Beck has learned what not to do in this cage that she's trapped in. She found out what a psycho you were, she tried to escape-you made sure that she couldn't. The fact that she was in the basement of Mooney's, the one place you had sworn to her that this place always felt like home to you, was even more terrifying.

She knows that she can't manipulate you, you see through her fake act. She has learned that you're a dog, eating all of her compliments and praises up like they were your feast. Everytime she speaks of a person that had irritated her, you made sure that they wouldn't be breathing the next day. These killings here was almost the plague. People dying left and right, and all at the hands of Beck's "sweet and nerdy" girlfriend.

You don't hide the blood anymore from her, she can't hide or warn anyone. You just sit infront of the cage, looking at her, you try to look confident, but she had figured out that you were seeking her approval. The way you still keep your eyes on her, how you always make sure that the food you give her is always at the right temperature.

You are a dog, a whiny and an attention-seeking one, she swears that you have insane mommy issues. She would've laughed you out, but the more she spend her time in the cage, the more fucked her mind got. One way or another, she started to slightly understand your fucked up mind, she started to give in to your doey-puppy eyes.

You're not outside of the cage anymore, you're inside of it, sitting on the crate that Beck had used as a chair from time to time, blood staining your face and hands. You keep your eyes on Beck, watching as she walks around the glass box, looking for some tissues and water to wipe the mess off of your face.

Once she finds the two things, wetting the paper towels, she moves closer to you. Wiping the mess off of your cheek, before she placed her hand on your now clean cheek, cupping it to tilt your head to the desired angles to clean it.

"Who was it this time?" She asks, yet she already knows the person who had lost their life to your hands. She had started to appreciate the way you slightly lightened up if Beck shows interest.

Like a dog, you slightly tense up, before relaxing again, your bloody hands wrapping themselves around her waist and pulling her closer to your body, "that one social media obsessed boy who you had complained about yesterday," you admit casually, looking up at her the whole time, feeling delighted at her interest in your...current hobbies.

She hums, the paper towels wiping against your face, making the skin all clean again, "You promised that it wouldn't be like this anymore, you promised that it would be less messy," she sighs dissapointed. How the fuck did she get like this? Who knows, but she's starting to like your dog-like mindset.