There was a pause in visits that made you feel like it may have been a mistake to ask for what you did. The bruises bloomed dark blues and purples over your legs and the sight made you excited and weary. Would this be the last evidence of his visits?
You hoped not.
There was always the underlying thought of him killing you if you went too far for his comfort. Wherever that lay. It wasn’t a big fear, but a buried one that whispered when you got upset. You placed a hand over an almost perfect hand print resting in the middle of your thigh. It made your heart flutter as you looked at just how big he was compared to you. Your hand half the size of his, at most .
God you had it horribly bad.
That night a feeling of dread roused you from your slumber as you blearily looked around your room for the source. You found him quickly, probably because he wanted you too. Before a greeting could even leave your mouth he was on top of you, his breathing harsh as he boxed you underneath him with no escape. His name fell from your mouth breathlessly, almost a whisper. And that was when you noticed the knife in his grip.
You wiggled underneath him as you watched him hover it over your stomach. Your body quivering with an unidentified feeling. If he wanted to kill you it would have happened already, right? The thought placated you enough into a numbing excitement as you watched him with heavy lids. He seemed intrigued by your response, lightly trailing the knife down until he hit the dip of your pelvic bone.
You remembered through the haze that you were only in a tank top and underwear. The least amount of clothes you've ever been in in front of him. He seemed to notice too, his head tilting at the thin fabric of your underwear as he slide the knife underneath it and pulled it up by the blunt edge, letting it snap back against you. The atmosphere felt overbearingly thick and heavy, you couldn’t have imagined anything like this in your dreams and the sound alone of him playing with your underwear caused a breathy moan to escape your mouth.
The noise made him snap his head up as stare at you, snaking his other hand up to rest at the base of your throat. A light squeeze feeling like a threat and encouragement all at once and made you sag into the bed even more. You clutched at his sleeve as he turned his attention back to your hip.
He continued further down, shoving your knee open wider. It made you gasp and he clutched a little harder at your throat. Your bruises were on full display now. He seemed transfixed, his breathing hard as he squeezed your throat once again. The vulnerability of the situation making it all the more intense. Without warning he moved the knife down and left a cut right next to the inside of your knee. You bit your lip this time from making a noise, it was a slow cut. He made sure you had felt it. The blood that dripped down your leg felt hot too. He released your throat to move his other hand and touch the red liquid dripping down your leg. Seeing him run his hand back up it smearing it all across your thigh was so weirdly arousing. You were into this? You guess you were. What else could you honestly have expected from a serial killer to be into either way. This man did not look like the slow and sensual type at ALL. and it was showing now too.
He trailed his knife over a few more places, leaving shallow cuts here and there. Some spotting with blood and other not. Nothing was really deep enough to bleed as the on under your leg. You watched him litter your skin with marks. It left you with a sense of calm that really had no right to be there. Staring over at him as he played with your leg made your chest swell with a strange sort of affection that warmed you from your head down to your toes. God this was really happening. You were really happening. This relationship was really happening. You two together almost seeming normal if you ignored the mask and knife and cuts. It had your mind swirling and palms sweating. Something at the back of your mind making you need to spill over these bubbling feelings. Say anything. Something.
“I think I can love you, Michael.”
Once the words were whispered he froze. Everything stock still, and the room going cold. Had it been too much? Probably. Will you ever learn to shut your mouth? God you hoped so. His hand twitched on the knife, and suddenly he was upon you once again. His hand at your throat and squeezing. You were gasping underneath him as he brought his knife down fast. The blood was leaking before the pain even registered. You choked out a yelp and clutched at his arm. There was tears running down your face when he made the next cut. You sobbed into your hand at the one after that. By the time he made the last one you were drooling and clutching his arm with a death grip. He lingered over you for a while, breathing heavy and tense, before he moved off of you onto the corner of the bed. Your sobs quieted into sniffles, his hand resting on your ankle in a comforting sense. At Least you’d hoped. You were both quiet in the aftermath of whatever the fuck just happened.
You vowed to keep your mouth shut next time you felt something like that. Looking down to see what he was doing, you saw him staring at the blood covering his hand. Your blood. Jesus that was a lot of blood. He didn’t linger long after that, letting go of your ankle and slipping out your door. You were so tired after all of this. You didn't even want to get up and check if he had locked the back door. You doubted he'd even let anyone get past your yard either way.
With your leg throbbing and room a mess, you passed out into a dreamless sleep that had you more tired when you awoke.
Upon a closer look the next morning, you found a red and just deep enough to scar cut into the fleshy part of your thigh.
It spelled out ‘M’.
He cut you.
He cut you.
Be bothered. Be upset. Get mad. You couldn’t even walk for fucks sake. Your bed was covered in blood. Days bleed together- hah- because of the blood loss. Your recovery was slow, only able to hobble over to the bathroom on the second day to clean the wound. You missed multiple days of work due to the injury. The beratement continued for the remainder of the week until the fogginess in your head disappeared and you were left staring at the back door.
The remaining feeling could only be described as empty.
In hindsight, you should be glad he was gone.
But you were never really smart were you?
These affections weren’t good, you could at least admit that. But it was too
to just kick out all of these muddled feelings that had taken root in you over the past months. And, to be quite honest, you didn't
to. You hadn’t been lying when you said you could love him, and by this point you felt like you already
. The hole he left behind felt gapping and cold.
Fuck morals, fuck everything else, you missed him. You just wanted Michael back.
You curled into a ball of hurt and cried yourself to sleep.
After a few days of mundane routine you noticed something was off. You never heard anything in the night, but a quick glance in the kitchen made you feel strange. The bread seemed to be going faster. And a quick glance at the pantry showed you that the peanut butter and honey were low too. You haven't been able to bring yourself to eat it since he left. So it couldn’t be you.
And that thought alone left you smiling.
A quick trip to the store left your favorite sandwich ingredients fully stocked and more, and you slept better that night then you had all month.
Another week later had you waking in the middle of the night, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight as you shot up and glanced around. He was right at the end of your bed this time, knife present as he held it loosely in his hand. You heard your blood rushing through your ears as you choked out a laugh. So many feelings bubbling up at the sight of him, everything culminating in you raising your arms shakily as an invite. He was still as a board the whole time you stared at him, not even a sign of breathing.
You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, the silence for once feeling heavy rather than pleasant. His blank mask peering down into you making you feel raw and exposed. Right when you began to drop your arms he snapped to attention. His grip on the knife flexing before he raised it suddenly and brought it down fast into the wooden frame at the foot of your bed. The thunk of the knife masking the gasp that had escaped you at the quick motion. Holy fuck that had scared you , Your arms were frozen half in the air as you stared down at the knife. Your skittish nature wouldn’t change anytime soon, you were positive of that, especially with who you decided to be with.
A low groan sounding through the room caused you to jump, hands quickly dropping onto the sheets. The groan seemed to rattle through his whole frame, raspy and long. The noise seemed to spur him into action, and he slowly began to make his way onto the bed. You wondered if the mattress was big enough for you both as you brought your arms back up to welcome him further. He let you slide them up his shoulders and onto his back, mindful not to go near the mask as he came closer. Even on his hands and knees his head was higher than you sitting up straight, You clutched a hand in his mechanic suit as he stopped above you, his face was inches from yours.
The closeness made your heart flutter as you looked over the mask, you could almost see the eyes behind it shining at you. You pulled your hands down to rest on his shoulders.
“Can I touch it? I won't take it off, i swear.” You desperately wanted to get closer, needed something to feel connected in a way. A semblance of a normal thing couples would do. If this was even considered a relationship. You wanted to look into his eyes, trace his features with the tips of your fingers, run your hand through his hair. Anything .
The question seemed to bring back that frozen statue that stood over your bed for a second, and you run your thumb over his shoulder in a comforting gesture. With a jerky nod in response you smiled up at him and brought your hands forward. You ran your fingers along where you knew his jaw was, the material pulling in to rest against his skin. This is what you needed,. something so intimate it felt embarrassing to ask. Something so horribly domestic you could ignore all the problems with this relationship and just believe it would work out. Slowly tracing up his ‘face’ made you feel calm deep in your soul. The mask was pretty well kept, all things considering. Michael was stock still the whole time you touched him except for the quiet breathes between you.
You traced over the eyes and eyebrows, fingers tapping lightly right under the eyes as you gave a breathy laugh. “ I see you.” You teased, his response a soft puff of air behind the mask.
You ran your hands through the masks hair once before deeming it too tangled and trailing your hands back down the face. You traced over the lips a few times before an idea popped into your head. I wonder if … The thought sat incomplete as you pulled your face forward impulsively and brushed your lips over the masked ones, eyes half lidded as you stared up into the burning abyss behind the mask. You couldn’t see his stare, but you for sure felt it. Feeling confident (you really shouldn't be) you lean forward again and trace his jaw with your lips. His breath faltering when you press a little harder, grip his jumper a little tighter.
One of his hands came up to grip your wrist, the forever present blue band under his thumb as he shifts against you. You pull back after what feels like an eternity, face flushed and feeling hot. God he hadn’t even touched you and you were already a mess. You wanted him here when you woke, you wanted to feel him around you when you sleep. Gah, you were like a little love sick school girl.
“Will you stay?” it came out a whisper into the quiet room, almost as if you were scared of someone hearing. He didn’t make a move to come down to the bed, but when you laid back and tugged him down he didn’t protest ether. He slowly fell onto his side next to you, keeping eye contact the entire time. You ran a hand over his cheek once more before wiggling your arm under his. Holding him around the waist as you rested your head against his chest.
This was nice.
Oh god this was so nice. You felt like you were going to implode. This was probably so much for him and you were so happy he let you get this close. In your giddy excitement you remembered something and pulled back. You locked eyes immediately upon pulling away.
“You haven't seen it yet!” You threw back the covers and grabbed his hand slowly leading it down to the inside of your thigh. You heard him suck in a breath as he looked down at the scabbed injury. The M kept its shape nicely during the healing process, and you laid his fingers lightly over it. “It’s still kinda tender, so not too hard.” He seemed transfixed, tilting his head back and forth at it. He gripped your knee after a second and bent your knee, watching the flesh move back and forth as he pulled your leg this way and that. You laughed, feeling so happy you felt drowsy. Or maybe that was because it was late? You immediately yawned when thinking about sleep. Michael turned towards you at the noise, stare quietly before putting your leg down and throwing the cover back over you. He settled on his side again, and you rested against him the same way you did the first time. Michaels hands never left his side, but you didn’t mind. This was already so much more than you could hope for. With a content sigh you smiled into his chest.
“Good night Michael.” His soft sigh enough to send you off into pleasant dreams.