Killer || m.g.c

1.2

Bonnie Jackson.

It's been a week since my first kill, a full seven days. The body was found, I've seen the news reports, but they're no closer to finding the killer, thank God.

Michael and I haven't moved motels yet. He keeps saying we will soon, but it hasn't happened. I'm not exactly complaining, though. The television here has pretty good channels and the place doesn't smell bad.

Michael and I have shared a bed each night, since there's only a double. I insisted on sleeping on the floor the second night but he disagreed, telling me some obviously fake facts about posture and mattress safety. Waking up to him next to be had been undeniably pleasant. Never has he ever woken me up early and his morning voice is music to my ears. Then there's the whole him sleeping shirtless, which I couldn't not like, but I'd deny it all if he brought it up. We haven't talked much since the first night here. We sleep till the afternoon anyways, and he's either out or we're watching tv and movies the rest if the time. Of course there's small talk, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss hearing his voice more.

My feelings towards him made me want to gag. I liked him, I knew for sure, but whether I like him as a friend or more than friend is still undecided. Perhaps it's a crush, a small, meaningless crush. I hoped it was. That my brain was just confusing caring for me with loving me. Whenever I decided that I didn't like him in a more than friend way, I think of how his lips felt on mine, how his hands lingered, how he cared enough to stop me. That's what made me question it all. Maybe I'm over thinking it, maybe I'm in denial, maybe I'll never know.

I adjusted the pillow behind my back as I sighed, stretching my arms before letting them flop against the white blanket. I turned and looked at Michael, lips slightly parted as soft breaths fell from them. His hair was messy and unkept, the small slithers of sunshine shining from the blinds casting lines against the exposed pale back he showed. I rubbed my eyes as I yawned, not wanting to get out of bed but needing to, the need to make breakfast and eat stronger than the one to sleep.

My feet padded softly upon the wooden floor to kitchen across from the bed and I frowned, realising my food preparation would wake up Michael. I shivered as I stood in front of the small kitchen space, the undies, bra and socks I wore obviously not enough to keep myself warm. I grabbed a t shirt from the floor and pulled it on quickly, opening the fridge and rubbing my arms as I scanned its contents.

I pulled out some bacon and set it on the bench as I tried to quietly get out a fry pan, putting it on the stove and turning on the gas.

"I'd be lying if I said you didn't look hot right now." I heard Michael say groggily from behind me. I didn't even turn around, just smiling at the pan as I adjusted it better.

"Such a way with words." I said, peeling the bits of bacon apart and putting some on the pan. I held one up so Michael could see. "You want some?"

"Of course." He announced. I put the rest of the bacon on the pan and turned around, leaning against the bench and crossing my arms. Michael lay in bed still, arm across his head slightly but raised a little so I could see him looking at me.

"I'm not blind, I can see you looking." I scoffed with a smile. He threw his arm back, revealing his face.

"Wasn't trying to be subtle about it." He informed me, moving so he was sitting up slightly. I walked over and sat cross legged on the bed, facing Michael. He scanned my body for a second before frowning. "Get your own clothes."

"Yours are better." I shrugged with a cheesy grin. He rolled his eyes, but still smiled at me.

"So I was thinking about the other night..." Michael said, trailing off.