Rosalie.

Submission.

"Misty, get out of bed." Faye urged. I didn't budge, my naked body cuddled under the covers. I've been this way for the past week, Rose coming over every night and taking me, just to leave me naked and alone in bed. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of allowing a murderer to claim me every night.

And liking it just made it worse.

"Leave me alone, Faye."

"Misty.."

I sat up and glared at her, my bare breasts catching her attention, but I didn't care.

"I said leave me alone." I growled. Her eyes averted to mine and she frowned. It made me sad, but I had no motivation to make her feel better.

I couldn't even make myself feel better.

I heard her footsteps disappear down the hallway and I laid back down, staring emptily across the room.

I should get up. I shouldn't allow Rose to have this much power over me.

But at the same time I felt as if I couldn't help
myself. The same way I couldn't help that poor woman chopped into pieces in her basement.

I clenched my eyes shut, groaning loudly as I tried to get the image out of my head.

I could report her to the police.

But they'll charge me as an accomplice. I saw her get rid of the body, then fucked her with the blood on her still.

God, what the fück is wrong with me?

My phone rang, removing me from my thoughts. I grabbed it and looked at it, huffing before answering.

"Hello?"

"Misty, where the hell have you been?!" My boss yelled into my ear, making me cringe.

"I took some personal time off. I thought you received the notice."

"Yes, but it's been over a week! You took ONE WEEK off. Get the hell in here, now. I give you until one thirty, or you're fired." He hung up the phone and I looked at the time, jumping out of bed.

I had an hour.

I hissed as the soreness between my legs became prominent with every step I took. I took a shower, the tears streaming down my face as I washed my hair and scrubbed her smell off my skin. I hopped out, drying off and slipping on my underwear and scrubs, before wrapping my hair into a neat bun.

I looked into the mirror, the tears threatening to fall once again as I looked into my hollow eyes. My skin was paler than usual, my eyes puffy and tired.

I looked away and continued getting ready. I walked downstairs and heard Faye treading around the house, the tension evident in the atmosphere.

"I'm going to work, what do you want for dinner?" I asked. She didn't answer me, continuing to move around the kitchen with a lit cigarette in her mouth. I walked over and took the fresh box from the table and stuffed it in my pocket.

"Whatever."

I left the house and drove off to work, spacing out. The thoughts kept turning in my head over and over and I felt myself grow nauseous.

"God, stop! Just fucking stop!" I screamed, slamming my hand onto the steering wheel. The car swerved and I gasped, trying to regain control of the wheel.

I pulled over, starting to cry again and this time I let it all out. I couldn't take this anymore.

I couldn't handle the guilt of loving a cold-blooded murderer.