Page 155 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

The phone stays dark.

No reply.

I swallow hard. Try to pull the blanket tighter even though I already feel like I’m wrapped in tension. Time stretches.

Then Dexter lifts his head, growling.

My entire body goes still. Every nerve humming.

In the doorway, a shadow cast in matte black. That white skull on the black balaclava reflecting nothing back at me but quiet promise.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just waits.

So I do too.

He walks toward me slowly—measured steps meant to soothe, not startle. He doesn’t approach the bed. Doesn’t reach for me. Just lowers himself into the window chair like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Maybe he has.

Maybe before Dexter. Before I knew. Before tonight made monsters out of both of us.

He just sits there. Watching. Breathing. Massive and unmoving, the way a mountain watches a storm roll in.

Then he pulls out his phone. Mine chimes.

UNKNOWN: Sleep. I’ll stay.

My grip on the blankets softens.

The tension in my shoulders unwinds.

And for the first time in what feels like years, I let go.

I let the weight settle and finally sleep.

The world hums, a low-vibrating sound that fills the night.

I’m on my knees, blood soaking my hands, dripping down my forearms. The knife is still in my grip, grounding me in a moment I cannot process.

My breathing comes fast and shallow, each inhale scraping my throat as I watch the body slacken, life slipping away.

This should be where the quiet settles in—where the air turns heavy and I can finally breathe again, cocooned by the strange euphoria that always follows.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the air presses colder. Thicker. Refusing to let me go.

The darkness stretches around me, and behind, I hear the scrape of boots. I turn just enough to catch him—masked—stepping from the shadows like he’s always been there.

My fingers drift down my thigh. I’m naked. Red stains my stomach, legs, arms, dripping from my fingertips like paint from a broken brush.

He doesn’t speak. Just drops behind me until his chest brushes my back, his thighs bracketing mine. Together, we kneel like we’re praying to a god that demands savagery instead of salvation.

One hand slides around my waist, fingers slipping between my legs. The other drifts higher, wrapping around my throat—firm but careful.

I lean back instinctively, resting my head against his shoulder, my body falling into his like we’ve done this a thousand times.

A sigh slips out, my frame easing into his control like it was always meant to.

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