Sorry I write short chapters, I just am always busy and can never have the time to sit down and take my time writing a super long chapter. Love u xox Hanna (ps: I will be posting the questions and answers as soon as I get enough ques!) so please leave questions and I'll answer them soon!
Previously;
"Are we going back after?" I ask, forcing myself to eat another bite.
"Where?" He stops chewing for a moment and looks up at me.
"Your house."
"Don't call it that. It's our house, not just mine," he tells me with a smile. No, it's your house.
"Oh okay."
"What is she looking at?" His mood suddenly changes from happy to annoyed and I turn to see where he's looking. An old woman was staring straight towards his direction, looking very alert. Do they know each other?
She suddenly gets up from her seat and shouts, "He was on the news! He's wanted by the police!"
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Current chapter;
"Fuck!" Harry shouts aggressively, and he jumps up from his seat, grabbing the woman near him by the neck.
The lady screams in terror. "Please don't," she mumbles, tears freely spilling from her eyes. "Shut up!" Harry says, his behavior and emotions have changed dramatically. I don't think it's Harry anymore.
"Harry, stop. You can control this. Let her go," I say calmly, not wanting to make him even more aggressive.
"I'm calling the police!" A voice disturbs Harry's behavior and his eyes look towards the middle aged woman, who was holding her young sons hand, and then with her other hand holding a phone.
A smile makes it's way onto his plump pink lips.
"Yeah?" He laughs. His hand reaches for his back pocket and he takes out a knife.
"Well isn't this little one cute?" He looks toward her son, who had to be around four or five years old.
"Stop!" I shit, but I know it's too late.
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Sorry this chapter was short and sucked it's so late where I am RN and I'm exhausted. I'll update again soon I love u all
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serial killer / hs
FanfictionI cannot escape I cannot hide I lock my thoughts and fears inside. I look again, and now I see The evil eyes approaching me. My legs are ripped; my arms are torn My conscience weak; my soul is worn I think aloud, "Why must this be...
