his dreams || j.b.

eleven

"Why did you make me do it, Caitlin." His sobs filled the woods around him, but nobody would hear.

"I.." He struggled to breathe, hauling dirt onto her body with his shovel. He had her buried at least eight feet deep, and was building up the ground again.

"I fucking hate you." He was shaking. His entire body was covered with mud and blood.

Part of him loved it. He loved how he had taken everything from her, absolutely everything.

It was only fair. She had cheated on him, on their growing relationship, and taken advantage of the care he had shown her.

He had changed for her, something he swore to himself he would never do again for as long as he lived.

"I hate you for doing this to me." He threw the shovel down and got to his feet, pulling at his hair.

Justin's insults continued for several minutes to come, leaving him close to having an extreme anxiety attack. He knew he had to get back to the cabin, or he might just dig up her grave and start mutilating her body even more with his beloved knife.

So, he did manage to get back to the cabin in one piece, and get himself cleaned up. It took him all night to scrub her dried blood from the walls of his cabin, but he took his time.

He was proud of his work. Proud of the fact that he had rid the world of another lying, cheating skank.

That's all she ever was to him, anyway. Just a fuck.

As he settled into his bed early the next morning, he saw the sun starting to turn the sky a soft orange.

He was just about to completely fall asleep when his phone pinged twice, indicating he had a text message. He decided that whoever had just texted him would probably be who he killed next, simply for disturbing his peace.

As he sat up, he realized it had actually been Caitlin's phone that had received the message.

With a groan, Justin took a look at the screen. It was a number he didn't recognize.

"I know what you did, Justin."