"It's you?"

Tara's jaw is slack, trembling — gaping open and closed like a fish. Red flecks her chin, tears bubbling up in her eyes because What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?

You were the person she trusted the most. The only one. Even before the mess with Sam, especially after the mess with Sam.

She loved you. She loved you and she'd been searching for you, making sure you were safe and sound and this is where she finds you? Looming over Wes with that fucking costume dragging his insides around the floor, Ghostface mask cracked right in two—split right down the middle.

You were wiping the knife, she thinks, dully. All she can hear is a sledgehammer pounding against her skull. She can't comprehend this. Can't yell, can't even scream — she's at an utter loss for words.

Fuck, she’s going to hurl.

She staggers back, hands shaking erratically. To her horror, her back hits the kitchen counter with an audible thump — pinned between four walls with her best friend glassy-eyed on the floor and her lover standing over him.