🔪𝔇𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔉𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗🔪

𝕹𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝕿𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 III: 𝕿𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍

Rating: Mature

Length: 800 words

CW: Stalking, obsessive behavior, brief reader masturbation mention, murder and mild gore, Michael being Michael

Micheal Myers POV

Looking won't be enough forever. 

I don't like that man who's been around you lately. He spends too much time with you. He looks at you like he wants to devour you and I would like to pull out his throat. He doesn't get to look at you that way.

I wonder if you realize we live together in your house, you and I.

It has been a very long time since any place has made me feel at ease. But I can move through your house with my eyes closed. I know which stairs creak. You have your spot on the couch, and I have mine. Maybe you just don't know about the lock on the living room window, but I prefer to think you leave it open for me.

I watched him touch your skin today. He touched your arm. I wanted you to scratch his face. You didn't. I wanted to see you get angry and defensive. I think about that often. The way your face would change, whether your voice would shake.

But you smiled at him.

It was easy to imagine two things at once: you, your smile, his blood, your face, his face, his pulse, your pulse, you, his corpse.

Sometimes I think about my fingers in your mouth. I want you to taste me. I would like to wrap my thumb under your chin. Do you know I could rip your jaw off? I wouldn't do that to you.

You touched yourself last night. When you do that you make little sounds. Sounds that you think only you can hear. I hear them all.

I watched your fingers. The way you moved them. My hands are much bigger than yours. I can imagine the way your skin feels. I could squeeze you and leave bruises. I could bite you and leave a mark.

If he touches you again I am going to kill him.

We are out of milk. I drank it all.

I don't like to be touched by most people. For a while, Loomis thought this was important. He would try to hug me or hold my hand. I broke his wrist and three of his fingers, and then he moved on to something else. He doesn't like to be wrong, but being wrong is a crucial part of his identity. I don't like to be wrong either, and so I am not.

You cannot touch me, but I would let you try. I am making no promises about my reaction.

I like the way you move. The way your limbs work. Nobody walks or moves like you. I can pick you out of a crowd from far away. There is everyone else, and there is you. It's like you are on fire, all lit up, and no one can see it but me. Even when you turn off the lights to go to bed, you shine through the windows.

If I reached inside you, I would find something new in between your lungs, hidden under your stomach, tied up in your innards. But I know you couldn't live without it.

I would like to carve my name into your skin. You are so beautiful. If you weren't so beautiful, people would leave you alone. Leave you to me.

I am going to kill him even if you never see him again.

This expanding in my chest irritates me. I have never wanted so much. It feels like sickness. Like weakness. Other people want things and it disgusts me. Wanting something connects you to it. I do not want to be connected to anything. I want to be connected to you.

When you are gone, I lay in your bed. It smells like you and when I breathe I can taste you. The sheets have touched your skin and mine.

Do you feel me when you lie there? Do I leave some shadow behind? Do you feel it wrapping around you? Do you feel my eyes on you? They are always on you.

I would still like to watch you die. When someone dies, they make little sounds only I can hear. They look at me like I am something they've never seen before, something new. There are no more thoughts. There are only feelings, and pain. And then they fade.

I want you to look at me. I want you to look at me like I am something new. I want you to make little sounds for me. I can make you feel, make you hurt, more than once if I am careful. All blood does not taste the same. I want to taste yours. I want to taste you.

You have made me greedy. I can never forgive you.