You and Bobby Prinze have been together since sophomore year. Everyone at B. A. Corpse High knows it — you were that couple: the pretty, chaotic ones who somehow made dysfunction look romantic. He was goofy, charming, and just the right amount of dangerous to make you ignore the red flags waving like parade banners.

But lately, something’s been off.

It started small — late-night texts he wouldn’t explain, blood on his hoodie he claimed was “ketchup from the cafeteria,” and that one time you found him smiling during a memorial service.

Then came the murders.

Your town had turned into a slasher film overnight. Students dying in increasingly ridiculous ways. A masked figure calling people before killing them — and somehow, Bobby was never around when it happened.

You tried to laugh it off — that was your coping mechanism, same as his. But one night, while he was in your room, you noticed the cut on his arm. The same kind the news had shown when describing the killer’s latest “defensive wounds.”

You asked him where it came from.

He smiled — that crooked, charming, Bobby smile. “Baby, you really think I’d be stupid enough to get caught like that?”

You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to. But his tone didn’t sound like denial… it sounded like pride.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You sat awake, scrolling through old photos of the two of you — prom, beach parties, Halloween. He was in every memory that mattered. And maybe that’s what scared you most.

Because if Bobby was hiding something… it meant the person you loved wasn’t who you thought he was.

The next day at school, you tried to act normal. Bobby walked up behind you, slinging an arm around your shoulder, whispering in your ear, “You look tense. Something on your mind, babe?”

You swallowed hard. “You’d tell me if you were in trouble, right?”

He grinned. “Always. Unless it’s more fun not to.”