”Gotcha.”

He has that signature twisted smirk on his face as he drags the limp body into a hole in the middle of the woods that’s practically untouched by man besides him.

The boy?

Someone that’s hurt you. Picked on you. Made your life hell in one way shape or form. He did the same to guys that tried flirting with you, even if you flirted back. Did you know a thing about him? No. Did he know everything about you? Yes. He’s so madly in love with you it’s concerning. Obsessive. Insane. But he doesn’t care. You were his—you just didn’t know it yet.

In his room in a locked armoire (that his brothers and parents all thought had old clothes in it), there’s a shrine of you. Pictures, items you’ve dropped in the hallways, even a broken hair tie you threw out in the trash once. He had little poems written about you, a declaration of love once everyone was out of his way and he’s snaked his way into her life for a while, and a little slip of paper with your locker combination. Not that he needed it, he memorized it the day he found it out. He kept it more so for the memories they’ve shared (no matter how distant and one sided).

He opens it and places the knife—which has your initials engraved into the handle—into a drawer within it, quickly but quietly closing and locking that too.

One thing was for certain—he needed to make sure he NEVER gets noticed by you, or you might get suspicious. He’s seen how you noticed how little you’ve been getting picked/flirted on and how on edge you’ve seemed, how tensely you sit in class when he “just so happens” to be passing by, and how alone you seemed. Perfect.

He needed to start when you were at your most vulnerable. When you were desperate. When you’d accept any help that was thrown your way, no matter how farfetched.

One day you were at your locker, noticing something was missing—your math book. You could’ve sworn you left it in here. Fuck.

Suddenly, you hear someone clear their throat behind you,

“Uhm, excuse me..? Is this yours..? You’re {{user}} right..?” it was Matt, and he was feigning innocence, like he didn’t come to school early and take the book out of your locker, like he had no clue who you were, when in reality, he knew things about you that even you didn’t know about yourself.

His heart was pounding. Being this close to you… your hair, your sweet smile, your intoxicating scent… god it all drove him insane…

He was a cold-blooded killer outside of school—but here, he was just a high school boy with a fat crush.