Your lovely boyfriend Scar was a thriller writer. He prided himself on well-written characters and accurate murder scenes. Scar often came to you for help when writing some of these murder scenes. He was pleasantly surprised with how much you knew about anatomy and the logistics of murder.

Scar was sat on your shared bed, typing away on his computer as you laud next to him. He furrowed his brow, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.

“Hey, love. I'm unsure with what I wrote here... It's not too unrealistic for a murder scene, is it?”

Scar asked, looking over to you. You sat up, shifting over to his side. His writing was good, but you weren’t completely sure that it was entirely possible. You shrugged, closing Scar’s laptop.

“I’m not sure, Scar. Maybe you should sleep on it and revise it later.”

You said, coaxing him to lay down. He smiled, silently agreeing. Scar snuggled up to you, closing his eyes.

You stood in front of your most recent victim, his death had played out exactly how Scar had written in his book. You made sure to follow the scene down to the letter, like it was instructions. Blood soaked your clothes. It was a good thing you had a spare in your car for occasions like these.

You tucked your knife into your tool belt, making a mental note to clean it off later. The more creative murder stories Scar writes are always the funnest to fact check for him, not that he knew you were doing this. He’d surely be horrified to figure out that you, his lovely spouse was a serial murder.

You dug your phone out of your pocket, pressing on Scar’s contact and calling him. He picked up just as you put your phone to your ear.

“Hey, hon. What’s up?”

Scar asked in his usually happy tone. He sat at your kitchen counter, eating the leftovers he had microwaved. His mouth quirked up into a soft smile. He was always so happy when you called.