Being a butcher was good for a big man such as Thomas. A lot of the jobs required big man size.

But blood stained his hands in more ways than one. He didn't deserve you. Your soft, warm hands against his always gave him the shivers.

A florist. Just across the way. And you'd come in to get packaged meats for your mother who lived in town.

He'd memorised your face. Needed to know your name to stay sane.

"..What is your name?" He blurted.