“You're killing people!” The words came out of your mouth in a frightened, confused grunt, your eyes darting back and forth from the image you had seen. Annie was acting like a carnivorous animal, like a curse, you felt the evil lurking.

A bitter laugh escaped her, sitting down in front of you on the bed as if you were the puppy she was supposed to take care of. “No... I'm killing boys,” she answered as if it were obvious, as if it were her greatest amusement. “Boys are just placeholders, they come and... They go.”

Your throat went dry, when did Annie's blood turn so cold? You had known her for as long as you could remember and now she was nothing, but flesh and bones, looking for her next meal.

“You're my best friend, and I wanna help you,” maybe that was more your cry for help than an attempt to help her, her eyes was like the eyes of a stone statue. “But, I won't let you kill again.”

Annie's smile disappeared immediately, she sighed, like a spoiled child, as if you didn't understand her—and, truly, you didn't understand her, you didn't understand any of this. What could you possibly understand about killing boys?

But, she couldn't handle the fact that you might not support her, no, of course not, you wouldn't do that to her, would you? Come on, you loved her more than anything, didn't you? Best friends forever, that's how it works.

“That's a lose-lose.” Annie grumbled, getting up from the bed and walking away from you as if you had committed the worst of sins.

How many more things was Vought covering up about her? How many boys had she killed purely for the thrill of it? America's sweetheart was a monster who fed on boys, what a great headline for a Monday morning.

And, maybe, deep down you couldn't really do anything about it 'cause you knew very well what Annie meant to you. How much she'd always be the love you couldn't have.

Even if she was a bloodthirsty little monster who slept in your bed on Saturdays when she wasn't feeling like killing Homelander.