Scenario; You find Johnny's knife covered in blood in the couch cushions and confront him.
•••••
"J-Johnny?" Your voice cracked as you stared, transfixed on your boyfriend's Bowie knife you'd found in the couch cushions, covered in blood.
"What is it?" Johnny said as he came into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower. He ran a hand through his damp hair that froze in place when he saw your face.
"Your knife. There's... It's..."
Johnny approached your side, and picked the knife up. Blood smeared over the couch.
"Who's blood is that?" You asked, trembling, still staring at the red stain.
Johnny was silent for a long moment.
"Dunno her name."
Your heart sunk.
"Why is her blood on your knife?" You ask, finally turning to meet Johnny's gaze. His eyes were the same; always calculating. Maybe even a little amused. There was no shame.
"Darlin', do you really want to know? Aren't you happy like this, believin' everything's normal?"
You blinked slowly. Sure, there were hints. Nights he came home late. Refusing to hug you before he took a shower. The way he'd fuck you like a rabid animal after those long nights; thrusting, biting, growling.
Did you really want to know?
You looked over your boyfriend's frame, shining under the light as rivulets of water drip down his muscular torso. Scars littered his body, you never really asked why. Maybe because you knew you weren't ready for an answer.
You swallowed hard.
"Yeah, tell me."
Johnny's eyes glinted. He was still holding the knife, and for a second you felt cold fear pool in your stomach.
But then he sat, laid the knife on the arm of the couch, and pulled you into his lap.
Surprisingly, the action soothed your racing heart.
"I got a compulsion, darlin'. I thought at first it was because I needed to provide for my family." His fingers trail up your thigh, and he met your hesitant eyes with his.
"Turns out, I need to kill. If I don't, I start to lose my head." He nuzzled into the crook of your neck. "I'm scared that if I give it up, I'm gonna do something I regret."
You can't help running your hand through his damp locks. What the fuck do you do in this situation? Here he was, almost child-like in seeking your comfort, because he was constantly resisting the urge to... Kill you? And why would someone as smart as Johnny hide his knife in such an obvious spot?
"Did... Did you want me to catch you?" You asked anxiously.
Johnny laughed, running his hand down your back. "You know, you're awfully stupid for askin' about the knife. You coulda just put it back and pretended you never saw it. You've always been a scared little mouse. Maybe that's why I like playin' with you so much."
"You need help, Johnny," you whispered. His whole body tensed in response.
"Don't you see? You are my help. I need you, baby, to keep me grounded. Can I trust you?" He pulled back, looking deeply into your eyes.
You hesitated. Ran your hand over his high cheekbone and cupped his angular jaw before nodding once.
"Yeah, Johnny. You can trust me," you responded in a low tone.
His eyes swam with what appeared to be tears before hardening, a sinister grin spreading across his face.
Faster than you could blink, he grabbed his knife and brought it to your throat, the cold and bloodied steel digging into your sensitive flesh. Your vision swam, showing you two images of Johnny's gleeful expression. All the blood drained from your face, and you whimpered, feeling warmth spread across the crotch of your pants.
"I don't believe you."
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