“You and me both. I like it better when you scowl at me.”

Send ✳ for our muses to be stuck inside a building while being snowed in. 

Toni pulled her sweater tighter around herself. It was getting late, and the heater was fairing poorly against the snow outside. She had promised the librarian (who had left to drive home before the worst of the storm hit) that they would turn the lights off when they left. Their rooms were a two minute walk away, and they weren’t in as much of a hurry to leave, though they would have to do so before too much snow fell. She and Johnny had been studying English for hours, but now they were almost done. Toni was actually pretty proud of him; he’d stayed focused for the majority of their study session, and he seemed pretty comfortable discussing the themes in the book they were supposed to be reading.

As she finished the practice essay prompt before he did, she walked to the door so she could see if it had started to snow too hard yet. She was surprised to find that she could barely see out the window, and when she tried to open the door, it didn’t move. With growing panic, she continued to push the door, eventually putting all of her weight against it, but it wouldn’t even budge. When she turned back around, he was staring at her, probably on account of all the noise she was making. “Uh, Johnny? I think that we’re stuck here.”

When Jonathan woke, the first thing he did was sling his arm across the bed looking for Bolest. But she wasn't there. He groaned, groggily turning over and glancing at where she should have been lying. She was gone - that never happened. Neither of them ever got out of bed unless they had both been awake for at least an hour. They were both lazy as anything.

          Jonathan had been considering the prospect for a long time. He wanted something to define himself, something permanent. The idea of getting a tattoo had never really occurred to him until he saw an image online (he didn't remember where, but he had saved it to his computer) that he thought would suit him perfectly, even if it was a bit insulting to himself. He had looked at it and thought 'This is me'. The image had been seven symbols, each depicting one of the seven deadly sins; wrath, greed, sloth, pride, envy, lust and gluttony. He had - unfortunately - been able to relate to each one, and he had realised that they were the perfect way for him to define himself. He wanted to get his girlfriends permission first though.

the-knife-with-an-edge

Jonathan was starting to panic. Bolest was away, dealing with something he knew nothing about. And someone had finally noticed that the bodies the couple had dumped were connected. The cops had brought in some special FBI department, and from what he'd found on the web, they were some of the best. They captured serial killers, put them away. They'd found some of the worst killers he'd heard of. And he would be next.

Bolest had said they should have moved. She'd said the bodies would be linked and they would be found out. But Jonathan liked it in New York, and he'd insisted they stayed. There were a lot more alleyways, and it was easier to dump bodies in them. He liked to stay with them a while after; it was too hard for him to leave.

He considered the bodies artwork. Artwork he'd created with his girlfriend. Together, they turned pale skin red and carved patterns into flesh. By the end of it all, their canvases were purple and red and white and so many other colours in between. It made his stomach lurch in a pleasant way just thinking about it.

The teen was at his laptop, researching the 'Behavioural Analysis Unit', as they were called. It seemed that they had a few of the best agents on their team, and he had even heard of a few of them. Thats when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. He looked up, narrowing his eyes slightly. Bolest wasn't due back for a week. He wasn't expecting anyone else. Either way, he stood quickly and made his way to the door, opening it enough for him to be seen and no more.

It wasn't right.                     he knew it wasn't right.                                         and yet -           the smell of blood,           the sight of someone looking terrified because of him,           the feel of someones life leaving them at his hand --                                         it gave him a feeling of satisfaction.                                         it made him feel so good.                                         and he hated it.

"Bolest --"                                         his voice came out as a hoarse whisper in the dark of the night as they lay on the bed.