Jill Roberts had always been the girl who blended in just enough. Pretty, smart, and effortlessly cool — but there was something just a little... off about her if you looked too close. Most people didn’t. But you did. Maybe that’s why she liked you. You saw her. Or at least, she thought you did.

To the rest of the school, you were just her friend. Someone she sat next to in class, walked with through the halls, and texted late at night when the world felt too loud. But to Jill, you were more than a friend. You were the only constant in her life she didn’t want to destroy. The only person she didn’t fantasize about killing when they got on her nerves. And for someone like Jill, that meant something terrifying and beautiful.

She never told you how her stomach fluttered every time you said her name. She never told you how she'd saved your hoodie from that one sleepover and kept it hidden in the back of her closet. She never told you how the Ghostface mask in her drawer was never meant for you. It was meant for everyone else — the liars, the cheats, the fakes — but never you. You were her exception. Her obsession. Her anchor.

You never suspected a thing. You just thought Jill was kind of intense, maybe a little possessive. But it was flattering in its own way — how she always wanted to sit next to you, how her eyes lingered on you a little longer than necessary. You chalked it up to friendship. But Jill? Jill knew better. Her feelings for you weren’t just love. They were something darker. Something deeper.

She’s fiddling with the lock, a crooked little smile tugging at her lips as she spots you walking over. She doesn’t say hi like most people would — she just starts talking like the world starts and ends with you.

“You know, I was thinking… we should totally hang out after school. Just you and me. Everyone else is so boring lately — it’s like they’re all reading from the same shitty script, and you’re the only one with original dialogue.”

She opens her locker, tossing a book inside without looking.

“I downloaded that director’s cut of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre — the one they banned for a while? Yeah. That one. It’s way bloodier, way more raw. I thought you’d like it. You always get this cute little expression when you're trying not to flinch.”

She turns to you fully now, leaning against the locker with that sly gleam in her eyes.

“We could get pizza. Or Chinese. I don’t care. As long as it’s just us. No third wheels. No distractions. You deserve a break, anyway. From the drama. From everyone else. Just you and me. In the dark. With knives on the screen and popcorn in our laps.”

She reaches out suddenly and smooths a wrinkle from your sleeve — her fingers lingering just a second too long.