The Doctor Of East Hadena [MXM] [SERIAL KILLER] ✓

33 | DISARMING

When I wake up the next morning, I am no longer on my couch. I'm quite disoriented, so I don't notice immediately, especially since I wake up with a headache. It's likely the result of both my crying and drinking. It could also be malnutrition. I should probably drink some water.

I groan, rolling over and reaching up to hold my head. Ugh, this is gonna suck. Usually, my headaches last all day, no matter what I do. I can't remember if I bought more painkillers at the store last time, either. If not, I'm fucked.

"Morning."

I jump, pulling my hands away and glancing around the room. Sunlight peaks through the blinds, casting long lines across the floor and furniture. My room is kind of a mess, probably because of last night when I was going through all my clothes. When I turn to look beside me, however, I'm met with the sight of Decari.

He's sitting up, one leg hanging off the side of the bed. He has his phone in his hand, looking to be open to some sort of text message thread. He isn't paying attention to the device, though. His eyes are solely on me.

This is when the events of last night fully come back to me, and I can't help but wince. Holy shit, did he wear me down that much? I've taken the job he gave me quite seriously, mostly because of how bad of an idea we'd be. If I let him stick around, his life is over. Does he not understand the gravity of the situation? I'm not worth losing everything for. Nowhere close.

When we make eye contact, I can't help the look of irritation that takes over my face. I sigh, turning away and staring at the ceiling, stretching.

"What the fuck, Dex."

"I've only been awake a couple minutes," he tells me, like that matters at all. Does he actually think that's an issue? Why would I care about that? God, this fucking sucks.

"Why aren't you at home?" I ask him, trying to hold onto my patience the best I can. I turn, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and standing up, stretching again.

"I had no way to verify that you feel better."

He's not taking this seriously. Well, unluckily for him, I'm now sober. I'm still... really fucking sad, to be honest, but I have my wits about me now, and my headache is going away. I probably need to try and stay away from him, because I tend to lose when he gets closer.

"You know that's bullshit. Why—" I cut myself off, letting out a noise of frustration. Is he trying to make this difficult on me on purpose? I refuse to believe that he's suddenly just stopped caring about his job and his morals and everything fucking important to him. "You need to stay away from me. I'm not kidding."

I turn to face him as I talk, and I find him sitting at the very edge of the bed. He's also shirtless. How did I not notice he was shirtless? Oh, right, I was too busy internally bitching about my headache. It makes sense, I guess. He doesn't sleep in a lot of clothes.