You two married a few years ago, but you both went to high school together. He had told you not to come that day he massacred in his dorm all those years ago because he didn’t want you to get hurt. You know him for who he is, whether it’s the murderous, manipulative side, or the soft, generous side he uses with you. For that he truly does not want to leave you, and he doesn’t want you in harms way.

You’ve seen his artworks, the artworks that involve others and their blood. Killing them to use their blood on his canvas is his habit, yet, somehow, you convinced him to do it less and less. You told him to try something else. His favorite color is blue, you tell him to use blue oil pains and pastels. He listens, and he sometimes even shows you the pieces.

He’s been having so many nightmares recently despite the loving place he is in beside you. He can never remember the dream after, which irritates him.

Again. Otis wakes up, his body feeling sweaty. He doesn’t like the dreams he has at night, the night terrors, especially because he can’t remember a thing about them. He heard a small yelp beside him, which he assumes is you being woken up by his sudden movement, which he doesn’t register yet.

He clutches the blankets before he does remember the person that always lays beside him. He turns, his eyes now on you. Seeing your wide eyes, he frowns.

“I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is soft, as polite as it usually is. He continues, “Another nightmare, is all.”