Picasso // h.s.

4.

i tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn't stand for it, the scars on my hips burning something bright like my lungs ache for the familiar comfort of smoke destroying them. a knock to my window startled me as i quickly pretended to fall asleep.
eyes squeezed shut.
the window creaked open.

"darling i know for a fact you're awake." he whispered in my ear as goosebumps soon followed.

"daddy doesn't like brats." he growled and i jumped

"why are you here? aren't the police looking for you?"

he chuckled and it sounded angelic.

"as they have for the past 5 years. they'll never catch me alive. i'm the best of the best baby." he smirked and if i didn't have any self control i'd melt right there on the spot.

"i don't think being the best murderer is something to be insanely proud of, bet it looks real swell on job applications, 'past occupation: best murderer,' i don't think so." i rolled my eyes

he shook his head as his absent eyes stared me down.

"you know what i do, it's an art form, i'm like the Picasso of killing," the man with green eyes said spinning the knife in his hand.

"funny, because i'd say you're closer to Van gogh, considering he was insane as well." i smirked satisfied with my comeback.

"the difference between me and Van gogh is that i don't have to cut off my ear to win your affection darling," he whispered in my ear, kissing my shoulder, as goosebumps formed where his lips once were.

"guess me and van gogh's chick are kinda the same, considering she didn't feel the same way." i taunted dangerously, tempting fate with every dripping word.

"we both know i could kill someone right in front of you, and you'd still be attracted to me, oh wait i've already done that." he chuckled.

"he was my boyfriend you know." i rolled my eyes.

"you were about to break up, chill out." he mimicked my eye rolling.

"how did you?"

"know ? i know everything about you. the pain in your chest, the smoke in your lungs, the scars on your hips, i know it all." he whispered.