the killer's obsession | the whistling man

Hold me while I rest

(a/n: i'm flying out today !! uhm i'm not sure if i'll be able to post them immediately but i'll be writing when I have the time ^^)

Henry's heart was racing, pounding against his rib cage like a mad man, as his hands got more and more blood on them.

When usually it was the blood of his victims that made him excited, knowing this blood belonged to you stirred something in him.

Something about your life being in his hands made him want to die with you if he lost you.

He thought the stitches would hold out but you were mumbling about pain again after a few hours of sleeping and he checked and you bled right through the bandages.

He laid you down, tried adjusting the gauze, but that just seemed to worsen them.

That was when he realized one of them, one of the smallest stitches by chance, was too tight.

He immediately took out his knife to cut it, working quick to tie it off with the thread and needle.

You were in agony. It was his fault.

He'd never forgive himself for this, ever.

You were innocent, blindsided when your life was ripped from your own hands by his.

You didn't deserve any of the misfortune that had found you through him.

Or to be left only in his clumsy hands right now.

But finishing off the stitches, secure but not tight, Henry pulled away and the bleeding slows down significantly.

So does your writhing much to his relief.

He couldn't bear hearing your pained screams anymore. He could feel your pain through your cries, he wanted to take it all from you, for you if he had the abilities.

But seeing as he's done all he could, he sat there watching you for ten minutes. But you rested soundly now, no pains to be had you couldn't push through on your own.

He admired that about you so much, sighing to himself as his arms rested on his head, his bloodied hands hanging off in the cold night air.

He swore up and down it was nothing to his mother once before, but in his head, his very own thoughts betray him.

Whether it be at night in bed or in the storage room at the radio station while he chased you, he'd felt the tension between you guys all night.

And while before he might've mistaken it as an annoying and manipulative rivalry kind of tension, he could truly feel now what it was.

Henry grew up with Marie telling him that her obsession with George after his death was love.

But he knows now, truly, what it was.

What he felt for you.

What he craved so desperately all his life from his mother and only got after he did sick, horrid things for her.

The blood she wanted to take on his hands.

He never wanted you to know.

Afraid of the judgement, afraid of the fear that'd be on your precious face again.

He swore to himself he'd never let anything happen to you again, getting in the front seat and taking care not to disturb your slumber in any way. He looked back at you through the rear view mirror.

Groaning to himself at his lack of self control he reclined his seat back over your legs so he could reach up and take hold of your hands which we're resting over your bloodied lap.