He awoke with a startled gasp tumbling past his lips as he sat up. Suddenly conscious.

A burning, and stinging pain shot through his whole chest, making him almost throw up as he strained himself to lay down again.

As he dealt with the burning shocks of pain, that seemed to want to rip him apart from the inside, he realized his back was leaning against something warm and fluffy.

He forced his blue eyes to open and look around, frowning when he realized he was no longer in Sydney's house —where he had killed maybe two of her friends. He was no longer feeling sticky and dirty, his hands no longer feeling messy with the dried up blood.

He had killed two of Sydney's friends, two of the friends of his girlfriend's friend. And then was when another shock of reality hit him. His girlfriend.

It didn't matter anymore the stinging pain in his chest anytime he moved, it just mattered if you had found out about him being the killer.

But then, as he forced his usually sharp —but now slow— mind to focus on his surroundings, he realized with blurry vission blacking in and out from the pain that he was inside a very familiar pink room.

White paper on the walls, boy-bands posters, a desk with pink pencils and notebooks, a pink —again— record player. And he was tucked inside of a warm and cozy bed, with pink sheets. He was in his girlfriend's room —your room. a room in which he stood out like a sore thumb.

He managed to pull the blanket off of him just enough to see the bandage wrapping his chest, just where the stab wound was —and it hurt like hell.

He finally calmed down, somewhat, with still a lot of questions in mind. He just knew he had been stabbed by Sydney, blacked out, and then woken up in his girlfriend's room.

Just then, the door to the room opened. To reveal sweet you looking at him as if he was still an angel and not a sinner. He managed to lift his hand towards you with a confused look to his baby blues. "doll?" he coughed, voice raspy from lack of use.