Page 244 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

“Are you safe now?” he asks, voice clipped.

“Yes. I’m in my car. Outside evidence.” I’m panting, winded. “Will you just stay on with me while I drive home?”

“No. Go home.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Don’t stop. Make sure he doesn’t follow you. I’ll handle it.”

I grip the phone tighter, my fingers still trembling as the adrenaline that was just rushing through me begins to ebb away.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, even though deep down, I think I already know.

There’s a soft, lethal exhale.

“I’m going to make sure he never touches you again,” he says—so calm, it’s terrifying.

The city sleeps like it doesn’t know what it let happen.

The street in front of her house is dark—no porch lights, no windows lit up. Just shadows and silence and the bitter taste of regret burning the back of my throat.

I shouldn’t have left her alone.

I should’ve been there to make sure she never had to carry that weight on her own.

But I wasn’t.

When the door creaks open, she’s already changed—soft leggings and an oversized shirt that hangs off one shoulder. Hair twisted around in a messy bun.

Utterly beautiful. Even in her sadness.

I see the bruises before she can hide them.

A red imprint blooming at the edge of her cheekbone.

The angry circles on her wrist where he grabbed her.

I reach for her without thinking.

My thumb grazes the mark on her face like I can erase it—like I can take back the moment it was made.

“You okay?”

My voice comes out lower than I mean it to, raw with things I’ll never say right.

She nods. A small, quiet motion that makes my chest feel like it’s going to cave in.

I step back.

“Come on.”

She hesitates, standing in the doorway like she’s weighing something.

I don’t move. Don’t push. Just give her space to decide.

Eventually, she locks the door behind her and follows me to the car.

This silence buzzes—taut and electric, filled with all the words we’re not saying.

She glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking.

Her hands twist in the hem of her shirt like she’s trying to keep herself from unraveling.

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