𝑲𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑻𝑺 | B.L & S.M

Chapter 4 : Tangled Feelings

"So, yeah, I spent most of my morning with Mrs. Cooper," I said, feeling the dull weight of the conversation settling in. "I helped around the shop for a bit and now I'm at the diner. School's canceled this afternoon anyway. Himbry's new announcement, all the—"

"—The killings?" Miles interrupted, his voice tight but with an edge of familiarity. "Yeah, I heard. Well, I'm off now. Coach had us leave early. We won, by the way, so I think that calls for a little celebration!"

I grinned at the enthusiasm in his voice. "Oh my god, really?! I'm so proud of you, Miles! You totally killed it, I bet. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it—"

"Nah, don't worry about it, babe. I told you." He chuckled, low and easy. "Anyway, I'll swing by in a bit. Same diner?"

"Yep," I answered, letting a smile curve across my lips. "Call me when you're on your way, okay?"

"Alright, I need to shower anyway. I smell like shit."

The laughter slipped from me before I could stop it, shaking my head at the boy through the phone. "Yes, yes you do."

I could hear his own laughter bubbling up, muffled but still evident. "Hey! I do not! Just today!"

"Whatever you say, big boy. Now go shower, I'll wait for you here. Want me to order ahead?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, babe, see you in a few."

"Alright," I mumbled, giving a small nod even though he couldn't see it, and ended the call. I placed my phone on the table with a soft thud, my elbows leaning into the cool, faux-wood surface. The quiet of the diner pressed in on me, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.

The clink of silverware and the faint murmur of a few other patrons were the only sounds. The unease hanging in the air was almost tangible. It had nothing to do with the diner's atmosphere and everything to do with the chilling sense of paranoia that seemed to have seeped into every corner of Woodsboro since the murders.

I sighed, dragging my fingers over the edge of my coffee cup as I stared out the window. The sky was thick with clouds, a sullen gray that felt almost like a mirror to the town below.

Normally, I would've been caught up in Miles' celebration, his excitement enough to sweep me along. But today, my mind was stuck in the past few days—the deaths, the fear, the suspicion that seemed to swirl in the air with every glance.

I mentally chided myself. Now's not the time to dwell. Miles needs me. I need him. The least I could do was hold onto something normal, something familiar, like it all hadn't turned upside down.

I knocked back the last of my coffee, swallowing it like it was a shot of something strong—probably the fifth cup I'd had today. With the lack of sleep I was running on, it wasn't that far-fetched.

"Refill?" The waitress's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts. I blinked up at her, her tired smile doing little to disguise the exhaustion in her eyes.

"Yeah, thanks," I replied, pushing my cup toward her. She filled it with fresh, steaming coffee, the rich aroma a brief balm against the heavy weight sitting on my chest.

The bell above the diner door jangled, and my gaze snapped to the entrance. My heart gave a quick jolt in my chest, my breath catching for a second, expecting it to be Miles. But it wasn't him.

It was Stu Macher.

The sight of him made something twist in my stomach. He stood in the doorway with that signature shit-eating grin of his, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, like a mask he wore to hide something underneath. He spotted me almost instantly, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, I swear his grin grew wider, a glint of something else in his gaze.