Chapter 8

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Peter woke up first, head lying against your chest while his limbs were wrapped around the rest of you. He was gripping you like you were the only teddybear he had, and in a basic sense you were. He'd never get enough of how soft you looked while you slept, how carefree your face seemed as you rested. Plus, the warmth of your body was addicting. No one else would ever get to feel this. No one else could feel the warmth of your body like this anymore, and he would keep it that way.

He was reminded of last nights events, making his grip around you tighten. There was nothing stopping him from being the sole keeper of your attention now. Your ex and TK we're gone. Neither of them could hurt you, or take you from him.

And still he felt... guilt for killing TK.

Truly, they hadn't hurt you. Their infatuation with you was troubling though, and Peter couldn't let him get the chance to touch or harm you. Their death had been necessary regardless of the guilt he currently felt. This was unavoidable.

At least that's what Peter kept repeating to himself.

He separated himself from your body, feeling an almost physical level of pain to be away from the warmth you provided. But of course, he had to make you food, and place the knife in its proper spot on his display he'd created for you. He stretched his muscles, yawning as he did so, but his eyes never left your sleepy face. Even as you stirred awake, and your tired eyes met his, he never once looked away. If he could take a photo without scaring you or conceding you he would in a heartbeat.

"What do you want for breakfast?" He asked, smiling at you.

"What do you have?" You replied, voice hoarse for talking for the first time.

After deciding on the food, he moved out of bed, instructing you to stay put. There was no need to move while he did this for you. Taking care of you always eased his mind, and maybe the guilt weighing down his body would release itself as he cooked. He was lost in his own thoughts for the entirety of the task, wondering not only what he had done, but how you would react to the news. He had no idea where he'd put the body, or if he cleaned the crime scene. Nor had he any idea if he was seen walking to his van. Hell, did he even clean the blood off of his shoes when he came back in?

These questions were important, but as of right now, he needed to focus on you.

He gave you the plate of food not too long later, reminding you to be careful to not drop it on the bed. Given, he could change the sheets and all that, but it would be less of a hassle if you didn't drop it. You rolled your eyes playfully, reminding him that you weren't a child and could handle eating in bed.

"How're you feeling?" You asked, taking a bite of the breakfast he made.

Worried. "Better, thank you."

You hummed in response, eyes scanning his face for any remaining emotional issues that he needed help with. Wether or not you were satisfied with what you saw was up for debate, but you shrugged nonetheless. "I'm glad. Do you want to talk about whatever happened?"

If he could, sweetheart, he would in a heartbeat. "Just some work stuff, no big deal." He replied, shaking his head. "Speaking of which, I need to grab some stuff from the van for my office. I'll be back in a couple minutes, okay?"

You nodded with a smile, telling him to be safe as he exited the room. He grabbed a tote bag from the kitchen, knowing full well that any of the plastic bags he had would show the bloody knife in nearly plain view. At the very least, you would know exactly what it was due to the shape. Plus, the opportunity for it to slice through the plastic was a very high one, and it wasn't a risk that was necessary to take.

The knife, gloves, and some random materials (to ease suspicion) were placed in the bag without any issues, given no witnesses were around to see him put a murder weapon into the bag. The image of TK's fear filled eyes flashed in his brain, but was shaken off when he closed his eyes. "I had to." He whispered, closing the van door.

He reentered the apartment, happy to see you still eating so he could put everything in place for when you were ready to see it. The knives created a misshapen heart, while the photos were places in no particular order on the wall. Perhaps he should rearrange those, or form them into a message of sorts. The knives probably weren't enough on their own, and the difference in sizes might not be obvious of what they were.

He thought for a moment, and decided to start putting the pictures into their own heart shape. Perhaps you'd-

The door opened. Did he not fucking lock it?! "I just wanted to check in again, make sure that you're actually-" you dragged out the last syllable as you stared at the scene before you.

"I can explain." No. No he couldn't.

"I-" You gulped. "A-Are those..."

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were terrified. Eyes wide, tears threatening to fall, and your body was trembling. Yet, you were frozen in place. He took a shakey inhale. "I wanted to capture your special moments. When you could fully be yourself. I promise I'm not-"

He didn't get to finish before you were sprinting to the front door. Unfortunately, he was much faster than you, and swept your legs out from under you, forcing you to the floor with a hard thud. You began thrashing, but just as you began to scream for help, you were turned around and his hand was over your mouth. You were clawing at him, muffled screams refusing to stop as his hand pressed at the pressure point at your neck, remaining there as he repeatedly apologized for what was happening.

He meant it. He didn't want this to happen the way that it was happening. Things were perfect only a few minutes prior. Hell, the way he had planned everything to go down was a lot more peaceful, a lot more calm. A lot less scary. Instead because he hadn't locked the fucking door to his office he now had to knock you out, and then drug you to ensure you were asleep for the car ride that was about to take place.

Now that you were unconscious, he walked to the bathroom, grabbing a syringe full of a non lethal drug that would make sure you were asleep for at least a few hours. You'd wake up with a headache, but it was worth it. He needed to get you someplace where you wouldn't escape, or be heard as he explained everything to you. You only saw him as a danger right now, and that wasn't what he wanted. He'd fix it, though.

You'd come around to forgive him for his actions. You loved him, and he loved you. Right?

Moving you outside was sketchy to say the least. The amount of people outside was extremely small, but carrying an unconscious person into a van in broad daylight was... concerning. Yet no one said anything, or seemed to even notice as he buckled you into the passenger seat. The world was a dangerous place, and although he felt guilty for this too, this was also for the better. Keeping you safe was top priority, and if that meant doing things that felt wrong then so be it.

You were far more important than his own morals.

"I'm sorry, baby." He said, starting the van. "I'll all be better later. I promise."

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