𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡

"𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮.

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜."

"The cat came back."

Four words have never made your head spin faster. Chelsea knocked her elbow against your arm to get your attention but you were already smiling up at Michael, who was right there like he always was, a shadow amidst shadows. The only thing that made him stand out against the black and white tile wall was the little golden security badge that glittered on his bicep.

The cat came back. What once started as a warning whispered behind the ice cream counter quickly melted into a harmless inside joke. It was a game. And somehow, you were never the first one to spot him despite the fact that he positioned himself in such a way that he could keep an eye on you at all times without being interrupted by guests.

It had been a few weeks since the incident at that point. You refused to call it what it really was — a murder — solely because you refused to call Michael what he really was — a murderer. It didn't feel right calling him that. Not even when you stumbled into your bathroom that fateful night. 

You scrubbed your skin raw until you convinced yourself that the only blood pooling in the sink was your own. It wasn't murder. It was defense. He was defending you. That's all that really mattered, anyway.

He was defending you.

"I see him," you whispered with the roll of your eyes, elbowing her back with a playful smile. The new girls had started opening up to the idea of Michael. He was the mangy neighborhood stray that lingered around and begged just charmingly enough to earn a few scraps of affection. When they asked you about him, it was because they were genuinely curious. They no longer needed his oil to fuel their twisted rumors.

"𝙄𝙛 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙚,

𝙄'𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪,

𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪,

𝙛𝙪𝙚𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙮𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙚𝙨."

The others were a different story altogether. They always kept him in the corner of their eye, always expecting him to move or jump out at them when they least expected it. They were always the first to leave at the end of the day without ever looking back. They knew better than to befriend him.

It only hurt a little bit when you realized that no one was going to wait for you at the end of your closing shift anymore. You always did like those long walks spent huddled up close, arms linked in an obvious display of friendship and shared fear. But you didn't need the other waitresses in order to feel safe. You had your own personal guard dog now.

The first time Michael Afton walked you to your car, you were convinced that something was going to happen. Call it divine retribution. You could picture it like a rewound VHS in your head. The echoing footsteps, the clatter of the knife, the words that were never said because Michael speared your attacker before he could even open his mouth to threaten you.