A lovesick murderer and his court-ordered therapist... truly a love story to remember
♡
♡
♡
♡
♡
♡
♡
♡
Yandere sal fisher x therapist reader
GUYS I SWEAR IT GETS GOOD IN LATER CHAPTERS
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
☆☆☆
SHE WANTS to hear my thoughts, she wants me to write them down and keep them close. She told me in the tender voice of hers, the words spilled from her lips so kindly, so carefully.
She had asked me about things previously but it was never like this, never this detailed. It's confusing but in an odd way, I want to tell her. I want to tell her everything.
I wanted to tell her about my past, my mother, the cult, Mrs Packerton, everything. I could not find find the words to tell her aloud but I'll write them down, document the tales for her in ink.
The sound of my pen on the page was the only thing I could hear, the thrumming of my heart at the thought of her very nearly matched it, beat out by the thoughts of her face, her voice, her, her, her, her.
The cold of the cell nipped at my skin, breaking my perfect daydream. I shivered, letting the cold darkness seep into my thoughts. Suddenly my head was filled with gore, the thought of stabbing, of killing the people that were in the way of us being together. The thought of gutting those that stood between us ran rampant in my mind.
I shook my head. She wouldn't like that, she'd think me a monster and I can't have that, no matter how badly I want to. It would all be in vain if she hated me, if I couldn't have her. I stand against senseless violence, I killed my former neighbors to stop the devourers of God, there was reason to my crimes. I never want to be the monster they say I am.
I'd much rather be in a mental hospital somewhere, a place that wouldn't hold me back from seeing her, from touching her. If the cult hadn't covered up Dr Enon's death then I would be. It seems the universe is fervently against me.
Before I knew it, the small journal I'd been given had been filled cover to cover with stories and ramblings. I was nearly ashamed to being it back to her so soon, only to be given another empty one to use. She really did want to hear from me. I was giddy with excitement, I wanted her to be proud, to know everything about me. I'd have to fill this one too.
