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Cole: January 2025

Excuse me? Maybe everyone had been right about her after all, that she was genuinely, truly fucking crazy.

She’s just like me…

She looked at me then and something sad crossed those eyes. Was it possible? Was she like me? Before I had a chance to wonder further, she asked, her dark eyes keeping a careful watch on me. “Why did you kill him?” Taking a deep breath, knowing at least for the moment I was safe, I sighed, shaking a little before saying, “Because I have to.”

Nodding in understanding, she moved closer to the table, to the body in front of me. I have never been more hyper aware of her presence, her scent. I wanted to breathe her in. Touching a hand to the limp arm closest to her, I realised that she was wearing thick leather black gloves. “Why him though, who is he?” She wasn’t looking at me now, more interested in the corpse before her. Absolutely zero reaction, nothing. It was clear she was used to the sight of death.

“A child molester” I said simply enough, that is exactly who and what he was. A filthy, disgusting 44-year-old man who had been in and out of prison his whole life. Serving small sentences before being released back into society where he always reoffended. She stared hard at me then, “Tell me everything.”

Her words were clipped, revealing little emotion but in that moment, I finally took the leap of faith that she had been asking, no begging, of me and chose to trust her. Consequences be damned. So, I do, I tell her everything.

Using the bathroom in the spare flat, I move to work off the worst of the blood from my body. I go to great lengths to keep as much covered as possible, thankfully my clothing underneath is mainly unscathed. I do have blood on parts of my face though, my mask only covers so much and sometimes my neck gets a little exposed between the collar of the white butcher's dust coat I wear. Jacket, apron, sleeve protectors, gloves, mask and hair net. I take them all off and hang them up in the bathroom. They will need to be cleaned and hosed down.

There is a wet room shower in the bathroom, complete with a drain in the floor. I know the basics of plumbing, teaching myself from the abundance of DIY videos online. It’s enough that I can regularly clean this drain myself, to make sure it is free of any debris. When cleaning up I want to know that nothing big goes down it; no thick lumps of hair, not even a spare fingernail. The devil is in the details they say, and I haven’t spent this long getting away with murder, for me to get caught over something so trivial. It usually is, something that could have been avoided.

When I torture someone, if I remove their fingernails then I make sure I count every single one as it goes into the trash bags to make sure I have them all. It’s time consuming, much less chaotic than Miss Rosemond Ripper here, but it’s kept me and my secret safe.

She stands off to the side and just watches me, she’s transfixed. Her expression remains unreadable mostly, processing the information I have just finished telling her. A long overdue tale of 28 victims.

Is that more or less than she’s been responsible for?

I take my shirt off and it’s the first time that she’s seen me this undressed. Ironic since I’ve sent her so many pictures and videos of my cock in various states of being hard and coming. Pre come, mid come and post come. I guess that's what she meant when she said I had pretty much seen everything about her, because I had seen all the intimate private parts of her body like she had seen most of mine.

She watches me closely and there’s something lustful now glazing across her beautiful deep dark eyes as she takes me in. Her eyes are the opposite to mine, so dark that the pupil and iris in this light has blended into one. I always thought that the pupils of a monster's eyes swallowed up the iris but with Sundrop, it’s the opposite way around. Her pupils are taken over, invaded by the iris, pushing them to the point of obscurity.

I feel vulnerable under her intense gaze. They way she stares, homed in on me, I can’t tell if she wants to fuck me or kill me. Taking a deep breath, I reason with myself it's lust for me and not my blood. I’m in reasonably good shape, certainly not the best of my life but cutting up bodies and disposal does require a decent amount of strength.

I watch her eyes pop as she notices something that in my distraction of her appearing here tonight, I had forgotten about.

I laugh.

She glares at me.

“What is that?” she points at the tattoo I now have on my upper left arm. “A tattoo” I say carefully, there’s a hell of a lot more explanation required for this one. I don’t know where to start but honestly, I love the puzzled look on her face as a result. “I can see it’s a tattoo… It looks like…”

She stares at me, mouth parted and looking fuckable as always. I want to cross the distance and just fuck her here but there’s a massive wall between us for the first real time. One that neither of us has had a chance to properly think about. We are both impulsive and reckless, but this is something even I’m a little unsure about how to proceed.

I’m not sure how to find out exactly who and what she is, even though deep down I knew, I recognised it in her somehow. That makes the tattoo a little hard to deal with right now.

The last time we spoke, I had recently gotten three tattoos in the space of a few weeks from the new tattooist that had opened close to my work. I was already looking to get another. We had spoken about it; she had been encouraging me. We both love tattoos. Although, she had a lot more than I do. Yet, I’m hoping to change that. At that point I hadn’t decided what tattoo to get done next but then, I realised exactly what I should do.

The tattoo is a lilac unicorn with rainbow hair, making a matching pair for the tattoo she has on her upper left arm. We had jokingly spoken about getting matching tattoos and this just felt like a better option than just getting something simple like her name. A sign of my actual and real devotion to her.

Or who I thought she was.

She is genuinely a fucking psycho.

Who has interfered with a corpse.

I shudder and the extensive investigations I had done into the Rosemond Ripper came crashing back to me and I wondered, if this is her identity, then what the fuck has she done?

Then I must actively remind myself that I’m also a fucking psycho who beat and murdered innocent woman because someone broke my heart when I was younger.

It’s true. We were both fucked up. We had done some truthly horrible things. Could I really judge her for who she is, knowing who I am?

We were two sides of the same coin. Both of us had darkness inside of us, a deep void of evil that existed under the surface. This whole time I had pushed her away was because I didn’t think anyone could or would ever accept that side of me. Maybe she was the only one who would be able to.

The tattoo was cute, I did not regret getting it done. It would eventually be worked into a sleeve on that arm. It was supposed to be a connection to my true love, a symbol of my love for her. When I had made the decision to say goodbye to her, it was a way of keeping her with me always. Thinking that last time was truly the last time we’d ever talk. Yet, here she was surprising me and complicating things as always.

“You got my tattoo done?” She wants an explanation. “I don’t know where to start with that.” I’m as honest as I can be with her. I’ve already wrung myself out with my tale of crimes past, including the most recent one. She walks towards me then, slowly. I stand still, just wait for her to approach me. This is it I think, she is either going to fuck me or kill. I don’t know which I’d prefer.

Then before I know it, her lips are crashing into mine and she catches me off guard, pushing me off balance. She falls into me, and it takes everything in me to hold her, to keep us standing because my knees feel like they have vanished from my legs. I have nothing left. She sweeps me away with her lips and her scent as I close my eyes and relish in the taste and feel of her. My Luna, my Angel, my little drop of sunlight.

She’s been everything I’ve wanted and feared since that day back in school, the first time I can remember seeing her scrawny little teenage self. Beautiful, she was always beautiful to me, and it’s been an honour watching her grow up and grow older. I relax into a kiss I’ve been fantasising and daydreaming about since then. I realise that it’s her I want to grow old with.

Life is supposed to be for living and that’s not what I’ve been doing. Surviving, barrelling through life in a whirlwind of rage and anger, never settling or committing myself to anything, let alone anyone.

Coward.

That was what she had called me this past September and yes, I know exactly why she said it. She meant it, it’s true. I have been a coward. I have been scared. Scared of myself, scared of her, scared of letting her in and just allowing myself this, to experience this with her.

It only takes a few moments of a sensational first kiss for me to decide something; she is mine and I am never letting her go again.

“Mmmm” she moans softly as she pulls back from me and I smile widely, that momentary loss of confidence gone as something savage replaces it and I fall into something so familiar with her, “your breath smells bad” I say as nonchalantly as I can. I don’t mean it, she smells divine and honestly, I don’t think I’d care anyway. Her eyes fly open, and she stares open mouthed at me. I wink at her in response, and she cracks, her face breaking out in a smile before pulling back and punching me on the arm. She fucking knows how to hit because that fucking hurts! I won’t tell her though. I hope she leaves a bruise on me, a massive purple one like her favourite colour.

“Asshole” There’s about as much menace as a kitten in her voice as she speaks. Then Luna smiles at me, lowering her face a little, gazing up at me through those thick dark eyelashes.

Now that she’s pulled away from me, just standing in front of me again, our bodies close enough to graze one another but not touching. I pull myself up straight, standing at my full height. I want to intimidate her, but she looks at me and smiles. It's more wicked, it seems like a challenge to her instead of any real threat.

“I think we have a lot to talk about.”

That’s fucking accurate. “First I have a dead body to dispose of.” Quietly she says, “I’ve been wondering about that…” I kiss the top of her forehead, brushing away some flyaway hairs as I do. I gently push some strands of her thick dark hair behind her right ear as I kiss her forehead again. This time, she closes her eyes and leans into it a little.

I could get used to this I think, enjoying the moment too.

I will get used to this. This is exactly how it’s going to be from now on.

“Well, not all of us have the luxury of just leaving body parts lying around however we please” I smile but, in a way, I am a little jealous. How the ever-living fuck she has gotten away with it for so long has enraged me and baffled me a bit. “I mean, you are the Rosemond Ripper? That is what you said back there, that wasn’t my imagination?” I need to know, one way or another.

She looks at me, looks away almost a little embarrassed as she nods once but it's enough for now. “It’s not like I chose the name,” she says with a shrug.

No, she wasn’t the one, that was the local paper, the Rosemond Gazette. They first coined the term once they realised the bizarre deaths were in fact the work of a single serial killer rather than a strange coincidence and increase in randomised violent crime. That was what the local police had tried to convince the public of, to keep people from getting scared over a very real threat.

Rosemond has had its fair share of strange murders. This, what she was responsible for was something completely different. “I didn’t even know there was another active serial killer in the area.” She said, bringing me out of my thoughts, “I have been very careful.” I look at her, beautiful, insane and mine. “And I need to continue being careful or else it’ll be jail for me” I smile, wanting to get this next part done. I am anxious to see it through, finish what I had started before I focus my attention on her.

She deserved my full attention and nothing less. Nodding at me, she pulls harshly on the strings of my deadened heart, “What can I do to help?”