Page 5 of Fatally Yours

One year later

A little chill in the air today made me draw my jacket over my shoulders.

Mandy sat across from me, munching on a french fry as I stared down at the meal before me, sliding it across the table with a sigh.

It seemed I didn’t have an appetite today either.

That was a running theme since August passed—not wanting to eat.

There was just too much going on in my head to warrant that.

She eyed me sadly and moved my paper bag to the side so I could set my head down on the dingy picnic table.

“Not great.”

But he expected me to move on with him, but I couldn’t do that. Not when the memory of August haunted me even a year after his death. And he resented me for it. When he realized I wasn’t going to forget, he started to treat me differently. But after all he had done for me, how could I leave him?

Taking a deep breath, I began my seemingly never-ending tirade about the issues we faced regularly.

Unless I got over my grief and Devin stopped being a hard-ass, our conflicts would continue until we died.

It was a shame he was so supportive to begin with.

Knowing what I know now, I would’ve never spent so much time with him.

“He resents me or August. Or both. He wants me to move on, but it’s so hard…” I trailed off. Mandy raised her brow.

“It’s only been a year. He can’t expect you to just get over him.”

“I know. I mean, we were high school sweethearts. We were about to celebrate our fifth anniversary. I was never without him after we met. We wanted to get married, have kids…” I sucked in a breath.

“I wanted to grow old with him. Die with him.” She nodded, flicking her empty carton into the trash can nearby.

Even though the greasy meal she so graciously bought for me—more than likely to sway me into eating—smelled divine and heart-stopping, I couldn’t bring myself to do anything more than stare at it.

Thinking about what led to the events of that day, I pressed my palms to my face to suppress another round of tears threatening to sneak up on me. Even after a year, I still felt those raw emotions as if it were just yesterday.

“I wish I had never suggested we go there,” I said. “This is all my fault.” Mandy slammed her fist on the table, making me uncover my face, and my heart leaped to my throat. Before August passed, I hadn’t been so jumpy, but things change when you watch someone die.

“Do not blame yourself. It’s not your fault,” she said. “And if Devin is telling you that, then I’ll kill him myself.”

“That’s the thing. Whenever I bring up August, he gets mad at me,” I sighed. “I can’t tell you how often he’s caught me crying and got angry because he thinks I’m thinking about him.” My gaze veered to the side, hoping to avoid Mandy’s scolding eyes that were ready to beat Devin to a bloody pulp.

“Which I am,” I continued. “But he doesn’t need to know that.

Sometimes, I wish we could go back to just being friends.

But I don’t think that’ll happen.” My eyes avoided her gaze until they glazed over, not wanting to think about what I would spill next.

“And he keeps trying to have sex with me and touching me, and I just… I can’t.

He’s not August. It feels wrong. And that makes him mad, too.

” I noticed Mandy’s fist clench. I had a feeling she was holding back most of her thoughts.

“Maybe you should leave him. It’s only been, what, a month? Two tops? That’s not too deep to get out,” she said. My head returned to its previous position of sitting on my elbow.

“I don’t know. It’ll be awkward with everyone, won’t it?”

“Yeah, but he’ll get over it. It’s not fair what he’s putting you through.”

I nodded. She was right. It wasn’t fair.

I didn’t have the proper outlets to grieve.

Sure, my parents came to town for his funeral and even stopped by a time or two after, but that didn’t help anything.

It didn’t help the thoughts or the grief or the guilt that I felt for dragging us there because I wanted a change of pace.

And even though he had a lovely service, his relatives were there, and music was playing, it did nothing.

My opportunity for a future with him was ripped away by some asshole who didn’t know how to adhere to common decency. A low-life, scummy criminal.

“August was right. Devin is happy he dropped off the face of the planet,” I mumbled.

“I think he’d be happy if I did, too.” My head fell to the table as I folded my arms beneath me.

It was strange how depressed I felt despite the flurry of smiling faces and people enjoying the day around us.

Children were squealing and laughing, parents holding their hands or trailing behind them in the grass.

It was like I was being mocked. A stark reminder of what I could’ve had and lost.

“Even being at home hurts. I still have all his clothes. Sometimes, I’ll hold them when I sleep just to smell him. Or when the house creaks, I hope he’ll appear next to me and tell me this was all just a big joke or something.” I looked up at her. “Is that weird?”

“No, you’re just grieving,” she said. I felt a stone form in my throat and decided it would be best if I changed the subject. I lost count of how many times I cried in front of her about this or derivatives of this issue.

“How are things with you and, uh… Mark?” I questioned.

His name spun from my tongue felt forbidden, but she was really stuck on him, and I had to get used to it.

She never talked about someone she was exchanging letters with so often as he.

Maybe it was his looks or charm, or maybe there really was something to dating a serial killer.

I bit my tongue to stop myself from snickering.

There was no way someone as obedient as I was would ever be able to get along with someone like that.

A person who snuffed out innocent lives to get off or for a sick thrill would not get along with someone who almost cried getting their first speeding ticket after being late for work.

“No, Mark and I are great. He asked me to marry him,” she said casually, reaching into her bag and pulling out a folded-up piece of paper. I popped back up from my wilted position on the table as she handed it to me.

“He asked you to marry him?!” I cried. She nodded and rested her head on her elbow. The sun shone down on us, making her squint. My heart rate began to speed up as I skimmed the words on the page.

Mandy—

Words cannot describe how much I adore you.

You’re the light of my life, my only joy in this cell, and the woman I want to spend the rest of my days with in my bleak and lonely world.

I would live and die for you. However long the state will keep me alive, I would like to ask your hand in marriage and would be proud to call you my wife.

Our ceremony would be small, but you could wear that black wedding dress of your dreams, just like you talked about.

I would atone for my sins just to be able to hold you in my arms. Please call me and tell me your answer, my queen.

With love,

Mark

Somehow, there was something strangely romantic about his proposal, even if it was from a serial killer.

It felt like something August would’ve sung for me if he were still here.

My heart began to ache as I thought about the marriage and life I would’ve had if he were still here.

My jaw began to quiver until her words pulled me from my thoughts.

“I don’t know if marrying someone in prison is a good idea.

Talking and maybe dating is okay, but I don’t know anymore,” she said.

Now that was a surprise. Mandy saying something as obscene as marrying a serial killer was not a good idea?

Color me shocked that she would be so rational. She glanced up at me.

“Speaking of prison, you know Scott ran into Officer Grabby a few weeks ago, and he asked if, off the record , they accidentally hit August.” My face heated with her words, but I had become accustomed to it since that pivotal day.

“Devin told me something similar. Since he’s under the table, there’s no record of him working that day, so they think he has something to do with it,” I said. “It’s fucked up.”

“Yeah. Scott told him to fuck off and that he’ll report him for harassing women on the job, and that made him clam up.

” Since our last encounter with him, the rumors were flying off the rails.

Everyone from old friends to the local waitresses had stories of his wandering hands, prying eyes, and unreasonable traffic stops.

I avoided him because I spent most of my time wallowing in my misery at home, buried in a pile of August’s old clothes and cradling his guitar like some lunatic.

“That’s so messed up. How can they think that we…

” My voice tapered off, not wanting to think about it.

We did it to ourselves by being combative, and Wes running into that boulder really screwed us.

It was strange to think about the chain of events that set this in motion.

I wondered if that simple act would send one of them to prison. Or all of us…

“I don’t know,” she said. “They asked me about it once, too. I told them to take tire tread impressions of Wes’ van and then shove them up their ass.

” My forehead met my palm. Was I the only one trying not to agitate them?

Even if the urge was almost overwhelming at some points, being abrasive was probably not the best idea, considering they had the power to make our lives hell, not to mention imprison us.

“And we wonder why they’re always harassing us…” I muttered.

“They have a hard-on for pestering people who don’t act like everyone else. They don’t have anything on us. We didn’t do anything wrong. You know damn well we didn’t do it.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”