Crimson hatred (davekat davejohn rosemary johnkat)

Chapter 1 (please read the other story instead it's the same thingg

I really recommend you read my other story "15 and a half blocks"

it's the same thing but better edited and without tbe stupid beginning

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"Dave?"

The way she knows exactly who called her at this hour makes your stomach turn, your heart flopping against the walls of your throat like a fish, it losing its forsaken steady rhythm.

It takes a moment for you to respond, the lump in your throat seeming to have sponged up every drop of saliva on your tongue, making you grip your phone tighter as you try to regain yourself, fighting with your own sweaty and shaky palm.

"..Yeah it's me-" You nearly croak out, and both of you fall quiet for what seems to be an era of stillness, the only sound was the wind making a tree hit the side of your apartment. The way you heard her inhale made you lightheaded, as if sucking the oxygen right out of you.

She was trying to read you just by hearing your voice over the phone, and it irritated you how you knew when she was doing it, knowing she memorized every part of you all too well. Unlike others, she could read you like an open fucking book.

"Dave, Dave, you can tell me" Damn her. The way she said your new name. You don't remember your mother, but if you did, this is how you imagined her sounding like. Anything she said to you was music, and left the aftertaste of honey on your tongue. The way she spoke so soothingly made you lose some of your tension, but not much of it.

You couldn't manage to utter out a single word, your vocal chords shutting down on you, and the silence between you two is almost physically painful, so she whispers again, she voice low as if someone might be listening.

"Dave, you can come over, my mother is out. We can talk, but please hurry, it's freezing out." She nearly whispered. You didn't say anything, but you didn't have a reason to, for you were already hanging up and getting up off your bed, sliding your phone into your jean pocket. You scout out your bedroom floor, a pile of clothes in the corner.

Exhaling, you run a hand through your hair as you walk over, leaning over and digging through it. Rose said it was cold, so you decided to listen and grab a hoodie rather quickly. She would scold you if you didn't.

After you slip it on, you run out of your room, not bothering to waste time and get socks as you slip on your shoes, your heels not even into your sneakers fully, reaching over and grabbing the keys off the kitchen table as you made your way out into the ice-like night. You're not even sure if you hear the door click closed behind you as you bolt down the walkway.

You needed to see her before you melted apart again, before you would shut down all together, mind collapsing in on itself, because it didn’t know what else to do and hit the self-destruct button. You hate it. You hate yourself for using her like a cabinet to shove all your problems in. But she acted like it was nothing, for giving in and dropping the mask you always wore around everyone you knew, and you never understood her smile and happy tone when she would say 'that's what friends are for', because you used to think all 'friends' were good for was borrowing a cigarette or a swig from a beer bottle.

Rose is a strange one.

You think just the title 'friend' doesn't cut it for her, but that’s something you will never admit to. Because right now you were so desperate to see her as you tried to keep up with how fast your feet wanted to move, stumbling down the sidewalk. You would take the bus, but you had no money and didn't want to stop and wait for one.

You felt your throat begin to sting as you unwillingly let the cold night engulf you, the chills pushing with full force through your veins, but that only made you run faster.