𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝒑𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒔

Travis Crashaws pov (murderer #1)

“You two already met?”

“Yeah, I met her during that night at the club. She was the girl I was telling you about,” he replied, his eyes narrowing as he sucked in a breath. Was he genuinely upset by this? Jealous, even? He shouldn’t be. It didn’t mean anything that we were both here with her, did it?

“Okay… I just wish you’d told me sooner.”

I shrugged, feeling ambivalent. Did it really matter?

She was a whirlwind, bipolar as hell—one moment calm and indifferent, the next, a tempest of fury, brandishing a plastic knife and stabbing my brother. I had to admit, I kind of liked that about her.

“So… do you mind watching her today? I’ve got some business to take care of,” my brother said, standing up. He ran a finger through his hair, a well-known tell that he was stressed or lost in thought. Was he regretting this whole tangled mess? I thought I knew him… didn’t I?

“No problem. See you later, then.” I waved him off, and he exited wordlessly, lingering just long enough to unlock the latches before slamming the door behind him.

Descending the stairs, I balanced a tray of food in one hand. I moved to the small door, the latches turning with an echoing clank that filled the stillness. Flicking on the light, I spotted her huddled in the corner of the room, nestled beneath a blanket, her soft snores breaking the silence.

“Hey,” I called loudly, and her eyes snapped open, shock flooding her expression. She sat up slowly, yawning and rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes. I stepped forward and set the tray down beside the mattress, my gaze locking on hers. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, a mix of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

As I took in her figure, I couldn’t help but notice how the blanket cocooned her thin, pale body, the delicate curve of her shoulders.

She sensed my scrutiny, scooting back against the wall, her breath coming in shaky gasps.

“Look, I’m sorry—”

“Fuck off. You’re not even sorry… I can’t believe…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, breaths coming shallowly as her mind was likely racing back to the memories of yesterday. I had lost control then, my own instincts igniting in a sudden fire that fused fear and adrenaline.

“No… you’re right. I’m not sorry. You crossed a line, and I can’t just go back to being the nice guy—”

“Nice guy?” Her voice rose sharply as she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, inching closer to me, even if the chain held her in place. I met her in the middle, standing above her, feeling an unexpected rush of power.

“Yes, nice guy.”

“No. Nice guys take girls on dates. Evil guys kidnap them. Nice guys don’t take advantage of young girls; they treat them with respect. Nice guys don’t choke girls unconscious—”

“Wake the fuck up, cara!” I barked, the volume of my voice causing her to flinch.

“This is the real world! You’ll never find a guy who will take you out. Earth to cara: chivalry died a long time ago! Wake the fuck up! You’re with me. You’re stuck with me. I can choke you, feed you, fuck you—do whatever I want with you, and you can’t do a damn thing about it. Why? Because I fucking own you.” The words poured out harsher than I had intended, but I meant every one. She was mine, for better or worse, and I could feel my heart growing darker each passing day.

She stepped back, trembling at my outburst, her wide eyes reflecting a mix of fear and something else—perhaps curiosity? Had being here with us for so long altered her?

Feeling a smirk tugging at my lips, I took a step back, careful not to disturb her food tray.

“You know… you were the first guy in nineteen years to notice me,” she spoke, her voice small and fragile, halting me in my tracks. What did she mean by that? Why did it matter?

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“Dancing with you… I left because… well, I felt myself losing control with you.” Her admission hung in the air, making my chest tighten. Why was she telling me this?

“Doesn’t matter, cara—”

“I was thinking of things I would never do, and yet you—”

“Enough!” I stepped forward, gripping her chin to force our eyes to lock. My anger was a tempest, swirling inside me. “You don’t know the things I wanted to do to you that night—the filthy thoughts racing through my mind, of you wearing that dress—”

“No…” she whimpered, closing her eyes as if denying my words would somehow erase them.

“The way it clung to you so perfectly…” My mind drifted back to that memory, nearly taunting me with the way she moved, the intoxicating sway that had ignited something primal within me.

“Stop… fuck,” she warned, her eyes flashing with determination.

“You don’t want to go there, cara. My self-control is hanging by a thread, and I can’t afford to lose it right now… especially not here, not with you.”

She stared back at me wide-eyed, seemingly taken aback by my sudden admission of honesty. It was raw and true, and I didn’t fully understand where it had erupted from.

“Now… eat your food,” I said, my voice lowered as I turned to leave, locking the door behind me.

After that encounter, I was left reeling. Why was I feeling this twisted mix of anger and something unsettlingly giddy? What the hell was happening to me?