The Slasher Lover

Of course your name wouldn’t be on the list of the dead, never your name. You would be missing, already halfway to California with Corey to hide from the man who killed all of your friends. The man who Corey saved you from. The man who was still at large, armed and dangerous, who could be looking for you to finish what he started. 

Or you would be interviewed at the scene. The camera zooming in on your crumpled face. Swollen lips and tear-glazed eyes, lit blue and red by spinning police lights. Thick, dark blood still dripping from your trembling hands. Terrified, but unharmed. The sole survivor. 

He flips open his box of cigarettes. It was full this morning. Now the few that remain rattle around with a soft, hollow sound. As with every time he’s opened this box today, he considers his lucky. As with every time he’s opened this box today, he pulls one of the other three instead. 

He can’t turn his violence on your friends. Delicious though it may be, the fantasy of outdoing Michael is only that — a fantasy. There are just too many people. People whose idea of a good time is smashing into each other until their skin is black with bruises, drunk and stoned and numb to pain, armed with pocket knives and cat-shaped brass knuckles on their keychains. If he stormed up there, the only name on the news would be his. 

A few weeks ago he convinced you to tint your windows, making them the darkest the state of Georgia allows. A little extra privacy couldn’t hurt. But there is no privacy when they’re rolled all the way down so he doesn’t die like a dog in a mall parking lot. Not that the thought hadn’t occurred to him. How long would it take to have a heat stroke in here? He wondered. He might’ve gone through with it if you weren’t so attached to this goddamn car. With his luck he’d wind up haunting the fucking thing. Your eternal passenger, forced to watch you drive Veronica and Rose and His Replacement around until your transmission finally gives out. 

But you are attached to it, and the windows are down, and Corey sits up to look around, craning his fucked up neck and looking in all the mirrors, listening for voices in the woods. 

He lights the cigarette. When he’s certain he won’t be seen, he crosses his legs, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. He hikes his pant leg up and shoves his boot and sock down halfway off his foot. The blisters surrounding the circles of seared flesh left by previous cigarettes glisten in the sun. He hovers the lit end over his milky skin, where the sparse red hair fades to nothing. Just as he’s about to press down, he hears footsteps, approaching fast. He drops his foot back to the floor, jamming his sock and his boot back on.

The footsteps slow and there’s movement in the passenger side mirror. Then you’re there, resting your arms in the open window, grinning at him.

“You gonna sit out here and smoke the whole pack? Don’t you know them things are bad for you?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah. I think the box says something about it.”

Blood roars in his ears from the anticipation of the act you thwarted. New heat floods his cheeks, already flushed from roasting in the car. What he was doing, what he was thinking, must be written all over his face. He waits for you to snarl in disgust when you notice it. Instead you laugh, giving him The Smile. As if he deserves it after imagining slaughtering everyone you know. As if he has ever deserved it.  

The Smile doesn’t falter. You make no indication that you have any idea what you interrupted. You just offer him a bottle of water, apologizing for its temperature. 

“I’m so glad I found you. Is your phone dead? I tried calling and texting you but it wouldn’t go through.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket. It’s relatively fully charged, 78%. The problem is displayed on the screen next to the battery life. A big, bold letter E. Emergency Service Only. 

“Well, shit! I was starting to get worried. I looked all over for you, but I should’ve come to the car first.” You reach out to put your hand on his face, swiping sweat off his cheek with your thumb. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

Corey looks into your eyes. You missed him like you said you would. When your calls went unanswered, you were worried. All those people it was so good to see, everyone who hugged you and kissed you and complained that it’s been too long since they saw you. You should’ve been hanging out with them, but you weren’t. You were looking everywhere for him.

“I love you too,” he says.

You lean into the window and press your lips against his. He softens like warm wax, and your kiss reshapes him, just a little.

“Ready to go back up there?”

Corey nods slowly. The danger of being recognized hasn’t gone anywhere, but with his jealousy appeased, he’s at least less of a threat to the other party goers. He can endure a few more hours. For you.

On the way back up to the house you grab his arm and drape it over your shoulders. “Come here,” you say. “I’m not leaving your side for the rest of the night.” 

Corey clamps his arm around you and pulls you as close to him as he can.

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The jog down to the car isn’t long, but it’s plenty of time to feel like a complete idiot. Bringing Corey was such a stupid, obvious mistake. You knew he wasn’t ready for a situation with this many people. After Rose let the cat out of the bag, you tried to be neutral about it. Avoid making him feel rejected by telling him you want him there, that you’ll be thinking about him all night if he stays home. Avoid making him feel pressured by telling him you understand that it’s a big step and that he didn’t have to come if he was uncomfortable with the idea. You never imagined he would actually agree to be here. 

Does he think because he met Veronica, he has to say yes every time now? You wish you’d discouraged him, insisted that he spend some quality time with a toaster that needed rewiring or something instead. Bringing him here could be setting a dangerous precedent. 

You can’t go back in time, and you can’t take him home yet. Technically you can leave whenever you want. It’s just that there are certain expectations. Gordon might not be set on a number yet. Now is not the time to disappoint him. All you can do is take care of Corey until there’s an inconspicuous time get him out of here.  You sit as near to him as you can, encouraging him to lean over the arm of his lawn chair to rest his head on your shoulder. When you introduce him to Gordon you relinquish your hold on him just long enough for a brief handshake before you lock your fingers back between Corey’s where they belong. You find quiet moments as often as you can, lagging behind the group or pulling him into a corner to check in.

“Do you need anything?” You rotate in his arms to give him a real hug, squeezing him until he flexes and returns the pressure. “Just like, two more hours.” You cup his face in your hands and study him. “How does your skin feel? I don’t think you burned. You look a little tan, but not burnt.” You kiss the tip of his nose.

It seems like it works, making him the least agitated he’s been all day. Not not agitated, but improved enough that he doesn’t disappear on you again.

Of course, keeping Corey so close makes you feel better too. Even as he broods by your side, you’re proud to be here with him.  Showing him off feels good. You want everyone to see you wrapped up in a beautiful boy’s arms, finally safe in a reciprocal relationship. You play it up even more when you cross paths with the dude who tried to talk to you earlier, still lurking around but unwilling to approach when you’re glued to the boyfriend he insulted. So much for being a real man. 

“Are you thirsty?” You hand Corey the water you’re sipping. “Not much longer now.” You tousle his hair. “I can’t wait to get you home.” You slide your hand into his back pocket and covertly grab his ass.  

The food finally comes off the smoker. You and Corey lumber through the line as a two headed hybrid with six limbs. He only unstitches his arms from your waist when you arrive at the plates. After dinner the crowd dwindles, shifting the center of the party. A few stragglers stay outside to tend the fire, but most of the remaining guests migrate into the house. The first phase of the day is over. Everyone who had to leave early has gone home, and no one who had to come later is here yet. 

Veronica, Drew, and a handful of other friends cluster around the kitchen table, shooting the shit. You wish this was the kind of gathering you had brought Corey to in the first place. Something cozy and mellow, with a stripped down guest list. An environment where he could gradually start to feel like himself, give everyone a taste of that signature Carpenter charm. It’s also the prefect time to make your exit. Though you know Corey would come to enjoy the atmosphere under different circumstances, it’s been a rough day, and you don’t have time to linger. Another phase could begin at any second, a new influx of people spiking his anxiety and clogging the driveway so you can’t escape. You watch for another quiet moment and find it when the conversation splinters, everyone else busy talking across each other. 

“Hey,” you purr in Corey’s ear. “Wanna get out of here?”

For what might be the first time all day, one corner of his mouth lifts before the other side joins it and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He gives you a genuine smile.  

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All evening Corey tucks himself into the protective circle of your arms, and all evening you hold him there.He hides himself behind your hair, speaks in grunts and sentence fragments like he does at work, doing his best to erase himself so all that’s left is a silhouette. Not Corey Cunningham, not Corey Carpenter, just Your Boyfriend. A faceless entity. No details to learn or remember except for one thing – you're his.

Obscured by your affection, he watches. If there’s going to be trouble he wants to see it coming, and there is trouble. He sees Veronica and Rose talking, literally behind your back, standing on the deck while he sits with you by the fire. They’re disagreeing about something. He can’t hear them, and they’re too far away to see well, but Corey can guess what they’re saying. Veronica gestures in your direction, the smear of her blurry lips flattening into a disapproving line. Rose shakes her head and brings her hand over her heart. Veronica crosses her arms, posture defensive. Rose looks over again while Veronica talks. When she’s finished, Rose shrugs, unbothered or unconvinced. The conversation doesn’t last long, and they don’t come to an agreement. Rose just threads her arm through Veronica’s and pulls her inside. 

He fucking knew it. Veronica is a massive threat, and something needs to be done about it before she ruins everything. But the threat Veronica poses lies in wait in the murky darkness of the future. Tonight, there’s someone else Corey needs to do something about. A guy you haven’t introduced him to, or interacted with at all as far as he knows, but who drifts into whatever space you’re in, trying to look like he’s not looking. He can tell you’re uncomfortable about it, pulling him closer every time you notice this guy in your vicinity. 

Corey doesn’t know who he is — he doesn’t match your description of Hurley or Orin, and there’s no way you would neglect to mention that either of them was here —  but it barely matters. Whether he’s another ex, a current or former friend, or a stranger, he’s upsetting you. He did something, and he deserves to be one with the dirt. Every time you pull Corey closer, the hard handle of the knife in your shorts presses into his leg to tempt him. He remembers the size of the blade, how it went through the cardboard with no resistance, how it felt when you put the tip of it to his throat. It would be so easy to slip it out of your pocket without you noticing. 

He resists. Too many witnesses. 

If Corey can’t do what he really wants to do, he’ll settle for a good fight. It’s been forever since he bruised his knuckles on some asshole’s smug face, since he heard bones crunch, since he took a hit that should’ve put him down for good, and seen the fear in his opponent’s eyes when he got back up. With all the anti-police tattoos he’s seen tonight, surely a little fist fight can stay between friends. All he needs is for the guy to provoke him. The bastard’s too cowardly to do it though, and Corey is too cowardly to go ahead and fuck him up anyway. 

For now. 

As the party drags on and the comfort of having you so close wears off, he cares less and less about looking like the aggressor. No one else can feel the way you tense up when you realize that guy is around. If they could, they wouldn’t question him at all. Sitting at the kitchen table, Corey can see him in the living room, looking into the kitchen at you. You haven’t spotted him yet. Corey wants to get up and go show that piece of shit what’s what before you do, but he’s stuck at the table, chained to his chair by Veronica’s judgement, strangling at the end of his leash.

Just as he’s about to suffocate, he feels the soft flutter of your fingers on his ear, tucking a stray curl behind as you lean in to whisper. “Hey. Wanna get out of here?”

Corey can’t believe his ears. Relief pushes fresh air into his lungs, making him almost giddy.  

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah. I’m gonna go to the bathroom, then say my goodbyes, and then we’ll be free.”

“Okay,” he says, his relief deflated slightly. 

He wishes there were no extra steps, that you could just stand up from the table, announce your intention to leave, and take him home. His capacity for self control is so exhausted that even five more minutes is a risk. He struggles not to get up to follow you. He could stand outside the bathroom and keep guard, or even come in with you, facing the wall and covering his ears to give you privacy. He really shouldn’t be alone with these people. 

He stays seated, holding his breath as he watches you go. You walk straight through the living room, and still you don’t notice that guy. He sees you, Corey knows he does, but you breeze past him and down the hall towards the bathroom. You’re only gone for a few seconds before you pop back into view. You make eye contact with Corey and mouth I have to go upstairs, pointing at yourself before pointing up. You disappear again.

Corey’s blood boils. His leg bounces. He clenches his fist until his nails dig little red crescents into his palm. He feels like he could burst from his own skin, bones cracking and elongating as his rage turns him into something completely unrecognizable. His eyes dart back and forth between Veronica and the guy. The seconds stretch on for hours. A new group of people enter the house, shouting hellos, causing a flurry of hugs and high fives in the living room. Corey loses track of the guy, searching desperately between the limbs of the new arrivals and the old guests. When the activity settles down, he’s gone. 

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You try to be quick, for Corey’s sake. Your poor baby. He’s been tormented enough, and you’re beyond ready to get him home and reward him. But the bathroom on the first floor is locked, and no one answers when you knock. Annoyed, you head upstairs. The main bathroom up there is locked too. Someone inside calls out, “Gonna be a while!” A second voice giggles behind the door. Great. 

A house this big has to have more than two bathrooms. You rack your brain. The bedroom you texted Corey from, what feels like a lifetime ago now. You assumed it had two closets, but maybe one of the doors in there was a bathroom. You practically sprint down the hallway. The first door you open reveals a walk-in closet, as you expected. Empty of clothes, containing only the skeleton of an expensive custom organization system. You sigh and try again. Before you even open the second door all the way, you see a shower with the curtain pulled halfway across. Thank fucking god.

You come out of the bathroom, still buttoning your shorts with dripping fingers, to find the bedroom door blocked. The dickhead who tried to talk to you earlier stands in your way, leering.

“Taking your pants off already?” He says. “Damn, girl. I was just trying to get your number so you know who to call when you ditch that clingy little bitch you brought with you.”

You freeze, shocked by his audacity. The nerve. How dare he call Corey a clingy bitch, when he’s the one who’s been following you all night, waiting for you to be alone to shoot his second, even more pitiful shot. 

The surprise only lasts a second before it transforms into an icy anger you didn’t think you’d ever feel again. The rational part of you tells you to give him a fake number, to tell him to fuck off, to do anything you can to get him to go away without putting your hands on him. Too bad that part of you is tiny and detached, watching what unfolds like a movie instead of seeing through your eyes. You unclip the knife from your pocket. You don’t have to think about it, your hand just knows where it is. Your thumbnail slots easily into the groove on the blade.  It’s time to make sure this creep never follows a girl around a party again. 

But before you can flip the blade out of the handle, Corey is there, his face appearing over the guy’s shoulder, eyes dark and jaw set. He grabs the guy’s wrist with one massive hand and hooks the other in the guy’s collar, dragging him backwards out of the doorway. The guy stumbles and Corey lets go, allowing him to fall on his ass. He scrambles to stand and tries to run away, but Corey grabs him by the shoulders and slams him into the wall so hard the framed photos of Gordon’s cousins hung all down the hallway rattle and go crooked. His feet dangle slightly off the floor.

The thump brings you back to your senses. 

“That’s enough, baby,” you say, tucking the knife back into your pocket and taking a few steps closer. “Let him go.”

He doesn’t listen. The guy whimpers and claws at Corey’s thick wrists to no avail. A wet spot begins to bloom on the front of the guy's pants.

“Corey! That’s enough!”

He leans in, putting more pressure on the guy’s shoulders, upper lip curled in a snarl. For a second you think you’re going to have to get in between them to make it stop. Then Corey lets go. The guy slides down the wall to the floor. 

You grab Corey’s arm and sprint down the hallway, dragging him behind you. You descend the stairs so fast you stumble, but you recover your footing and burst out the front door. Hand in hand, you race over the massive yard, gaining speed until you reach your car.