Killer
Scream
A scream came from the back garden. I left the MacBook and crossed straight to the open glass folding doors. It was a warm, windy day, the sun was shining. I held onto the doorframe as I peered outside onto the fields that stretched beyond. The house was built on top of a hill, and I could see everything below.
He was crouching over a dividing hedge between my field and the field next door. He had been mowing the grass on the ride-on mower, but he was crouching over something, spade in hand.
“What are you doing?!” I shouted, but the words were just carried by the wind. I tried shouting again but nothing. Eventually, he turned round, saw me and doubled over in pain. I ran through the freshly cut field to see what the matter was, even through the wind, I could smell the grass.
“Whatever’s the matter?” I said, he held up his hands and showed me, they were covered in blood.
“It hurts.” He stated, that deep voice I loved so much. The trees were rustling and the wind worsened.
“Come on, come on.” I said, pushing him towards the house. He was pale and obviously in shock, I didn’t know what the hell he’d done, but it looked terrible.
He started to walk ahead of me, and gained speed, even uphill. He’d always been fit and now was how he was showing it. By the time I reached inside the house he was already in the kitchen, he’d made a bloody hand print on the glass doors, and on the coffee table as he’d tried to steady himself as he’d walked in.
He was stood over the sink, washing hands that were already clean, and had been clean for a while, there was no blood washing down into the glass sink. I watched him for two minutes, he didn’t even see me standing next to him.
“You’re clean.” I said, reached over to the tap and turned it off, the remaining water trickled loudly into the sink. I went across the kitchen and got a towel, and handed it to him. He was stood there just staring out of the window. Still pale.
“You’ll be fine, I promise.” I smiled at him weakly, and he made eye contact with me for the first time.
“Will I?” The way he said it confused me, but still I kept smiling, and grabbed him by the hand and lead him into the living area. I sat him down and kissed him.
I loved him uncontrollably; something that had started as a friendship so long ago had blossomed into so much more since. I pulled out of it and he stared at me with his big dark brown eyes.
“Thank you.” He said.
He was my everything, I couldn’t not love him because of anything, and everything just seemed to make sense with him in the picture. Sure, there was competition, he’s one of the best looking guys you’ll ever meet, and has been model scouted a few times before. But yet I’d won, I don’t know how, but I had.
He hiccupped, and that only meant one thing, he was going to cry. I never saw him cry, he always kept it to himself, and I hated to see him cry but it was just going to happen.
A tear rolled down his perfect cheek. I leaned in next to him and held him. I rested my head on his shoulders and rested my arms on that sculpted torso of his. The six pack and pectoral muscles were just beautiful. He put his left arm around me, and I could just feel the muscles bulging. He always had the power to just crush me or anyone, and he never used it. I loved that.
***
I lay awake at night that night. Not knowing what to do. So much about what happened today didn’t make any sense. He had come in, and washed his hands, and there was no more blood on his hands, what had he been doing with a spade?
I couldn’t sleep. I lay there staring at his perfect face, the colour had come back now, and he was looking just as gorgeous as ever. I decided to go downstairs for a glass of water.
It was pitch black outside, and the windows reflected me as I looked out onto the garden. The ride-on mower was still parked there. I shivered, I wasn't cold, but I shivered with the thought. The ride-on mower had never been on when I’d gone outside, he’d planned what he was going to do.
Something caught my eye in the reflecting glass. The towel, why had I not thought of this? He’d held on to the towel for ages, it was white, and so surely if he really had hurt his hands, there would be blood there.
Nothing, there was nothing. I kept on unfolding the towel and there was nothing. I held it up to the light and couldn’t see anything, I turned it over, nothing still. I was feeling sick, nauseous and wanted to vomit everywhere. I did, but I contained it to the sink.
The same sink that had washed down someone else’s blood.
I ran the hot tap until the last residue had gone, and then went back through to the bedroom. He was asleep. I couldn’t look at him, it felt all wrong, he should be in prison. He’s killed someone. I don’t know who, and I don’t want to know who, but he’s killed someone.
‘His sister was coming to visit him this afternoon’, my mind remembered. He’d hated his sister, I’d hated the bitch. But surely he couldn’t kill her?
I remembered the two bloody hand prints downstairs, and shivered once more.
I got into my side of the bed and stared at the ceiling, then stared at him again.
What do I do?
I’m sleeping with a killer.
He was crouching over a dividing hedge between my field and the field next door. He had been mowing the grass on the ride-on mower, but he was crouching over something, spade in hand.
“What are you doing?!” I shouted, but the words were just carried by the wind. I tried shouting again but nothing. Eventually, he turned round, saw me and doubled over in pain. I ran through the freshly cut field to see what the matter was, even through the wind, I could smell the grass.
“Whatever’s the matter?” I said, he held up his hands and showed me, they were covered in blood.
“It hurts.” He stated, that deep voice I loved so much. The trees were rustling and the wind worsened.
“Come on, come on.” I said, pushing him towards the house. He was pale and obviously in shock, I didn’t know what the hell he’d done, but it looked terrible.
He started to walk ahead of me, and gained speed, even uphill. He’d always been fit and now was how he was showing it. By the time I reached inside the house he was already in the kitchen, he’d made a bloody hand print on the glass doors, and on the coffee table as he’d tried to steady himself as he’d walked in.
He was stood over the sink, washing hands that were already clean, and had been clean for a while, there was no blood washing down into the glass sink. I watched him for two minutes, he didn’t even see me standing next to him.
“You’re clean.” I said, reached over to the tap and turned it off, the remaining water trickled loudly into the sink. I went across the kitchen and got a towel, and handed it to him. He was stood there just staring out of the window. Still pale.
“You’ll be fine, I promise.” I smiled at him weakly, and he made eye contact with me for the first time.
“Will I?” The way he said it confused me, but still I kept smiling, and grabbed him by the hand and lead him into the living area. I sat him down and kissed him.
I loved him uncontrollably; something that had started as a friendship so long ago had blossomed into so much more since. I pulled out of it and he stared at me with his big dark brown eyes.
“Thank you.” He said.
He was my everything, I couldn’t not love him because of anything, and everything just seemed to make sense with him in the picture. Sure, there was competition, he’s one of the best looking guys you’ll ever meet, and has been model scouted a few times before. But yet I’d won, I don’t know how, but I had.
He hiccupped, and that only meant one thing, he was going to cry. I never saw him cry, he always kept it to himself, and I hated to see him cry but it was just going to happen.
A tear rolled down his perfect cheek. I leaned in next to him and held him. I rested my head on his shoulders and rested my arms on that sculpted torso of his. The six pack and pectoral muscles were just beautiful. He put his left arm around me, and I could just feel the muscles bulging. He always had the power to just crush me or anyone, and he never used it. I loved that.
***
I lay awake at night that night. Not knowing what to do. So much about what happened today didn’t make any sense. He had come in, and washed his hands, and there was no more blood on his hands, what had he been doing with a spade?
I couldn’t sleep. I lay there staring at his perfect face, the colour had come back now, and he was looking just as gorgeous as ever. I decided to go downstairs for a glass of water.
It was pitch black outside, and the windows reflected me as I looked out onto the garden. The ride-on mower was still parked there. I shivered, I wasn't cold, but I shivered with the thought. The ride-on mower had never been on when I’d gone outside, he’d planned what he was going to do.
Something caught my eye in the reflecting glass. The towel, why had I not thought of this? He’d held on to the towel for ages, it was white, and so surely if he really had hurt his hands, there would be blood there.
Nothing, there was nothing. I kept on unfolding the towel and there was nothing. I held it up to the light and couldn’t see anything, I turned it over, nothing still. I was feeling sick, nauseous and wanted to vomit everywhere. I did, but I contained it to the sink.
The same sink that had washed down someone else’s blood.
I ran the hot tap until the last residue had gone, and then went back through to the bedroom. He was asleep. I couldn’t look at him, it felt all wrong, he should be in prison. He’s killed someone. I don’t know who, and I don’t want to know who, but he’s killed someone.
‘His sister was coming to visit him this afternoon’, my mind remembered. He’d hated his sister, I’d hated the bitch. But surely he couldn’t kill her?
I remembered the two bloody hand prints downstairs, and shivered once more.
I got into my side of the bed and stared at the ceiling, then stared at him again.
What do I do?
I’m sleeping with a killer.