Page 150 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

That one touch cracks something open in her. She won’t admit it yet, but I know what it is.

The darkness behind her sunshine.

She’s so fucking beautiful, and I don’t want to leave. But I have to.

I need to erase everything that happened out there. I need to protect her again.

I slip the gloves into my back pocket.

Gather the pile of blood-stained clothes and shoes, pausing at the door for one last look before I leave her to fall apart.

I descend the stairs with her clothes in one hand and a thousand thoughts in the other.

Behind me, I hear the little beast trotting after me like I owe him answers.

His favorite person is behind a closed door, unraveling in hot water—and he’s stuck with me.

Tough luck, buddy.

We’re still on shaky ground, the dog and me.

He doesn’t trust me. I haven’t forgiven him for barging into her life.

But tonight? I resent him a little less.

I glance down at the tiny, judgmental gremlin with fur. His ears perk like he’s ready to help.

“Body first,” I say, pointing toward the side door. “Thenyouget a bath.”

He huffs like he understands.

Like he doesn’t appreciate being second priority.

Yeah, well, tough shit, you little asshole.

I’ve been in the bath so long I’m pretty sure my skin is about to develop scales.

The water went pink. Then cloudy. Then lukewarm and useless. I drained it, refilled it and soaked again.

Scrubbed every inch of myself even though the blood was gone an hour ago. Maybe longer.

Time doesn’t feel linear anymore—it’s more like soup. Thick. Confused. Full of chunks I don’t want to stir too hard.

I dunk my head again and let the water fill my ears. It dulls the noise in the room but makes the noise in my head louder.

I press my palms to my face, hard, until all I see is red and static.

I didn’t just kill someone.

I executed him.

With control.

With intention.

And—worst of all—with satisfaction.

A soft whimper slips out of me, but I drown it with another pass of water.

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