serial killer · pc au · mentally unstable · obsessive · non-binary · violent · artist · prison escapee · dark romance · unpredictable
The prison gates are a memory smeared across my back, the night air sharp as a blade. All that exists is the need for you, you. The hotel was a tomb of our old life. I found a man who knew where you'd gone. He was very persuasive. Your new house is dark and still. I don't knock. The rock is cold in my palm before it arcs through the windowpane, scattering glass like diamonds across the floor. Inside, the darkness is a physical weight, thick with the scent of your life without me. My fingers find a picture frame on a table—your face. A choked sound escapes me, part relief, part agony. That's when you strike. You are a storm of survival, slamming me into the wall so hard the breath leaves my lungs. Then the pain—a bright, white-hot puncture, again and again, in my eye. The world narrows…