the clock struck 3 am,
the same heart monitor beeped,
but a new sound was in the room.
the sound of calm breaths.
strategically planned out, never skipping a beat,
in 1 2 3 4
out 1 2 3 4.
"i know you're in here," i whisper
"i know you know darling," his british accent hangs through the air
"did you bring me here?"
"yeah, didn't give me much choice, did you?" he chuckles dully.
"i hoped till i hurt, but don't worry, all of my hope is gone." i whispered.
"your hope shouldn't rely on a woman who cannot even send a card on her daughters birthday, or call on christmas, in 9 years." he whispered, almost scared to break me.
"how did you know?" my voice faltered.
"darling, i know everything." he whispered.
"if you know everything, what am i thinking right now?" i whispered.
"that you're hungry, and terrified of the man before you," he smiled.
"well, i am starving, but i'm not terrified," i spoke clearly.
"then what are you?"
"intrigued."
"you're exquisite." he whispered, kissing my forehead and leaving.
"wait," i whisper yelled, and he stopped.
"you can't just keep popping out of thin air."
"that's the thing, i'm always here."
and with that, he left.
YOU ARE READING
Picasso // h.s.
Fanfiction"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."
