word sink in. “Don’t you think?” 

His dark eyes bore into you, and you realize they still have a dead-like quality to them. You swallow, knowing he only wants to hear one answer from you. 

So, you nod, showing that you agree, but you can’t fix the uneasy look on your face. 

One side of his mouth curls up, small lines forming on his cheek. It almost looks like a smile, but it feels cold, lacking joy or humor. 

“And if I hadn’t eaten all those brains, I wouldn’t look like this.” 

He finishes his sentence by placing his hand under your chin, still gloved, rubber pressing into your skin. 

He’s the closest he’s ever been to you, and you can hear that ticking sound again. 

“And that’s what you wanted.” You knit your brows together as he continues, “Because if I had stayed the way I was before, you wouldn’t even want to be near me.” 

He keeps your head pushed up, his hold becoming more painful.  

You start to shake your head, trying to tell him that isn’t true. 

“The closet,” he interrupts, his voice fuller, frustration in his tone. 

“I’m sorry,” you struggle out. “I didn’t know what to do. I never wanted you to leave.” 

He blinks, your last sentence making him falter. 

“Well, I’m back now.” He removes his hand from you.  

“How did you even find me?” 

“I haven’t been that far away.” 

You’re not sure how that makes you feel. Creeped out because he’s been watching you or relieved because he didn’t leave you for the reasons you thought. 

You want to say his name, feeling the syllables on your tongue. But you realize you don’t know it. 

“I just feel like I don’t know anything about you. But you probably know everything about me.” 

He sighs through his nose, glancing at the floor for a second before locking eyes with you. 

“All I know is some sort of electrical charge brought me back to life. And the first thing on my mind when I woke up from my slumber was you. I didn’t know why. I just knew I had to find you.” 

His long fingers trace your neck, his thumb finding your cheek. 

Your eyes drift from his, finding the eye contact suddenly agonizing. 

“Now it makes perfect sense to me.” 

Your eyes dart back to his, and he seems suffocatingly close, but in the way where you don’t mind feeling the agony of your breath being taken from your lungs. 

He tilts his head before his lips softly touch yours. He pauses and you can see him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It’s almost like he’s hesitating. 

You see the crimson stains on his mouth and decide that you don’t care, and that you need him, in more ways than one. 

You meet him with an open-mouthed kiss, and he doesn’t waste a second in returning it. It’s messy as tongues lick into each other’s mouths and teeth clash together. You taste copper on your tongue and realize you’re practically licking it off his lips. 

His teeth bite into your bottom lip and beads of blood fall onto his tongue. He drinks what little you give him, a deep hum resonating in his throat. 

You can feel the evidence of his arousal pressed into you before he finally tears his mouth from yours.  

He tries to catch his breath, his mouth right next to your ear.  

Then you hear him whisper something. 

A name. 

You can see him glancing at you from the corner of his eye.  

Isaac 

The name nestles between your ribs like it’s a part of you. 

You bring a hand to his chest, expecting to feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart. 

Instead you feel something cold and hard, nothing beating, only a machine ticking. 

He stands up straight, gently moving your hand away from him. Your eyes narrow, trying to understand. 

With his lips in a firm line, his nimble fingers unbutton the white shirt underneath his coat. In one swift movement, he shows you the open cavity in his chest, where his clockwork heart sits, ticking away. 

He watches you stare, marveling at the contraption that keeps him alive, and probably helped reanimate him in the first place. 

His pride swells, seeing you amazed at his own invention.  

Before you can even ask, he tells you of his organic weak heart and how he had to create this machine to keep himself alive. 

Before something else entirely took his life away. 

He gently grabs your hand that rests on your thigh, bringing it to his mechanical heart. You almost protest, but he lets you trace the outline of the cogs, feeling the cold metal on your skin. 

“Isaac,” you whisper, not able to verbalize what you’re feeling. 

His eyelids flutter shut before he guides your hand farther down his chest to the waist of his pants.  

He stops you there, hesitating again. So, you move your hand yourself. 

You drag your fingers over the outline of his erection. A groan falls from his lips. 

You unbutton his pants, hand brushing over his cock. 

Another groan. 

Now it’s your turn to guide his hand to your upper thigh, closer to your aching core. 

Slipping his glove off, it doesn’t take him long for him to see how soaking wet you are. 

The flesh of his fingers finds the inside of your cunt, methodically fucking you, pressing into your spongy walls. His thumb traces circles into your clit, while you try to bite your lip, moans erupting from you anyway. 

You continue to stroke the veiny flesh of his cock, pre-cum leaking from his flushed tip. 

You can feel your stomach tightening, getting closer to the edge. Isaac’s breathing becomes more ragged, the muscles in his face twitching. 

A cry is torn from you as you’re pushed over the edge, your orgasm consuming you. 

Isaac’s other hand sits on your thigh, but suddenly his fingers dig into your skin as his breathing stutters. His cum paints your thighs, making them sticky and warm. 

A painful ache reverberates through you like you want more. He removes his fingers from you, sticky with your own evidence of pleasure. 

He licks them clean, not breaking eye contact with you. 

It’s only fair you do the same.  

So, you scoop up his seed from your sweltering skin and put it on your tongue, letting the saltiness fall down your throat. 

He watches you, his mouth twitching. 

He surprises you with a kiss before adjusting himself, fixing his clothes. 

Your eyes fall to the floor again.