Page 281 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

She crashes into me, clutching my jacket, shaking so hard it rattles my bones.

“You’re okay,” I whisper again and again—a mantra I’ll kill to keep.

“I’ve got you.”

She falls apart, hands fisting my vest.

I pull back just enough to frame her face, brush blood from her jawline.

“Are you hurt?” My voice comes rougher than I mean.

She shakes her head—fragile. But the tremble says it all—shock, adrenaline, exhaustion.

I spot a stack of towels in the corner, probably meant for the victims they processed here like cattle.

I grab one, wet it from a jug of bottled water, and bring it back with hands steadier than I feel.

Gently, like she’s made of glass, I wipe the blood from her face, her arms, her throat.

She lets me, eyes closed, breathing slow—like she’s trusting me to put her back together.

“It’s theirs,” she whispers.

“The blood?”

She nods, opening her eyes.

I glance past her and finally see it—the pile tucked behind the far side of the room. A grim, jagged assembly of body parts.

Arms. Legs. A severed head.

Recognition punches me straight in the chest.

“Is that Tony?” I ask, squinting at the blood-slick face.

Her voice is flat. “Was.”

Bastard worked courthouse security. We passed him daily.

“You know,” I wipe under her eyes, “you think you know someone.”

She breaks just enough to smirk. It’s not much—but I’ll take it.

I toss the towel. I can’t hold back anymore. I need to taste her.

My mouth finds hers—she’s just as starving.

“I thought I lost you forever,” I rasp against her lips. “I thought—” My voice breaks. I shake my head. “Even if you hate me, you’re still mine. I should’ve protected you.”

She pulls back to meet my eyes.

“I could never hate you.”

Tears well and my eyes burn.

“I love you.” She rests her forehead to mine and my breath catches.

The entire world tilts on its axis.

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