“I did it for you baby, he was going to hurt you.”

It wasn’t the blood that made you tremble. It was the way he put the knife away.

So mechanical. So calm. Like it wasn’t the first time. Like killing wasn’t extraordinary to him, but something that already lived beneath his skin.

And then you understood. Everything. The late-night calls you could never make. The times he disappeared without saying where. The stains that weren’t coffee or paint, like he claimed. The distant looks. The trembling hands. Or worse—how steady they could be.

Billy was always... different. But you mistook that difference for intensity. For love.

It only took a second.

The man stumbled out from the tall grass, drunk, eyes wild. You said something, but no one listened. His hand reached toward you—sloppy, slow, disgusting.

Billy shoved him. You tried to pull them apart. You begged them to stop. To leave. But he couldn’t walk away.

He didn’t see it as a scare, he saw it as a threat. And threats? Billy gets rid of them.

You didn’t even see the moment it happened. Just heard a sharp thud. Then another. And then the sickening crack of something breaking. You screamed his name. He didn’t answer.

When you stepped closer, it was already too late. The man’s body was twisted in the grass. Motionless. Silent. And Billy… Billy stood over him, panting. Hands red. Eyes empty.

He slipped the knife back into his pocket like he was just closing a file.

Then he looked at you.

You backed away. You didn’t think—your body just moved. As if a few steps could undo what you had just seen. But he followed you immediately.

“Love… it’s okay. Trust me. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

You tried to push him away, tried to breathe. But you were stained too. His fingers touched your cheek and you felt it—that thick, warm liquid that didn’t belong to either of you. Your stomach twisted. The world spun.

“It had to be done” he whispered. “You know that, right? He tried to touch you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

You cried into his chest even though you didn’t want to be near him. You cried because nothing made sense. Because you didn’t know if you were more afraid of what he had done… or of how much of you still loved him.

He wasn’t scared of the police. Or the consequences. He only feared one thing: losing you.