Love Me (Yandere! Jeff the killer)

Chapter 3

-Rose-

I glanced at the sky outside of my window. There were some scattered clouds drifting lazily in the sky.

But that's not where my attention was. Not specifically, at least.

No, I was looking at the sky so I wouldn't draw attention to the fact I was looking towards a white hooded man in my peripherals.

He had been stalking me for months. The man whose outfit never varried from a white hood and black pants. At different times there would be large red stains all over the white hood, changing their location or disappearing altogether.

The man who had long strands of matted black hair and pale skin unmatched by any other person.

I had heard the news reports. This was the serial killer terrorizing my county. Maybe even my whole state. Witness testimony describing him exactly how he appeared.

I glanced back down at my sketchbook, trying to sketch out a face. It was just a female face.

No one that saw his face survived. No one, except me.

I remembered the incident in the bookstore too well. I hadn't noticed him following me then, but it wasn't too hard after that.

I had gone in looking for a certain book on drawing and drawing references. My favorite artist had recently released her newest book, and I wanted to purchase it as soon as possible.

When I found it, I had taken it from the shelf and leafed through the pages. I hadn't realized I wasn't alone, so I turned and began walking to the register. I had just closed the book and looked up when I rammed my whole bodyweight into something.

I began to back up when a strong hand grabbed my left upper arm. Startled, I looked up before I could utter an apology. I had encountered people angry with me for bumping into them, but this was different. This man just stood there.

I looked up into startling icy blue eyes. They seemed to pierce me, and I found anything I had tried to say vanish from my tongue. He just stared intently at me, not seeming to expect anything, but just stared.

It was the eyes I saw first. Then I saw the scarred skin on his face, the stark whiteness like paper, areas where it peaked and dove, like his entire face had been burned by something. What caught my attention was that he still had a nose, something I thought was uncommon for burn victims.

Then I noticed a twisted, carved smile cut into his face. It was uneven, and there were multiple lines around the edges, like it was recut or hacked at multiple times.

Ragged, black hair fell in front of his face. It looked like it hadn't been tended to in a long time, some of it matted and unkempt. It swayed slightly in front of his mouth as he breathed, showing a type of delicacy to it as it moved almost weightless.

I studied his face without intending to. There was something in his eyes as he stared into mine that shifted and changed the longer he stared.

I stammered out an apology, feeling a sense of dread fill me, then I walked away as his hand dropped.

I glanced back as he looked down at his hand that had grabbed me, turning and walking away. I swallowed and hoped it was just a weirdo that happened to be by me.

But that strange man matched descriptions of a suspect fleeing scenes of murdered residents. The descriptions always matched. Any attempt to apprehend the subject resulted in more deaths. He seemed impossibly strong and fast.

And that was scary. Now he seems to have taken to following me. I wasn't certain what to do.

No, I knew the proper thing to do was go to the police.

But I just couldn't. I was worried they'd question me as to why I had taken so long. Why I didn't save more lives by reporting him.

Maybe it was because whenever someone would come to me seemingly romantically interested they would turn up savagely murdered. Like that boy on the news this morning. The boy who had given me a rose and his phone number. I laughed that the flower matched my name, and he seemed shy about it.

I shuddered. It had been hours between when I talked to him and when he was found. Fucking hours.

Or maybe it was morbid curiosity. He was never seen around any other victims. Never seemed to take his time with them before or after we met in the bookstore.

What made me different? Why did he follow me for months, when several victims had been killed within a week of returning from trips, or their schedules not changing at all?

Why me?

I wanted to know. But I couldn't figure out how to find out.

"Hey, Mr. Serial killer, sir? Why do you follow me around?" I cynically thought to myself.

I sighed, resolving that I'd likely never know. If anything, all I could hope was that I'd bore him and he'd move on.

Was he just messing with me? Several of my male friends had died or gone missing since that bookstore incident. Some female friends too... I was do worried about them.

If he's the one really responsible, I was even more torn. I want justice for the people I care about.

But at the same time... I want to know why. Why me? Why take his time with me? Was it just a sick game?

I looked down at my drawing. I had talked to the police about my friends, but never brought him up. Did that make me an idiot?

I looked over at the sky again, seeing the white hood in my peripheral again. He shifted slightly, as though to look closer, but stopped and continued his staring again.