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with tears rolling down my face, staring absent-mindedly out the window as I itched the scabs of cuts on my arms, had been replaced by mornings with laughter, humming war songs, pancakes and kisses.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.
"(Y/n)..."
I my eyes fluttered open, and I saw cerulean blue. That same beautiful cerulean blue. It looked glassier than the last time I witnessed it. I felt breath inside my lungs, and the world seemed bright.
"(Y/n)" Ghostface hovered above me, his hand delicately caressed my face and traced my cheek with a tingling sensation. Something I never thought I'd see were not only the eyes of my killer, but his shaking form as those eyes began to water at the sight of me.
"(Y/n)...I couldn't do it. I couldn't..." He continued caressing me, his eyes looking deeply into mine. It felt like I was being swallowed by an ocean. Words couldn't form, even though my lips moved slightly. He leaned in, trying to catch my whispers. My hand shakily reached for his own on my face. I grasped it weakly and gave my soul effort to smile at him through the exaustion. His face heaved into a tearful smile, and his fingers interlocked with mine. His forehead pressed to mine, followed by our lips gently meeting. After an uncertain amount of time passed, he pulled slightly away and said,
"What did you do to me, (y/n)?" Our eyes followed one another's. "Maybe the same thing you did to me...?" I responded in a frail tone. "And what was that?" He asked.
"Make me want to live." I finished, my eyes slowly closed as speaking alone drained the last of my energy.
I heard him laugh, but it sounded saddened. Then I felt myself being raised from the floor. He carried me out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into my room. He layed me down into my bed, and before I drifted off entirely, I felt his presence lay beside me, holding me close and running his fingers through my hair.
Sunlight shone in through the window, and as it danced over my eyes I mentally cursed. How did I always forget to draw the curtains before bed. Hm. Bed. I felt the soft surface underneath me. Funny, I hadn't remebered getting into bed, or going to sleep. I remained in my position, and re-closed my eyes. I attempted to think back on the events of yesterday as I slowly woke up. My head was empty for a moment and then suddenly the imagine of cerulean blue eyes entered my head. My eyes shot open, and I swiftly rose from my bed, in a startled frantic way. "Hey, you're alright!" A voice beside me called softly, and a hand reached for mine. "Ghost-" I turned to look at those beautiful cerulean blue eyes again but was met with the white, shrieking mask. It was faint but I thought I heard him chuckling underneath that mask. I stared at him dazed and still tired.
"Ghost...last night..." We were silent for a moment, then I felt him squeeze my hand, as if he was attempting to give me some reassurance as he said, "I'm sorry."
I looked away from him for a moment, then responded softly. "Why are you apologizing? You're a killer, it's in your nature. If anything, I'm more curious as to why you stopped." I looked in his direction, but not directly at him. "Why didn't you kill me?" He shifted so he was sitting upright on the bed. "I don't know...I've never second guessed killing someone before, but looking down at you, seeing my hands around your neck, and the way you just laid there and accepted it..." His eyes were likely looking to mine as his masked face turned in my direction. "...I couldn't take somebodies life like that, and not yours." I felt speechless at the moment. I felt like I wanted to cry again. I sat there next to him, my head drooping down. "It couldn't have been that hard." I said trying to keep myself together.
"I think we're probably both relatively broken people, granted in different ways. Mainly that you were able to swing a blade back at the world, and I simply fell apart. Some people become stronger and others..." I ceased to finish, figuring my point was made and thought it wasn't worth prattling on about it. "Hey." He called to me, and he scooted closer to my side as his arm swung around and gently pulled me in. A shakey breath I didn't even know I had inside myself released from my lungs. I leaned into him, and pressed my face into his chest.
"Now I have a question for you." He said, immediately catching my interest as I listened intently. "You said last night that Jed was the man that stole everything from you, the reason you couldn't chase your dreams in the city. What did you mean by all that?" I thought back on the words I screamed at him last night, while aggressively grabbing for his mask. Truly I let out all my anger on him, and blamed the man once known as Jed Olsen for my own failures. I sighed heavily and pulled away from him slightly. His arm remained at my side, resting on my arm and rubbing it gently with his thumb.
"You're the man I had the interview with at the journalist studio." He nodded silently. "That job was the last thing I was riding on to keep me afloat in the city. I remembered in the interview, you told me I didn't even have enough confidence for the position of a receptionist...and I guess I held a grudge to that." I tried to laugh off my solemn state before continuing. "If it hadn't been for my grandfather's death and my name being written in his will to inherit his house, I would have been on the streets." My face scrunched slightly, trying to keep my composure and not have another emotional breakdown. The mixture of the memories of having to leave the city, and my dreams behind, as well as facing my current reality were making me want to cry.
I breathed for a moment before continuing. "But I'm sorry. That wasn't your fault. I made my own mistakes, and I was my own failure." I said shakily. "I just would have never expected that the last face I saw in Los Robles would have been the one to make such an impact on my life now." I smiled through the sorrow. He didn't give a response, but he pulled me into him, guiding me into his lap and holding me tightly, while rubbing my back.
I don't think either of us really knew what was meant to come next. It was an odd predicament to be in. I called out of work, and Ghostface and I remained in bed, laying next to one another. He'd stroke my hair, and caress my face. A few times I drifted back off. Eventually, later in the afternoon we finally climbed out of bed together for a late brunch.
I really should go to the market and get groceries for once, I thought to myself as I searched the shelves of the barren fridge and cabinet. I turned to look at Ghostface, still with his mask on, sitting at the table. He was looking intently out the window as he leaned against the table on his arm. I wondered how well he could really see out of that mask. He wore it as though it was a pair of glasses, it didn't really get in the way for him. Eventually he noticed me staring, and I gingerly turned back to the counter.
"What are you thinking about?" He asked in a tone that held a sweetness like the honey we shared on our pancakes for our first breakfast together. I did have a few thoughts stumbling around in my head.
"Should I be calling you Jed now?" I asked curiously. If that was his name, it made no sense to keep calling him by his killer name. He promptly laughed and I spun around to give him another surprised, but annoyed look. Why was he always laughing at me? "What? How is that funny? That's your name right? You're the man from the journalist company! Jed Olsen!" He stifled his laughs and waved his hands in a fashion that indicated me to calm down.
"Hey, easy. Keep your voice down. You don't want people thinking a killers in your home." He couldn't finish that sentence without a slight giggle at the end. I continued to stare at him. He cleared his throat to silence his laugh and he began to explain, "Jed's not actually my real name, it was an alias I used while working in the city." It was my turn to be expressive as I made a -you gotta be kidding me, kind of gesture. "So I still don't know your name!?" He laughed hardily, and held his gut. "Will you at least give me a hint?" I pleaded, "Nope." He said immediately, not even considering it. I huffed as I leaned down onto the counter, pressing my head against the granite, and groaned. "Hey, you've at least seen my face. My victims don't even get that privilege." He said, while raising from his chair and walking over to me. He leaned adjacent to me on the kitchen island counter. "Yeah, which reminds me, why are you still wearing it?" I lifted my head and, and put myself in a similar position to his, leaning my back against the counter.
"Eh, just feels safer to me." He shrugged. This time I chuckled. "Pfft- like a security blanket? Killers need those?" He walked towards me and hovered over me as if to show dominance, but I just continued my chuckling. "Hey, no shaming in this household," he said jokingly. "Stop making fun of me all the time then!" I retorted.
"I don't make fun of you!" He protested.
"Yes you do! You're always laughing at me! You laughed at me less than a minute ago!" He seemed to be holding back laughter now. "No, no, sweetie, I'm not making fun of you. I just enjoy teasing you. You're cute when you're flustered. That's all." I blushed at the combination of the tone of his voice and the pet name, sweetie. The back of my right hand covered my face, trying to avoid him noticing the growing redness. His hand raised to my arm, and rubbed his thumb sweetly against me. To my surprise, he reached up and began to pull his mask off himself. His complexion never ceased to amaze me so far. He smiled warmly, down at me, and I didn't even try to hide my growing shyness. He leaned down a bit to my level, and moved his hand from my arm to my face, then trailed around to lace through my hair as he brought me towards him. His lips pressed into mine, and that blissful feeling took over me once more. This time I reached for him as well. I lifted my hand to his head, and slid my fingers through his dark locks. They were unfairly soft and silky. It seemed like a crime in it self that this man had to hide his face to be a killer. Yes. He was a killer. He was my killer.
He suddenly lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around him. He held me in place by my thighs, and our kiss deepened. Our lips released one another, and he whispered to me, "I think I know what I'm having for breakfast."