You're My Favorite Murder (Chapter 13)

Chapter 13: 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮

“I'll kill him” I mutter under my breath to my burner phone, working my lip with my teeth. An impatient bounce in my right leg as my eyes scan over the latest in a long line of annoying and manipulative messages.

He can’t hear me, or my proclamation but it’s not for him, nothing I do or say is for him. Not anymore.

For the briefest of weak moments, I feel myself slipping back, where it all went to shit, when my betrayal solidified our unquestionable hatred for each other. The screen goes blurry, my eyes glassy from unshed tears, throat closing, breathing an impossibility. Gritting my teeth I attempt to swallow the rock sized lump down. It remains, firmly rooted in my body, an obstacle I can’t remove. I’m choking on the forbidden tears. My leg bounces faster, mind whirling with the memory once more. Across the way I stood, our moment of unrelenting lust forgotten as he’s dragged away, dark stormy gaze finding mine, such anguish in his gaze, my treachery—

Pushing myself from the bed, I toss my phone aside “No! Fuck him!” Pacing the hardwood, I resist the urge to cry. To feel pain, sorrow or anything for that asshole. Crossing my arms over my body tight, the tank top I wore under my murder hoodie slick with remnants of sweat, I force the images back, retreating into the dark abyss in my mind. The place I force them to die, yet they never do.

Shaking my head I clear my mind, thinking back to his previous statement. Exhaling a breath, I sink to the bed, snatching up the phone, as if it could sprout legs and run off.

Him: Well, what'd you do with her head then?

Me: Why are you asking?

Him: Just curious

Me: What do you know?

Him: Apparently more than you ;)

I roll my eyes quickly scrolling to the bottom with the most recent messages; not at all interested in reliving another moment where he had me over a barrel, not above teasing me over possessing information I didn’t have.

Him: It wasn't a question, Stazie. Diner on 46th. Ten minutes. Don't be late.

I laugh, rereading the latest message. He really thinks I’m going to sit and roll over when he demands it. Like Hell I’m going to be his obedient little bitch. Mentally ridiculing his persistently dominant personality I close out of the texts, opening a new tab reading the latest in local news. Almost immediately I’m overwhelmed with a plethora of articles, all centered around this university, only posted hours ago.

With my interest now unfortunately piqued, and learning from my mistakes on just skimming one and being done with the tabloids, I plummet down the rabbit hole, one article after the other, deciphering all the information I can on the latest victim. Only with her head missing, like the other one, there isn’t much to go on. No fingerprints left behind to apprehend or even suspect a culprit. No murder weapon. No identification left on the body. It’s as mysterious as a murder mystery could be.

Slumping further into the comforter laid about on the bed I browse through what photos aren’t blurred out, though there are very few to go off of. Each with at least one blurred out corner containing what I can only assume is the decapitated body.

But something small, and pink catches my eye. Squinting as I bring the phone’s screen closer, I can just barely make out a shape. Zooming in, pulling my eyes closer to the digital image I give up and try another. This one too blurry. I swipe through a few, nothing exactly clear enough to make out the mysterious object.

Disappointed I toss the phone to the side, once again exhausted by its very presence. Trudging over to the fridge I peek inside, my disappointment digging a bigger hole in the pit of my stomach. Nothing, fucking nothing. Mentally cursing my drunken roommate I slam the door shut, march over to the bed and tear the phone off the blanket.

Him: I’m waiting...

Another message sent from him reads. Sent five minutes ago, shit.

Gritting my teeth, resisting the urge to toss the damn thing at the wall and silence the arrogant asshole, at least his texts, I grab the jacket slung over my desk before charging out of the room and down the steps.

The minute my shoes touch the cool pavement I’m shivering. Tugging on my crew cut hoodie, pissed off this is all I had on hand, I hurry my steps over to the diner. My stomach growling, angry that food had been an absence in my life for more than a couple hours. Though a small smile begins to form at the thought of my adversary witnessing such a grotesque display of indulged hunger. A mixture of sauces chaotically decorating my lips, fingers slick with greasy salt. Let's see what Mr. Sexy-Asshole-Stalker Boy thinks of that!

Suddenly possessing a bit more pep in my step, I hurry along the walkway and up the stairs, taking them two at a time until I enter the mom-and-pop type place. Sweet, messy revenge on the brink of being mine.

The bell overhead jingles like tiny little fairies giggling as I move through the door, the glass frosted blurring the identities of the patrons inside. The moment I’m in, the scent of warm bread and freshly made muffins set behind the glass counter brings me to a distant, forgotten part of my childhood. A time I chose to forget but seemingly have no willpower to do so against the arousing aroma surrounding me now.

Booths lining the wall, years of asses, sitting, wearing out the leather, bits and pieces cracked on the surface, their bright red now a faded dark maroon in some places, stained yet still possessing a whiff of that fresh breezy scent. Tucked away in the furthest corner booth, a smug grin painting his pierced lips a leering Jeremy sits. Fucking asshole. Instinctively my hand reaches inside my pocket, the knife a welcome distraction, keeping me grounded.

Inhaling a breath, I make my way across the black streaked tile floor, fearless. The haunting figure waiting in the shadows, dark eyes set on me. Blowing out the nervous lungful the closer I get, trying to let the smell of greasy, wholesome, diner food consume me, I find it barely overpowers his enticing scent of spiced citrus, as I set myself down in the seat across. Swiftly reaching for the menu, hardly sparing him a glance I force myself to forget of his existence. Though that hardly lasts more than a few seconds.

Eyes narrowed to slits, his free hand resting on the table closed in a fist as a mug of coffee sits untouched before him. "You’re late” he sneers. “Nice hoodie, though. Very slutty, you can almost catch a glimpse of your non-existent tits." Mood shifting quickly, I shove my face deeper into the menu, the stiff laminated plastic only just creating a barrier between us. "Is that why you were late? You were busy sucking some lonely asshole’s dick?" Don't react. Just don't say anything. "Must have been a busy night seeing how red faced and sweaty you are." He clicks his tongue pursing his lips.

I slam the menu down; my lips parted on a couple choice words I have for him. His lips turn up in the smirk to end all smirks, fangs bit near his piercing eyes wide and alight, just waiting for as low a blow of comebacks. "You—"

"How you kids doing tonight?" Right on cue a woman of about forty, with grey streaks in a loose brunette bun walks over cutting me off, a tight white and stained apron stretched across her waist, sky blue cotton uniform hardly covering the rest of her. Tugging a pencil from her low formed pocket and a pad from the other she looks to me, Jeremy satisfied in the corner with his coffee, silently taking in the exchange. “What’ll have doll?” She asks, a slight southern drawl to her tone and I smile, letting myself get wrapped up in the latest part to play, Stazie the friendly smalltown girl. Eyes reverting to the menu, scanning down its length in search of pure greasy heaven and shambolic revenge.

“Can I have a bacon cheeseburger, with no tomato or onions, a large plate of crinkle fries and a chocolate milkshake, please?” The words roll off so easily, despite the fact I haven’t asked for such an extravagant meal since I was a little girl. Before my parents found out that I was a monster and ditched me. Almost on instinct I turn to my dinner partner nearly missing the bitter look of annoyance on his face. Priceless.

“Well, someone’s awful hungry. You want some pie with that hun?”

“Yeah, you sure you’re still hungry after all those sausages Staz?”

I bite my inner cheek, keeping my jaw from falling to the floor in pure shock at how callously obvious a remark he just made in front of a complete stranger. Trying to laugh off the red blush of embarrassment blooming across my face at the disgusting implication I wave her off ignoring him. “That’s okay, Marge” I glance to her name tag, using the name like we’ve known each other for years. “Maybe some other time” I offer, really selling the façade. “Hey, Jer” I casually acknowledge. “You want anything besides stale coffee?” I tease motioning to his neutral toned mug, the dark color of the liquid no longer steaming, who knows how long it’s been sitting. He picks it up once more, taking the longest, slurp of a sip showing just how satisfied he truly is with the dismissed beverage.

His hooded storm grey eyes take me in over the rim, before that smug grin I walked in on finds its way back on his lips, eyes alight with humour. Placing the nearly empty mug on the table, sitting back, tossing a heavily tattooed arm across the back of the seat he elongates his form, as if obtaining authority just by stretching out.

“That’s okay Staz” he comments, the nickname once more sitting a little too easily on his tongue. “I’m good with my stale coffee” he remarks, emphasising the word.

Choosing to ignore the charged atmosphere that's surrounding our booth Marge plucks the menus off the table, shuffling away leaving the pair of us alone. Glaring daggers over top, tightening the hold on my knife hidden away I let my resolve crack, the hardest of frowns painting my face.

“Why am I here asshole” I snap, hangry and annoyed by his need to be so damn manipulative with me.

“Well, someone’s in a mood. Did one of your clients leave you dissatisfied” he says, failing to hold back a laugh as he reaches for the mug taking a sip.

I roll my eyes, as my delicately polished fingers find the smooth feel of the marble handle and scrape over it, its presence grounding as I continue an unnecessary conversation with this jerk. “Fuck off Jeremey. And stop playing games. You said you know shit I don't, and I don’t like that. So, start spilling your guts before I do it for you.” My threat has no effect on him, his eyes hardly flinching away from me as I sit there, patiently waiting, my leg bouncing under the table as the seconds tick by, not an inch closer to closure on this chat or my food.

Sitting straighter, his inked arms resting on the table I feel my gaze slowly drift down, the dark coloring painting an alluring picture of an array of images. I force my gaze away, mentally kicking myself over being so obvious. Though, I hear him lean closer as his inked hand rests on my chin, redirecting my eyes. I can't breathe as he holds my stare. His thumb sliding to my cheek, softly rubbing away a spec of something. "What happened with the girl?" He whispers, hands still holding a dangerous claim on my face, the rings chilled, sending sensations down my spine.

The question catches me off guard, as I pull back from him noticing the tiniest drop of blood sitting on the pad of his thumb. My hand reaches up to my face blindly wiping away further evidence of my crimes.

“What girl?” I feel my brows arch in mock confusion, tugging a napkin from the dispenser on the table wiping ferociously at every exposed inch of my face. My inane jealousy over a man I despise with all of my being having been in the driver's seat, so I’m lost trying to recall the latest of my kills.

Leaning back in, his lips far closer than I should allow them to be he whispers, "the girl whose tongue you cut out because I fucked her instead of you."

My fingers curl around the handle of the blade, a sharp pain zipping up my arm as the manicure digs into my palms around the knife. Gritting my teeth and swallowing down the insatiable urge to tell him to go to Hell I ask "why?"

Shaking his head with a scoff he tears his stormy gaze away, suddenly very focused on his cold coffee, braving the last sip. Though I can tell by the hesitation in the bob of his Adam’s apple, the stale filth having trouble slinking down his throat, it’s as inedible as I assume. Forcing the bitter taste down, he lets out a sigh, his hard chest, hidden even beneath the leather jacket showing off how big he’s built, and I can only assume in other places.

"Why did I fuck her instead of you or why did you feel the need to kill her?" His lips curl answers already starting to form in his twisted imagination.

"No" I manage through my gritted teeth, leg anxiously bouncing beneath the table as I force my gaze to his mug, the only safe place to look at this table, what with all of him taking up every other inch of gazing space.

“Something wrong, Stazie” he asks teasing. "Questions too hard for you to answer or the truth too hard to face." The way he poses it seems firmer and more assertive, no room for interpretation, a sudden dark bite to his sensual teasing.

“Fuck you." I whisper appalled, forcing the impending tears away. For fucks sake, why am I letting him get to me!

“What’s got you worried” he dips down to catch my eyes as I quickly find a wall behind him to stare at instead. “Maybe the fact that you have unresolved feelings that force you to do crazy shit like, oh I don't know, kill an innocent girl, cut out her tongue and send me a picture of it?”

"I feel nothing for you" I brave a glance back to his hard, cold eyes, before tearing them away, blinking back more tears.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that" he says flatly, twisting one of his rings.

"Is there a point to this conversation or did you just feel like showing how big of an asshole you can be all night?" I tighten the grip on my blade, taking in little breaths through my nose, trying to calm down the raging everything I feel when it comes to this man.

He leans back; arms crossed over his broad chest once more showing off his alluring ink. "Just thought you'd like to know the cops found a body. So, you might want to skip town before they come knocking on your door."

Something about the way he says it seems off. "A body? What's that got to do with me” I growl beneath my breath, the dark brown of my eyes barely visible in the slitted gaze I’m throwing his way.

"Well, you did kill her, didn't you?"

"You know I did" I bite back with shame. Shame for admitting to it so easily, especially to him.

"So, I'll ask again since you weren't so forthcoming with your answer via messages. What did you do with the head?"

I say nothing.

"You deaf Staz?"

I grind my teeth together at the sound of my new name on his lips. "This is the second time you've asked that. So let me ask you, why are you asking?"

Relaxing back in his seat, he smiles, knowing once more that he has the upper hand. For fuck sakes. "Just answer the question, Stazie."

"Not here."

“Why not? Afraid people will find out there's a cold-blooded killer in their mists? With that dick sucking ability of yours, you’ll get off easy.”

"Jesus, who’s the jealous one now?” I scoff, amused.

“At least I didn’t kill anyone because of it.”

I stare him down, my brow arched. “You may not have but let's not forget, I’m not the only killer on campus am I Jeremy?” The question tugs at him, the knowledge that he’s killed in the past known between the two of us, and for once I have the advantage in the situation. Propping my head up on my hand I tilt it to the side, really taking in the sight of his chipped armor. “Maybe I should…" I trail off, sending a teasing threat his way, his smug grin falling replaced by the sneer of a hateful man.

“You fucking cunt” he murmurs under his breath, but we both know I heard it.

Marge, with my meal and a fresh pot of coffee for jerk face in hand strides right up to our booth cutting the heated exchange short, air charged once again with suffocating tension.

“Here you go, doll. And here’s some freshly brewed coffee for your boyfriend.”

My face falls, “He’s not my—”

“Thanks Marge” Jeremy interrupts before I can set the record straight. Regaining the upper hand.

“I’ll leave you to it. Need anything, just holler.” With that final southern sweet remark, she walks off to take an order from an elderly couple in a booth further down. The tension between us slowly rising to a steady boiling point.

Taking a sip of his coffee and unfortunately noticing the delectable way his lips caress the rim of the mug I press my lips shut and focus on the food, priorities forcibly shifted. Without another moment of hesitation I remove the bun, place at least ten sets of crinkled fries over top the glistening patty of meat and gooey cheese, slather it in a layer of ketchup and barbeque sauce and compress it together. Using both hands—such a feast requiring the use of more than one—I take my first big bite into utter heaven.

“Mmm” I don’t stop from moaning out, real food, the actual taste of true, undeniable flavor riding my tongue happily. Hardly able to take a breath I take another bite, a dollop of sauce marking the corner of my lip. “Fuck” I groan out between bites, relishing the taste. Stuck eating packed soup and cold turkey sandwiches from the vending machines on the ground levels has left me dissatisfied.

“What a site you are” he snaps, taking another long, overly exaggerated sip of black, flavourless coffee.

“Like I give a shit what you think” I mutter through a bite. “Take a good look Jer, this is what a woman satisfied looks like” I quip, forgetting the dark cloud hovering over us as I continue to devour my dinner.

Rolling his eyes, he lets out a breath, his manipulative ticks hardly grazing me as I drown myself in ketchup, barbeque sauce and perfectly cut French fries. “Well, I thought you wanted answers but hey, if you just wanted to eat a solo meal be my guest. I’ll just be on my way with my information.”

I’d punch him if he wasn’t useful in that moment, consistently teasing me with intel I don't have. Just as he motions to leave, I grip his wrist with my free hand, nails digging into the flesh staking claim. My other remains in my pocket, with a secure vice grip on my knife. For a moment, with his stormy, lustful gaze staring down at me, even the mess that I am, I feel something foreign but nameless. It’s a fleeting moment however, realising he’s simply a pawn in my game and we possess nothing but a feeling of revulsion for one another. Nothing more.

“Don’t” is all I say before he finds his seat once more, across from me. Suddenly my food feels like a distraction, a delicious distraction, but one, nonetheless. Picking up a single fry, I dip it in the sauce, swallow in two bites and slowly push my food and melting untouched shake to the side, his newly brewed coffee sitting off, creating an open space between us.

“All right. Now that we understand each other, let’s talk.”

My stomach grumbles, the temptation of my burger still lingering but pushed aside with my food, information the only thing I'll allow myself to be hungry for at the moment.