“This is garbage,” I say as she brings her machete down and cleanly slices off the victim’s head. The camera pans to it rolling down the side of a hill.
“This is cinema,” he counters immediately.
“You’re such a dork.”
I’ve been best friends with Avery since high school, when he was the quarterback of the football team and I was the awkward cheerleader. Actually, he was better friends with my older brother Henry than me. We’ve never dated, despite the numerous rumors circulating around, though Avery is often even more protective of me than my own brothers. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time this man dated. Maybe when I was a sophomore and he was a senior? I believe her name was Rachel or something, but that relationship only lasted a few months.
Avery pauses the movie abruptly and shifts on the couch until I’m forced to face him. His green eyes, flecked with gold, ensnare my own.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks intently, and I momentarily lose my capability of speech.
No, I’m most definitely not okay. I’m pretty sure I have a stalker who’s been following me for the last couple of weeks.
Instead of saying all that to him—who would no doubt put me on lockdown—I manage a wobbly smile. “Just tired. I haven’t been feeling the best the last couple of days.”
He still seems unsure, a furrow to his brow that hadn’t been there prior, but he nods carefully, trusting my words.
“You should go to bed then.”
That sounds fucking perfect. A slow, languid smile curves my lips upwards as I stretch like a contented cat.
“And a nice, long bubble bath,” I say, straightening my spine and yawning.
“Don’t prune,” he deadpans. “Your brothers will have my ass if they show up and discover you’re now a raisin.”
“Oh shit. That’s this weekend, isn’t it?” I fork my fingers through my pitch-black hair as anxiety tightens in my stomach. I love my brothers, I honestly do, but they can be a bit…overbearing.
I never knew my mother, but according to Henry, I look a lot like her. I think that alone ratchets up their overprotective tendencies. When my father died two years ago, my brothers began to take it to an extreme. They had to personally do background checks on every guy I ever dated—at least, the ones that they know about. They literally beat the shit out of Avery when they discovered we were moving in together, despite my reassurances that we’re only friends.
“Nervous?” Avery teases, knowing damn well that I am. They’ll pick apart every aspect of my life—from my shitty job, to my diminutive apartment, to the guy I went on two dates with a month ago, to the F I received in my biology class. It’s not that I can never be good enough for them; it’s that they only want the best for me. They believe I deserve more than what I have, and while it sounds flattering to some, it only makes me irritated. They don’t see my demons and darkness the way I do.
“Nah.” I wave my hand in the air dismissively. “They’re massive teddy bears who just happen to like stabbing the men in my life. No biggie. Now,” I drop my hand to his knee and give it a squeeze, “I’m going to take a bath, study for my French exam tomorrow, and drink tall glasses of red wine.”
“Hug?” Avery quirks a brow, and I can’t help but roll my eyes before complying. They call it the ‘signature Emily hug.’ Because, yeah, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s hugging.
“Come here, you big galoot.” I grab at his broad shoulders and pull him to me, the hard planes of his chest resting snugly against my soft curves. His arms tighten around my middle as he exhales deeply, shoulders sagging as if a flood has physically washed away his tension. Releasing him, I hop to my feet and blow him a kiss. “Now, excuse me while I go bathe and forget about the rest of the world.”
Avery salutes me, eyes indecipherable, and I hurry towards the wing of the apartment that houses my bedroom and the en suite bathroom. I grab the fluffiest towel from the cupboard next to the sink, unplug my iPad from the wall, and then strip down as I wait for the tub to fill up with steaming water. I check the temperature with my finger, ensuring that it’s not too hot, before flicking the faucet off and sinking into the mind-numbing warmth. I decide against bubbles this time, and my bare breasts breach the surface of the water, my nipples already hardened nubs.
Resting my head on the folded-up towel, I flip on my iPad.
I lied to Avery earlier. Not that I intended to, but he couldn’t possibly begin to understand what I’m going through. I don’t even understand it. It sounds insane to my own ears.
Chewing on my lower lip, I click on one of the tabs I saved on the homescreen. Immediately, an article pops up from over five years ago, detailing the brutal murder of Brett Farkley, who was a senior in my high school. He was killed when I was a sophomore, but no suspects have ever been apprehended. According to the article, he died of blunt-force trauma to the head…the day after he cornered me in the bathroom and touched my boob without my permission. I hadn’t told anyone about that incident, so his death had been nothing more than a horrific coincidence.
Until Ali Burke was killed three months later, two days after she slapped me in the face when she accused me of sleeping with her boyfriend—which I didn’t.
Heart hammering in my chest, I continue to pull up the various articles I saved to my iPad. Each murder depicted is more gruesome than the last—everything from severed heads to slit throats to beaten bodies. All
