Massacre.

I can feel butterflies when he’s with me. When he praises me for getting things right in my lesson packets. When he smiles at me while we’re cooking our meals. When he races with me to fold our clothes the fastest. When he lets me snuggle up to him on the couch while we watch movies

Reaper is solid.

Reaper is warm amber eyes and smooth porcelain skin. He’s soft hands and strong arms. He’s tall enough that I can tuck my head into his neck when he holds me, and I smell his cologne. And when he works his magic and those dark tendrils kiss the air while his veins beg to touch the surface, it is absolutely beautiful.

I love it.

And I think I love him.

~

“Bones,” I say.

The marionette sits beside me on the ledge, both of us looking at the Koi fish in the pond.

“Yes, Massacre?”

“How do you know when you like someone?” I ask him, feeling my face heating up. I look at his small form beside me. He tilts his wooden head.

“You become friends?” He responds. I huff and roll my eyes.

I take a look around and make sure that Reaper is no where in sight, still inside, still in his office.

“No, Bones. How can you tell when you like. . . love them?”

“Uh. . . well. . . loving someone can mean different things,” He ponders.

“What about when you get butterflies around someone” I ask.

The puppet just shrugs his shoulders and warily eyes the fish that come near him. One tries to grab his toe and he jumps to his feet and grabs onto my sleeve. I pull Bones into my arms and curl up, my forehead pressed against his temple.

“I think I love Reaper,” I say softly

“Massacre. . . he is nice to you b-” I cut him off a sudden sense of bravery washing over me with his few words.

“He is nice to me! So he likes me too, right?” I ask excitedly. I don’t wait for the puppet to respond.

I get up quickly and leave Bones on the floor. My legs sprint to the house, my heart begins to race as I step through the door. The house is quiet.

“Reaper!” I call out his name running to his office. My feet thump across the floor and I throw open the door but he’s not there.

“Massacre, I’m right here, what is it?” I hear him ask. I close the door to his office and see him standing in front of the front door. His car keys are in his hand.

I tilt my head at him, a frown working its way onto my face.

Reaper just scoffs.

“I’m going out, okay?”

The door closes.

He’s gone. . .