Mad Love || Anakin Skywalker x Reader

9 - Sneaky Little Butterfly

(TW: Brief mention of SA in this chapter)

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(y/n)'s POV
Arriving at work on time for a change, I stepped into the entryway, which felt more like a foyer. I stopped short when I spotted about six police officers inside, chatting with Doctor Kenobi. Thankfully, they weren't the same bothersome ones I had encountered before.

Unfortunately, I did recognize one of them.

"Jackson? What's happening? Why are you here?" I asked my fiancé as he approached me, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. The taste of blood still lingered in my mouth whenever I looked at him, but I was healing. It's been a week and I finally felt present in the moment instead of lost in a fog. I even cancelled my sessions with Anakin, not having seen him since he gave me my own therapy—as he called it.

I wasn't in my right mind and he deserved having me when I was, not when I was a shell of a person and could hardly help him, let alone know time of day it was.

He let out a sigh and crossed his arms, looking down at me with a worried expression. His concern for me felt oddly ironic. "It seems one of the night guards was murdered. A cleaning lady found him in the supply closet this morning; his throat was cut." He gestured to his neck, illustrating the grim fate of the poor man.

"Are you kidding me?" My eyes widened in disbelief, and he nodded. "Do you have any details?" I asked, my mind racing with questions about who could have done such a thing and why. I guess I should really be asking myself how they did it, because asking why felt stupid. This place is full of killers.

That made two deaths since I had arrived.

Jackson shook his head. "No, we don't have anything yet. And there are no security cameras in this hospital, either, due to patient privacy," he said, rolling his eyes at the obvious fact that most hospitals lack surveillance for ethical reasons. "So we're really at a dead end." He groaned, running his fingers through his short, dark hair.

After a few moments of silence to gather my thoughts, I took a deep breath and asked, "What was his name?" I sighed, hoping it wasn't someone I knew.

He shifted his gaze to the other officers still talking to my boss. "The victim's name was Carl, right?"

They all turned to look at us, and Kenobi gave a nod. "Yes," he replied, his eyes then flicking to me. He seemed to barely notice I was there, which I didn't hold against him. "Morning (y/n)," he said, tilting his head in a small greeting, a faint smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes, clearly troubled by the grim situation. While a death among staff isn't unheard of in a place like this, it's not something you see every day. "We'll talk about this in your office after your session."

"Yes, sir," I replied, keeping my tone respectful as he returned to his conversation with the police. Most places would close down in the face of something like this, but not here; this job doesn't allow for pauses, not even for murder. "So, what happens now?" I asked Jackson, knowing he would have the answers.

"For now," he stepped closer, and I fought the instinct to pull away. I was only talking to him for information, still feeling the sting from over what he did to me. I can still feel his hot breath on my neck and the way my skin crawled while his touch caressed every part of my body while I cried. "There's extra security on every floor, and we've doubled up at night. Also, a section on the fifth floor is off-limits until CSI gives the all-clear." He raised his hand slowly, brushing his fingers over the bruise on my neck that was almost fully healed, "Just go about your day as usual, and I'll keep you updated. Try not to be scared; you're safe."