Ghost of My Life

chapter 2

I dabbed at the blood on my hand in the bathroom.

Jerk. Cutting me and marking me like i was some prize to claim. It angered the so-called predator in me, but it excited the other half of me. The least he could have done was ask... I thought as I watched the thin lines swell and stop bleeding slowly, they would most definitely need to be kept hidden until they healed. Hopefully they wouldn't scar too badly. I leaned down to search under the cupboards beneath my bathroom sink, fishing a medkit from the back. I slammed it on the top of the counter as I stood back up and popped it open. Inside were several rolls of different types of wrappings and bandages, antiseptic sprays, antibiotics...a small at-home stitches kit. I plucked a small roll of soft wrapping and some spray from the box, I know what potential issues might be on that knife. Let's not mess with that. I spritzed my palm with the spray, the sharp sting of the mist caused me to flinch as it set in, sizzling away any bacteria and infection.

After cleaning the medication off, and wrapping my hand in a thin wrap, i sighed heavily to myself. What am i going to do about this? Ghostface had chosen me for his next target. The Ghostface killer flirted with me... I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and my chest squeeze tightly.

This was dangerous.

Interactions like this were dangerous.

He was dangerous.

What did he think of me? I showed someone a side of myself tonight that no one on earth knew about, and that was before i realized who he was. Now he's staked claim to my person, like he's made me belong to him.

I couldn't lie to myself when I found it exciting...Someone like me, developing a potential obsession on me. I sighed as i flopped down onto my soft mattress, debating in picking the bloody knife off the floor where it still laid, abandoned.

I felt the cold release of sleep wafting through my head as my mind rested to quietness till the only sound left was the rushing of my own blood in my veins, thumping faster and harder at every thought of Ghostface, until i could clearly see his mask against the backs of my eyelids, and he stepped into my dreams.

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The killer tore his mask off, sitting in the driver's seat of his car. His heart pounded with adrenaline still.

A femme fatale. He thought to himself, chuckling softly. This was unexpected.

"Ohhh the things i would like to do with her..." he sat back in his car's front seat, chewing his gloved hand as he pictured her beautiful (e/c) eyes glaring up at him with such hate and aggression. No doubt that look would have to be broken out of her. He shifted in his seat as he felt a prick of arousal at the idea of dominating a fellow killer, making her submit under him. He groaned at the thought.

How to approach this one? She's not like the rest. She's careful, and deadly.
He could see it in her eyes, that cold, empty glare.

Wouldn't be the first blood on my hands. He recalled her voice through his head. He was interested in hearing that story, who's blood was? How did it get there? How much?

He thumbed the thin leather gloves off his fingers to unbutton his jacket. He felt the heat radiating through his skin uncomfortably, as his body beckoned for blood and satisfaction. He huffed quietly before tucking the jacket into the passenger seat side along with his mask, hidden neatly beneath the pile of jacket.

He clenched his hands around the steering wheel of his car as he started the old thing and drove away, towards the house he used as his base of operations. He yanked the long canvas golf bag from the backseat, the clanking of metal tools jingling around inside caused him to grit his teeth. He tossed the bag over his shoulder and picked the mask and jacket out of their hiding places and swiftly heading inside.

He blew out a breath of hot air as he trudged into his neatly packed bedroom, the only array of mess was the scattering of pictures of (y/n) on the wall. Different moments of her past 6 weeks. He turned his attention to the photo where she was at her favorite coffee shop, sipping away on her favorite cup of coffee, unlike the usual photos however, in this picture, she was looking directly at the camera. Had she noticed it? Or had she purposely decided to ignore it in hopes she was mistaken? No, she was much too sharp for that. I know her much better tonight than i was intending. He thought as he touched the photo, remembering the feel of her soft skin under his hand. The look of minute confusion, but not a speck of fear in her lovely (e/c) eyes.

He couldn't help the maniac chuckle that vibrated through his chest. He yanked the pictures off the wall, and put them away ritualistically into a neat little stack, using the strings to tie the photos all together. He knelt to the ground beside his dresser, sliding it to the side to reveal a hidden compartment in the wall. He slid it open and fished a mildly dusty shoebox from the back of it, inside was the numerous neatly tied stacks of photos of previous victims, but the tops few photos of thier stacks ended in bloody, violent scenes. But not hers. He set her stack on the very top, and set the lid back on the box.

He packed the box back into it's hidden cubby in the wall, and slid his dresser back into place.

He tapped his fingers along the edge of tne wooden dresser, biting into his lip.

Oh, how he was excited to see her again.