Chapter 2 Script

So with a good portion of the votes being in favor of sharing the script (and with the possibility I may start from scratch), I'll share half of what I've written so far (25 out 51 pages total).

So with that said. Here's a good bulk of chapter 2s initial script!

----------------

Saffron (outside of the bar)

Saffron taps his fingers along the edge of the steering wheel as he watches you disappear into the bar, your body illuminated by lightning as it pulses through the sky.

Idly he brings his thumb to his mouth and licks.

He can still taste your blood from earlier today. Fresh and sweet, like cotton candy.

A sharp contrast to your guarded personality.

He marvels at how much a person's taste can differ from how they present themselves to the world.

Those who act soft and sweet often have a rancid aftertaste. Or those who parade around with vibrant personalities often end up being bland in flavor.

But you…

You-

He winces as his teeth accidentally tear through skin and he draws his thumb away from his mouth, studying the pearl of blood forming at his open wound.

Ah.

He got carried away again.

He licks it away with a quick swipe of his tongue, trying to ignore the vomit inducing taste.

Enough of this longing.

Soon he'll have vials of your blood to mix with his liquor. Plenty to drink and savor for years to come if he preserves them long enough.

Not to mention the delicious meat he'll pair it with.

He just needs to remain patient.

Saffron busies himself by looking at his phone and going over CAKEs schedule.

He's shuffled around a lot due to Adam's unforseen injury which leaves most of their week open.

Perfect considering the amount of clean up this will take.

Adam informed him of your aunt being a probable casualty, but since she's such a recluse, it's unlikely anyone will notice her missing for quite some time.

They can make a few payments here and bribes there in order to keep suspicion off of them.

Still.

It would've been so much easier had Adam done what he set out to do earlier.

Everything was planned accordingly. Not a flaw in place.

So what happened out there that allowed you to escape?

Saffron(yesterday at the hotel)

Saffron steps inside the hotel's elevator and presses a button for the main floor, adjusting the cuffs of his button down shirt as he waits for the doors to close.

Damn.

No matter how many times he gets his clothes tailored, they never seem to fit quite just right.

It's not like he's hit a growth spurt.

He's far beyond his pre-pubescent years where changing height and lengthening limbs were a problem.

No. It's another matter entirely.

Saffron sighs and forces himself to stop fiddling with his attire, accepting defeat yet again, when a young man with short, cropped hair joins him.

He smells faintly of lavender and honeysuckle.

Yesterday it was rosemary and mint.

He glances at the man's hands, slight hints of dirt caked underneath his cuticles, nails cut to the quick.

Saffron smiles as his finger hovers above the elevator buttons.

Saffron: Floor?

The man offers up a quiet, subdued smile of his own, mouse-like in nature.

Man: Lobby, please.

Saffron: Same as me then.

He says and hits the button.

That in itself is a lie. He has nowhere to go, at least not until he's to retrieve Adam and help dispose of the body.

No, he's here for him.

The cute and timid gardener boy who stares at the ground wherever he goes, even on his way to the little florist shop that he works at a few blocks down.

Saffron bought a bouquet of meaningless daffodils in order to engage in even a slight conversation with the young man.

And what he discovered underneath that demure, soft spoken act was an inquisitive mind.

One that Saffron was ravenous to get to know on a deeper level.

Saffron turns towards the young man, about to engage in polite conversation when his cell phone begins to ring, classical music flooding the small space.

He smiles at the young man.

Saffron: Please, excuse me.

The young man holds up his hands, and Saffron catches the sight of a band-aid wrapped around his thumb.

Man: Oh, no, you're fine. Don't mind me.

So considerate.

Saffron has to dig his nails into his phone to keep his composure.

Patience, Saffron. You'll scare him off.

He's made that mistake many times before.

Acting over-eager and asking them to dine with him only for them to stand him up, but he's learned and adapted, and soon he'll have this man on a silver platter.

He'll make sure of it.

Saffron answers the call with a firm-

Saffron: Hello?

There's heavy breathing on the other end, followed by a curse and a grunt.

???: Fuck.

Saffron frowns, worry zipping through him in an instant, but he forces himself to remain composed.

Playing the part of a concerned parent will only serve to aggravate Adam.

Saffron: What happened?

Adam hisses through his teeth and Saffron hears the sounds of heavy footsteps.

Adam: They got away.

Saffron blanches until the words register.

Saffron: They, what?

Did he hear him right?

But no one's escaped Adam—no one.

So how-?

Adam answers, as if knowing exactly what's on Saffron's mind.

Adam: They managed to catch me off guard before stabbing me with my own fucking knife. Then they got in their car and sped off.

Another grunt. Then, under his breath-

Adam: I'm going to fucking kill them.

Saffron rubs the bridge of his nose as the elevator dings, and the doors open, signaling they've reached the lobby.

The young blonde steps out without a moment's hesitation and any chance Saffron had for inviting him out to dinner is now ruined.

He really hoped today was the day.

But until they take care of YOU, he'll need to take a rain check.

Saffron: Alright. I'm coming to pick you up. Stay where you are.

Adam doesn't answer and instead hangs up. A moment later Saffron gets a text for Adam's coordinates. He's about a mile off from where he dropped him off last.

Saffron pockets his phone and locates the rental car before hopping in and setting off for Adam's location.

He better be okay.

Saffron (Yesterday on the Abandoned highway)

Saffron finds Adam crouched down near the side of the road, using his turtle neck to soak up the blood pouring from his wound.

The same one you left behind.

Saffron's hands flex around the steering wheel as Adam hauls himself into the passengers side, wishing they were circling your neck instead, taking the life you tried to steal from Adam.

How dare you touch him.

How dare you leave him bleeding out.

You almost ruined everything.

You're lucky Adam didn't die or you'd face a fate far worse than Adam could ever give you.

Slow. Tortuous-

Your body chained to his dissection table, squirming and flailing about, screaming your vocal cords raw in a massive symphony of emotion and terror quelled only by your following-

Adam: Saffron.

Saffron snaps out of his fantasy with stark clarity, startled by how visceral his own emotions are.

His hands loosen around the steering wheel and he blinks in a daze.

Oh.

What an unusual reaction.

He's never felt such indescribable hatred and rarely does he think about using such unnecessary violence-preferring to use tools rather than his bare hands-on an individual.

Perhaps seeing Adam hurt awoke the parental side of him.

He does care about the band members after all.

He tucks it away for later to give a proper dissection.

Saffron: I apologize. Could you repeat that? I'm afraid I missed what you said.

Adam's jaw ticks as he wipes away the faint sheen of sweat gathering above his brow, but he's far more subdued than usual and his words lack their usual bite.

Adam: Did you bring sutures? I'm fucking bleeding out here if you hadn't noticed.

Saffron tuts as he reaches into the back seat and retrieves a small white medical kit. He hands it over to Adam.

Adam: Thanks.

A dry response and one that lacks genuine gratitude.

Saffron can't help, but smile as Adam pulls out the needle and begins sewing his skin back together.

Always with the crass language, this one.

But at least he gets to see the real Adam.

Most people in their lives will never know the cruel being lurking beneath his modest persona. Never know how many bodies left in Adam's wake that Saffron took the liberty of cleaning up.

They'll never experience such a pleasure because they'd never understand it.

They'd call him a monster. Drag him into the electric chair for their version of justice despite the fact Adam stands for the very same thing they do, working to eliminate the sinners posed as saints.

He just doesn't mind having a little fun before snuffing out their miserable existence.

And no one will ever find out.

Not unless-

Saffron starts the car.

Not unless you reveal their secret.

No.

Everything will turn out fine.

He shouldn't think about the worst case scenario.

And besides…

You're just one measly little piece of livestock who managed to escape the packaging plant. You operate the same as most people.

You'll slip up at some point because you're in a panicked state and those who let their feelings overwhelm them tend to make plenty of mistakes that both he and Adam can take advantage of.

There's just one thing nagging at him.

Adam almost always executed his plans with flawless precision.

So what did you do in order to catch him off guard?

Adam won't answer outright, he's sure. It's something Saffron himself will have to piece together.

Not that he doesn't mind a good puzzle from time to time.

It keeps him sharp.

Adam: Stop.

Adam says, pausing mid-stitch to look at Saffron.

Adam: I can tell what you're thinking. Just leave it alone.

Saffron: I have no idea what you're referring to.

Adam: You know exactly what I mean.

Saffron: Is there a reason you're so desperate to hide it?

Adam: Is there a reason you're being so annoyingly persistent about it?

Saffron sighs, reigning in his frustration. Getting mad at Adam won't help and will further him from his goal.

He tries again.

Saffron: I understand your discomfort, but I wouldn't if it weren't so important. Someone got the upper hand on you.

Saffron: What if they manage to do it a second time? What if they kill you or worse? I can't let that happen, Adam, I won't allow it.

Adam's quiet for a moment and when Saffron's eyes skirt over to see what's causing such a long pause, he catches the other man touching his lips while wearing a slight frown on his face.

Saffron notices for the first time they're swollen.

Adam: It won't happen.

Adam says at last.

His fingertips trail from his lips over to the ever present earring. It glints under the glow of the sunlight; as if even God approves of whatever decision he's come to.

Adam: It won't happen, because I won't let it.

Saffron withholds a shudder as Adam's gaze cuts over to him.

Not out of fear, but in delight of a hunt that will end in a satisfying conclusion for the both of them.

Because if anything…

Adam's just as hungry of a monster as he is.

Saffron (outside of the bar)

Saffron trusts Adam's decision to redeem himself.

From the way Adam spoke, whatever you did to him was unforgivable and Saffron knows it's not just because you stabbed him.

No, it's something much deeper.

More complicated.

Like you somehow shook the very foundation of his being.

How you did it Saffron doesn't know, but either way Adam will eliminate you without mercy.

Because on the off chance he doesn't…

Saffron's eyes flicker towards the glove compartment box.

He reaches over and pops it open, revealing a hidden revolver nestled between slips of paper work, and traces the cylinder with great affection—his gaze returning to the bar where you disappeared into.

Saffron: Adam gets ten minutes to redeem himself once we get back to the trailer park.

Saffron promises himself as you exit the building in a rush.

He closes the glove compartment and tightens his grip around the steering wheel.

Saffron: Otherwise…I go in.

Adam (earlier)

Adam hovers above the collapsed form of your aunt.

Shards of glass lay scattered around her body like broken teeth, blood splattered across their surface in cruel arches.

He nudges her limp wrist with the toe of his boot, having questioned—through all of her incessant begging and pleading—how much more pathetic this woman could get.

Turns out by quite a lot.

Adam: I told you not to run. Now look at you. You've gone and made a mess of things.

Ruth doesn't respond. Not that Adam expects her to.

She hit her head pretty hard on the corner of the kitchen table when she tripped over her own two feet in her haste to get away.

He'd hoped to pry information out of her once he finished you off.

Things only she might know.

Things that could lead to him achieving his ultimate goal and the promise he made to her.

But of course not.

Because no one in your family can listen for five fucking seconds.

Adam sighs, scrubbing a tired hand through his hair as he takes in the miserable scene when something in your aunt's grasp captures his attention.

When did she…?

He bends down, keeping a careful distance from your aunt in case she's hiding one of the glass shards in her free hand, waiting for an opportunity to strike that will never come because he's all too familiar with the same tricks from his previous victims.

He picks up the photograph tucked beneath her palm

The photo she kept hidden in her drawer.

The one she was so desperate to protect.

He takes note of the cracks on the glass fissuring outward, starting at the edge of the frame and slicing through Ruth's younger self, splitting her apart in a twisted sort of irony.

His gaze drifts over each of the five women until he lands on the one with wavy brown hair, her shy laughter concealed behind her hand.

He almost forgot what it sounded like.

Almost forgot the warmth and vibrancy after all these years.

He can hear it now.

Adam swallows hard and flips the frame over, undoing the back, letting the foam board fall to the ground with a dull thump before pulling out the picture itself.

He peers over the newly freed photo, sparing another glance at your aunt.

His expression hardens with hatred.

She looks a little more like her younger self like this—her hair loose from the scuffle, her arms spread like angel's wings.

But nothing about this woman is angelic.

Adam: I'll be taking this.

Adam says before stuffing the picture into his wallet for safe keeping.

If he can't get any information out of her, he reasons he'll just try using other resources like this photo instead.

Maybe even YOU might know something considering your connection to Ruth.

Some secret she could've spilled without you realizing their significance.

???: ….do…n't….take…g….ba…..k

Adam catches the sound of a small, desperate whisper.

He peers down at your Aunt Ruth and cocks his head to the side, almost mocking.

Adam: Oh? Are you still alive?

She doesn't say anything, but he notices a flicker of movement from her hand.

The same one he took the photo from.

Huh.

Stubborn and resilient.

Just like you.

Well, at least he can still glean answers from her and put an end to her miserable existence in the worst way possible—one he deems fit.

He knows just the perfect ending for a woman like her.

Adam lowers himself again right as she makes a croaking sound, unable to distinguish what she's trying to convey.

She's just garbling nonsense at this point.

But he has all the time in the world.

So he'll play along the same way he did with you on that highway

He enjoys toying with his food as much as the next serial killer.

Adam: What's wrong?

Adam asks with mock concern, his tone sugary sweet with a bitter aftertaste.

Adam: What, you want your little picture back?

He waves the empty frame around before tossing the empty fixture towards her.

The frame lands right beside her immobile arm.

Her finger twitches in response.

Adam's voice dips, lowering with malice.

Adam: Do you really think you'll need that where you're going?

She doesn't respond, leaving Adam to wonder if she passed out again or died on him.

Adam scoffs.

Adam: You know, you're really shit at holding a conversation.

Again. He gets nothing out of her.

How disappointing.

Adam's burner phone buzzes and he glances at the message sent by Saffron.

They're almost here.

Adam smirks and pockets his phone, his body humming with anticipation.

Adam: Show time~

He says and tries heading for the door when he feels a hand dart out and wrap around his ankle, the grip weak but persistent.

Nails dig into the fabric of his jeans.

Ruth: Give…it…back…

Adam pauses, staring down at her hand invading his fucking personal space, taking in her poor attempt at stopping him with cold detachment.

Adam: And if I don't, you'll—what?—kill me?

He reaches down and detaches her fingers one-by-one by one, focusing on uncurling them before he gives into his primal urge.

He wants to wring her neck.

To twist and snap her bones, watching as the life drains out of her.

He wants her to suffer.

To suffer just as much as she did.

This bitch is the entire reason he can't fucking stand liars.

Adam, I don't know if you remember me-

Of course he does.

After all…

How could he fucking forget?

Adam (???)

Screaming. Screaming.

So much screaming.

He covers his ears, closes his eyes, and tries to escape through his mind and thoughts but they're all twisted together like a hastily wrapped ball of yarn.

There's a thump followed by a crash from somewhere downstairs.

Probably in the kitchen.

Why?

Because it's always the stupid kitchen.

The angry cacophony of curses and shouts reverberates through the closed bathroom door where Adam hides.

He didn't want to stay downstairs in his room.

Not when things are like this.

He's afraid to get pulled into the fray.

???: You keep making a fucking fool out of me!

Another crash and the sound of glass breaking.

Adam ducks his head as if words are physical objects that are easily hurled and someone just chucked them at his face.

Stop it, just stop it.

He shakes his head as tears stream down his cheeks.

Please just stop.

But it keeps going and going, getting worse and worse, making him sob harder and harder to a point that he's afraid someone will overhear.

He can't get caught crying again.

Not after last time.

He can still remember the acrid scent of cigarette smoke and the suffocating darkness of the shed, his palms flat against the rotting floor as he waited with his head bowed.

No, he's learned his lesson too many times to count.

So he curls in on himself, trying to control his breathing and stifle the sounds of his anguish with his trembling hands.

You look so much like your father.

Adam still remembers the cruel expression on the woman's face as she said it.

The muffled giggles and concealed laughter that followed.

The hand on his shoulder tightening at the comment, drawing him away from the open stares, and into one of the empty seats.

I can't believe I didn't see it before.

You look so much like him.

He wanted to scream, to deny anything that linked them together.

I'm not him I'm not him I'm not him I'm not I'm not-

???: I'll never forgive you!

The guttural scream makes him jump, then tremble in fear.

He hates this—hates that woman for causing it.

Why?

Why did Ms. Aspen say that?

And why did it cause all of this?

He can't comprehend the meaning behind any of it and doesn't know if he ever will.

He remains there for what feels like hours, arms and legs going numb from being stuck in the same position for so long, terrified of making any noise that draws attention.

Then everything just…stops.

An uneasy quiet fills the house and Adam shivers.

He wiggles his toes, trying to regain feeling in them, listening out for the chaos to pick up again.

It doesn't.

And that's much much worse.

Feet shuffle up the staircase and Adam squeezes his eyes closed.

I'm not here I'm not here I'm not here-

The door to his bathroom slams open and Adam jerks upright as the lights flair to life.

His bottom lip trembles as he looks to the door.

???: A…d..am…

Adam (earlier)

???: A…d…am…

Adam gets thrust back into the present and the sight of the woman at his feet makes his lips curl in disgust.

She repeats herself.

Ruth: A…d…am…g….ba…ck

No.

He's never forgotten her.

Not even for a moment.

He lifts Ruth by her wrist, dangling her in the air so that they're face to face, their noses almost touching while she hangs there—limp.

Adam: Are you really in a position to make demands? Because from where I'm standing, I think you should shut the fuck up and wait until I'm done with that nasty little relative of yours.

Adam: But sure. Keep testing my fucking patience.

Adam: See where it gets you.

Ruth:...

Adam: Glad we see eye to eye.

Adam lowers her, but keeps a hold of her wrist to keep her filthy, blood stained hands off of him.

He's gonna need a blistering hot shower after this.

Whereas your touch ignites deep seeded want, hers feels like a thousand maggots crawling all over his skin, burrowing their way into his insides and eating away at his entrails.

He'll hold onto this disgust while dealing with you.

Because he can't let you get close again.

He won't let you.

Adams composed himself when light floods through the shattered window of the small darkened trailer.

He watches as your car pulls up followed by Saffron's reefer truck.

He must've brought it in preparation for the massacre that's about to happen.

Despite this, Adam can already hear Saffron complaining about the fact you'll take up room, your bodies filling up space in his precious freezer, unwanted unless he gets desperate.

Saffrons a choosy fucker. An irony not lost on Adam considering the man's "diet."

The flower boy will live another day.

For now.

Adam hears the crunch of your sneakers over the gravel followed by a knock at the door.

He reaches for the abundance of chains, taking his time undoing each one to send your heart thumping and your mind racing.

He can almost feel your trepidation leaking through the door.

You're scared aren't you?

Click.

Well you should be.

Click.

Because he's been waiting.

Click. Click.

You (present)

I've finally found you. My elusive little pest.

Adam.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of the purple haired demon in the flesh.

And how does he greet you?

With a fucking knife.

You try looking down at the aforementioned knife without moving your neck—otherwise you'll impale yourself like a shish kabob—and notice it's covered in dried blood.

Did he seriously not—at the very least—clean the thing?

And who does it belong to? You…or someone else?

Your eyes wander over to your aunt, who lays motionless on the ground a few feet away from where you crash landed after Adam jump-scared you.

Adam: It's yours.

He says, reading your mind.

Adam: Your aunt did that with no real effort on my part.

Riiiiiiiiiiiight.

And he's also just a hurt, misunderstood soul who just needs lots hugs and unconditional love to fix all of his baggage and deep seeded issues!

Because—if you've learned anything—a smooch a day keeps the serial killers at bay!

Okay, sarcasm aside, the last part's a little bit true.

Kissing the killer ultimately did save your life when you were neck deep in trouble and helped you avoid getting skewered.

But even so—you're not buying his bull.

The man lies as easily as he breathes. He's a repeat offender considering none of his general audience knows he murders people for shits and giggles.

Or at least, that's what you assume.

It's either that or for a power trip. Quite possibly both considering how Adam's personality flip flops between cocky and aggressive.

Why else target complete strangers?

You contemplate this as you try adjusting the angle of your neck in order to put some much needed space between you and Adam's weapon of choice.

Well, that and to check if your aunt's still alive.

But Adam pursues you, giving you no wiggle room to work with, and he rewards your efforts by giving you a soft warning prick.

Adam: Eyes. On. Me.

You wince at the stinging sensation before fixing him with a glare.

Oh, yeah.

You forgot about his issues with personal space.

Consider your bubble popped for the rest of your interactions because you are not getting it back with him around.

Your earlier fear goes up in a puff of smoke, annoyance taking over the mantle instead.

You: I'd say go fuck yourself, but after recalling our kiss from yesterday—I doubt you know how.

Adam's jaw ticks at the comment.

Oh, yeah buddy.

Feel the salt in that wound.

You: Oh, sorry. Too soon?

You say in mock embarrassment, widening your eyes to establish that you aren't sorry in the slightest, going straight for his weak point in retaliation since he went after yours.

As sucky as Aunt Ruth is, you're not letting her die for your poor decisions.

Adam's your burden, your cross to bear.

You should've killed him when you had the chance, but you didn't.

You won't make that mistake again.

Not when you're armed with your own weapon tucked into the waistband of your pants.

Adam: You never learn do you?

Adam says, withdrawing his blade…

Right before it descends on your already wounded shoulder.

You screw your eyes shut and turn your head, unable to duck out of the way with Adam boxing you in.

You wait for the inevitable pain of knife tearing through skin and muscle, flashing back to that horrific moment on the highway when you tried contacting emergency services, your body readying itself when-

Thunk.

…

…

Nothing comes.

Just a condescending chuckle from Adam when you open your eyes to find the knife embedded into the wall right above your shoulder.

His eyes glitter with amusement over your reaction.

Great.

So he's gone from outright stabbing to psychological torture.

Exact what you need.

Adam: So much bravado and yet you're still afraid of me.

Adam: That's good.

Adam whispers, his breath warm in your ear as he leans close.

Adam: You should be.

He repositions his knife at the hollow of your throat when he draws back, reaching into his back pocket with his free hand.

Adam: I've got a few questions for you since your dear aunt couldn't bother to answer them herself.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

You: Oh, yeah. Because an unconscious woman can totally help.

You: Forgive my aunt for her poor manners. I'm sure she's so sorry for that despite all the trauma you put her through.

You jolt upon feeling the knife move. A subtle shift that leaves you wondering if you pushed him too far when you feel the steel travel downward instead.

Adam's unamused by your jeering.

You're stretching his patience.

But for some reason he's not hurting or killing you.

In part, you're relieved, but you also question why.

Adam: How many times—

Adam asks, pushing aside the collar of your shirt with the tip of his knife to reveal a mess of gauze and medical tape underneath.

Adam: Do I have to remind you what I'm capable of when you've already experienced it.

Adam: Are you really that fucking stupid?

You: My clients say it's a part of my charm.

An odd expression consumes Adam's face at the mention of your clientele, but you blink and it's gone, replaced by his usual scowl whenever you dare to open your mouth.

He finally pulls out whatever's in his pocket—a thin slip of paper—and unfolds the parchment.

He presents you with a picture of your aunt and four other women.

Adam: Now tell me.

Adam: Do you recognize any other woman aside from your aunt?

You open your mouth, prepared to fire off another quip, but Adam flips the knife and angles it towards your jugular.

You swallow hard.

Adam: Ah, ah, ah~

Adam taps the picture against the seam of your lips.

Adam: I wouldn't do that if I were you, otherwise my hands might slip, so I suggest-

A cocky little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Adam: You choose your words wisely.

Choices:

Study the picture

Use your knife

Choice picked: Study the picture 

You take your time looking over the photo until something about the woman positioned at the far left of the grip with her petal pink dress and delicate frame captures your attention.

While the rest of the women laugh openly, hers conveys a distinct shyness. Almost as if she doesn't want the others to notice.

Yet that's not what bothers you.

It's the fact that you recognize her.

But how?

You examine each one of her features, pouring their minute detail in order to figure out where you remember those cupid's bow lips and high cheekbones from.

She's model-pretty. Distinguishable within any crowd, much like the rest of her friends.

Birds of a feather flock together, you think and notice how her arms aren't linked with the others.

Until the cat comes.

Adam raps a finger along the top of the photo.

Adam: Tick tock.

Adam: You're running out of time~

You don't even bother glancing up.

You: Hold your knife kink horses. I'm trying to fucking concentrate.

Adam: Then. Hurry. Up.

The hand containing the photo darts out and grips the back of your neck, forcing you head up to meet his gaze.

The sharp press of his blade goes to the underside of your jaw.

His legs are wedged between yours—one on either side—his knee pressed against the inside of your thigh as he kneels before you, purple tips of his hair tickling your cheek.

Yeah. He's that close.

His proximity makes your heart pound and not in the—"Oh, my God he's so dreamy," sort of way. But in the "Oh, God he's gonna gut you like a fish," sort of way.

You weigh your options, deliberating on headbutting him, but decide against it due to the sharp obstacle blocking your way.

He's not underestimating you this time.

Adam refuses to give you any ample opportunities to take advantage of his weakness.

The knife isn't just there as a threat, but a barrier.

You: You know I can't see the photograph at this angle, right?

Adam: You've looked at it for long enough. Now tell me-

He lowers his head, those pitch black eyes flashing red, his mouth stretching into a snarl.

Adam: What do you know?

You frown as you study the movement of his lips.

Then a light clicks on in your head and you start connecting the dots.

The high cheekbones.

The cupid's bow lips.

Right down to her wavy hair.

Those features are a perfect match for the man right in front of you.

You blurt out the words right before you can stop them.

You: Holy shit, why didn't I realize earlier?

You: You look so much like her.

Adam.

Goes.

Absolutely.

Still.

His pallor turns chalk white, his expression a mixed cocktail of emotions ranging from angry to haunted to tortured—all in the span of a few minutes.

Adam: What…did you just say?

He's shaking so hard you feel yourself vibrate thanks to your close proximity.

The knife disappears from your throat and you know it's now or never because you won't find a better opening than the one presented to you.

You don't know what triggered him.

And you don't care.

All you know is that your hands are reaching for the kitchen knife at your waist, driven by the instinct to kill him for everything that he's done and going to do.

Only one of you will walk out of here alive.

You'll make sure it's you.

Adam's lost in a daze when you bring your arm up in a wide arch-

To which Adam dodges a moment too late, the front of his hoodie tearing in the process, blood spraying the trailer walls.

You try going for his black hole of a heart next when Adam springs away from you.

In a flash he's at your aunt's side and your knife spears through empty air, lodging into the musty carpet flooring.

You give the knife a harsh yank before getting to your feet.

The picture Adam used to interrogate you with flutters to the floor like a flag being dropped to signal the start of a match.

Ding. Ding.

Adam presses a hand to his chest. Draws it away to reveal blood smeared on his palm.

You: I hope that fucking hurt you asshole because there's more where that came from.

You're practically spitting in his direction, geared up for a fight after all the hell he's put you through for the past two days, unrelenting in his pursuit.

You're going to give this fucker a taste of his own medicine.

Adam's slow to look up.

His eyes are narrowed, but to your surprise he's smiling, teeth bared like he plans on using them to rip you apart.

It's primal, that smile—like he's been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Like he's been waiting for a reason to finally end this.

Adam: Cute.

Adam says, his voice dipping low as he gives an expert flip of his knife before catching it by the hilt with trained precision.

He points the tip of the blade in your direction.

Adam: But I promise I'm better.

And quick as a whip he's on you like a beast released from his cage, a snarl ripping from his throat as he tries slashing at your arm wielding the kitchen knife.

You manage to pull back in time and hear the whistle of metal slicing through air, your knife cradled against your chest as you hit a wall.

Adam descends on you.