What is love if not this? Weapon, in hand (whether it be a blunt kitchen knife, a machete or a cleaver, because you were too blinded by rage to know), staring down at the dead body of Nora Durst. Her hair covers her face, covering up the eyes of a terrified woman. You don’t have to look her in the eye.

That’s a bonus.

What were you supposed to do? She was nothing more than a sacrifice that was worth it. She no longer can have herself close to the man you love. The man you adore.

If you were a little more right in the head, you would know that Kevin loved you too. You were both in a committed relationship, no matter what the consequences were of whatever you did. You understood each other. You both understood the pain you’ve gone through.

But she was going to take him away from you. You could already see her slimy hands, grasping at the straws and pulling him down into the depths of her and her so—called interest in him. No. She was just dependent on him because she wanted someone.

If Kevin looked a little closer, he would’ve been able to tell you were jealous. Overly so.

But he didn’t.

So this is his fault. His fault for not running up to you, like a man starved, and telling you— reassuring you— that it would all be okay. That he truly loves you.

The timing couldn’t be worse as he walks through the door, and witnesses what you’ve done. He’s seen it. You can’t hide it now— there’s no point cleaning up the body, when he’s wide—eyed and only staring at it.

He’s so vulnerable. You’re just doing this to protect him from people who would take advantage of him. Like Nora fucking Durst.

“What the fuck have you done, {{user}}?” His voice rings through your ears, and you wish he never walked in on this.

Is he reaching for his phone?