Upon the Gaze (Ghostface X Reader 18+)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Cerulean Blue

I got lost in those cerulean blue eyes. Tears streamed down my face. His expression went from an unexpectant feature to a stern, scornful one. He looked at me coldly and closed his eyes as he let out a deep sigh. His hand reached for my neck once more. I didn't fight it as he wrapped his fingers around my neck and began to squeeze. Air escaped me and struggled to re-enter as the pressure grew.
"You shouldn't have done that." He said under his breath. With a quick movement of his legs, he skillfully whipped me around, and dominated our position. He slammed me into the kitchen tile, and the last of the breath that remained in my lungs was forced out with the impact. Now both his hands were on my neck, strangling the life out of me. Just like all the times before however, his actions of taking a life seemed more gentle in nature than one might expect. "I didn't want to have to do this, but you've left me without a choice." His voice seemed oddly shaken, and sounded remorseful as he continued his action. I knew what he meant. I knew the face of the infamous Ghostface killer now, and he wouldn't want that information in anyone's hands but his own. Though I was saddened. I thought I had began building up his trust of me. Maybe he thought my actions were ones stemmed from fear, and not out of admiration?
I remained limp under his constricting hands, pressing me down into the tile floor. It felt colder than I remembered, or maybe it always felt this way? All those mornings of waking up light headed, from lack of sleep after a night of drinking due to lonliness and a desperation to silence the thoughts in my head arguing over whether we still had a right to live. The coldness of the tile on my bare feet as I walked across it all those mornings, though really only few since living here, and staring out that window that looked over the back woods, with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. The tears came then too. Why were these thoughts with me now? Maybe this is what people meant by your life flashing before your eyes just before you die. Was I dying? Was I finally going to die? This was always the way out, wasn't it? The only way to die was by another's hands. Another, being the Ghostface. Memories of his arrival and the days we shared together in this once lonely house flooded through my mind. The mornings with tears rolling down my face, staring absent-mindedly out the window as I itched the scabs of cuts on my arms, had been replaced by mornings with laughter, humming war songs, pancakes and kisses.
I felt life leaving me. I looked up one last time, at his face. The last one I'd ever get to see, and I was content with that. He had such beautiful eyes, and I was happy to have seen them before he inevitably ended my life. Yes, it was obvious, now I thought. This is what he was here to do. It was always bound to happen. He was never going to love something as broken as me, he was simply there to throw away the pieces. My face was likely going blue now, and tears left my pressured sockets. I looked at him, not with hatred, but with admiration, the same way I always did. Cerulean blue, I thought, it's such a pretty color, especially paired with his dark locks hanging from his porcelain face. If there's an afterlife, and there are things there, I ought to paint him again, using all those beautiful colors he portrays.
My eyes began to close, as they felt too heavy to keep open any longer, but the beauty of my killer was engraved in my mind. I could finally let go, and die in peace.

Darkness. I felt like I was floating. Suspended in place. I didn't feel the need to breath or to think. Empty. Finally. This is what it all came down to. No more pain. No more tears. No more living. I was relived of my living duties, and would retire now in the afterlife. What's it like to be dead? I wondered. Will I be a ghost? Reincarnate? Will I project from what once was my body and watch as the love of my life and the demise of my existence leave me? How long will I be resting there before someone knows? Before they find me? Maybe I'll watch myself decompose. Will I have a funeral? A tombstone? Who would be there at my funeral? Would I even want to know? Nobody in my life mattered to me...
Except one.
A white mask, making a shrieking expression, floated to me in the void. "Ghostface..." Words did not exist in the void yet I remebered them. As I reached for it and held it in my hands, I felt a warm sensation on the left side of my face. I pressed my hand to the area. The hands I once had were numb compared to the sensation. A voice started calling me. It was familiar. Raspy, deep and alluring. However, it sounded distraught. This was unusual of it. Why did I know that?
I looked down at the mask in my hands. I traced it's sockets. The void was so silent, but that voice rang louder, as if emanating from the mask itself. It called to me.
I lifted the mask up, and brought it down over my head, my flesh enveloping it's empty space.