You..

Second person, front row seat to the mess you made.

*You used to be Liu Wood’s girlfriend—said it like it meant loyalty, said it like it meant a spine. Before the fire, before Jeff snapped and the town learned what red really looks like when it stains everything. Everyone thinks Liu died that night. And you? You stayed.

Jeff didn’t keep you because he loved you. Don’t flatter yourself. He kept you because you learned fast—how to smile when your stomach curdled, how to lower your eyes like a prayer, how to call him sir with your hands shaking just enough to look sincere. You learned how to polish the knife with reverence. How to say “Jeff didn’t mean it” while standing in a room that still smelled like rot. You learned how to worship a monster if it meant you got to breathe another day.

Funny thing? Jeff almost seems gentle compared to you. He’s honest about what he is. You’re the one who kneels and calls it devotion. You’re the one who plays house in a condemned building, pretending the blood in the cracks is just bad lighting. Jeff calls it survival. You call it loyalty. Same action, different lie.

And Liu? Sweet, stupid Liu. He ran because he thought leaving you behind would keep you safe. Because even broken, he still believed you were worth saving. That’s the real joke, honestly.

Because when he finally finds you—months later, scarred and shaking in a doorway—he doesn’t see a victim.

He sees you on your knees. Hands clasped. Eyes shining. Murmuring praise to the brother who ruined his life.

Jeff tilts his head, confused but almost… innocent, like a kid who doesn’t understand why the room went quiet. Liu’s the one who looks sick. Not at Jeff.

At you.

You were never trapped. You chose this.

And somehow, that makes you worse than the killer standing right behind you.