In a twisted game of cat and mouse, a young woman becomes dangerously entangled with a masked serial killer she has been obsessively stalking, leading to a bizarre and clandestine relationship that blurs the line between prey and predator.
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"I CAN'T BELIEVE you're choosing that murder house." Tracy says before sipping her tea. We're sitting at the outdoor table of some coquette cafe. "Doesn't it give you the ick? Or spurts out some PTSD in you?"
"A little." I answer, whilst playing with the red icing of the tiny piece of cake on my plate with a teaspoon. The icing looks like foamy blood. "But I want to honor my friend's memory."
"Dee, Harlow's barely your friend. He's just a regular costumer of our pizza house, whom you often deliver to and had a crush on."
"You're mistaken. It wasn't just that. He had been so kind to me and our personalities clicked. We sorta formed a small friendship."
"Oh really?" She arches up a brow teasingly. "Was it the reason he brought you home from the club? 'Cause of the power of friendship?" Then she makes this weird kissing noises.
I'm pretty sure I was the one who brought him home for making his drink roofied. But yeah, sure. "Definitely."
Although, there's a part of me that hates it, because if I didn't, then Harlow would have a fight in him when the intruder attacked him. I hate how I basically served him with a big red bow to the killer to slaughter. It's my fucking fault.
I rub my face with my hands, suppressing the urge to scream at myself and confuse Tracy.
"Hey," Tracy reaches for my arm. "Are you alright?"
I remove my hands from my face then fix up my beach curls with a forced smile. "Yeah, yeah, I just got a little dizzy. Must be all the pain medication."
"They're still making you take them, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Look..." Tracy turns serious all of a sudden. "I'm sorry if I made you relive your last moment with him. I didn't mean to. That was insensitive."
"No, that's not it..." But it is. "I'm fine really, it's just the meds."
Her phone rings, interrupting us briefly.
"Hello?" Tracy answers. She listens first to the person on the other line before speaking again. "Hajimattal-a! Beibisiteouimal-euldeul-eola! Or you won't get any candies for me when I get home. Ihaehaessnayo?" There's a brief pause, then Tracy starts to nod. "Good, good." Her call ends shortly after. She quickly puts back her phone in her purse, then returns her focus on me. "Sorry 'bout that, it's my daughter. She's pissing off her babysitter."
"Seems like your hardheaded trait is passed down." I laugh.
She chuckles then massages her forehead. "Totally."
"How old is she by the way?"
"She'll be five next month, and my parents keep on requesting me to spend her birthday in Korea with them. But my ex-wife already called dibs where to spend her birthday this year. It's giving me a fucking headache."
