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Three days since Juliet ran away with the money in the briefcase. Two days since David nearly killed both her and Alex in the living room as they were watching TV. One day since Alex murdered David in the kitchen that they all once enjoyed breakfast in.
Gosh, she could still taste the metallic red on her lips from when Alex grabbed her, covering his hand over her mouth to muffle her shriek as they tumbled down to the wooden floorboards.
“Shh, shh—hey, calm down. You’re alright,” he hushed, as if any noise from them now would bother the neighbors.
No matter how much she tossed and grappled at him, it felt utterly useless when his other arm was holding her down, his legs wrapped around hers. Such a compromising position with him practically straddling her—it would've been a little humorous if she hadn’t witnessed him push the kitchen knife into David’s chest repeatedly.
The knife was now somewhere on the ground, far enough from Alex, but if he tried to reach for it, all she could do was hope that he wouldn’t. If he was insane enough to slaughter David, he wouldn’t give a second thought about doing it to her. All the passive aggressive behavior, all the cocky remarks and borderline rude antics made her trust in him weak, never growing since she moved into the flat.
When he finally let go of her mouth, still sitting on top of her, she started to get teary-eyed, all afraid of what he had done. “Alex,” she whispered, voice all airy as her body was frozen still.
A concerned expression was etched on his face as his hand reached up to wipe her tears with his bloodstained hands. “Don’t cry.” His own voice was quiet, wavering slightly. “I don’t like seeing you cry, love. Especially if it’s my fault,” he admitted.
Behind all the foul interactions that she had known him by, he had been pinning on her for a while, polar opposite to all his comments and remarks nitpicking nearly everything she did. One day, it would be about the way she stayed in her room constantly and never socializing, and another day, it would be about her choice in music that she played as she cleaned around the flat. Of course, he would pretend to not hear the way she cried to herself at night from his hurtful words, soft whimpers coming from her room at the darkest hours—only to come out in the morning for breakfast with puffy eyes—and it broke him ever-so slightly each time.
Her breathing was rough, brain trying to process everything within the past week. “Let me go. Please, Alex.”
He hesitated, still pressing her down with his own bodyweight. “Are you going to run from me? Because I have the keys to the car and you’d be a fool to try and hide from me—”
“No, Alex. Just, let me go clean this blood you got on me,” she sniffled, eyes looking anywhere in the room but at him.
Slowly, he got off of her, eyes glued to each of her movements as he reached for the knife carefully. His intention wasn’t to hurt her, but he just couldn’t risk her fleeing off, or worse, notifying the authorities. He watched her like a hawk, following along as she made her way to the bathroom. As she tried to close the door slowly, Alex used his foot to stop it from closing completely, looking her in the eyes as he tutted against his teeth.
“I don’t think so, darling. I can’t risk you scampering off like a little fawn,”
She paused for a moment, realizing that she had no choice but to allow him to watch as she washed her face, attempting to scrub the dried blood off of her face and neck with soap. It had a fruity scent, but it hardly did anything to mask the scent of blood. The remaining blood on her clothes would more than likely need to be thrown out and discarded rather than washed, knowing that she had only a few hours or so left to stay in the flat.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she pointed at the bloodstains on her blouse, looking back at him. “Do you see what you did?” Her voice wavered slightly, but she held a defiant stance against Alex.
He shook his head, placed his bloodied hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into the bathroom. “Listen here. I did nothing wrong, and David would’ve killed the both of us if I hadn’t struck him first—”
“He doesn’t even have the money anymore! He wouldn’t go at us for no reason—”
Shouting her name, he startled her, causing her eyes to widen in fear as she took a few steps back, bumping into the tiled back wall of the bathroom.
“Juliet doesn’t have the money. And neither does David. I hid it in the kitchen somewhere near where David is now,” he listed, taking a few steps closer to her, practically breathing on her.
It was scary seeing him in such a state—pupils dilated, hair frazzled, such a mess. All bloodied, tainting his mossy green sweater. She could memorize all the little details on his face if she wanted, all sweetly, but what he had done was far from sweet and she felt sick from it.
What made her feel even more sick was the realization that Juliet ran off without the actual money, all alone with little to no plan. Even though Juliet seemed apprehensive of her at first, they quickly grew closer, talking together in the evenings about their day, and even going out at times to eat and shop.
She didn’t notice how Alex seemed to stare at her whenever the two were having a conversation though, with Juliet teasing her about the crush Alex harbored. It was only difficult to believe due to the way Alex treated her, and so she never took belief in Juliet’s words.
Sighing, she realized that there was nothing she could do now as he seemingly eyed her up shamelessly, setting the knife down on the bathroom counter.
“Gosh, you’re a sick man, Alex. Please go take a shower and get rid of this sweater,” she muttered, her fingers pinching at the green fabric as she walked away, only to be stopped by Alex’s grasp.
“You’re not going anywhere, miss. You’re going to sit on the bathroom floor and wait for me—”
Groaning, she pushed his hand off of her. “Oh, come on, Alex! I won’t go anywhere knowing your…antics,” she motioned, walking away to her bedroom to get a fresh change of clothes, as well as packing her bag with her belongings and more clothes.
Once she was changed however, he was still in the shower, water running as the bathroom door was wide open. She wasn’t a nosy person by any means, but she felt curious to see what Alex had in his room, wandering over across the living room into his room.
Immediately, the water shut off as Alex shouted to her, voice all gritty and rough. “Don’t you dare try to run out!”
“You’re insufferable, Alex!” she cursed, becoming more irritated with him by the minute. “Of course I’m not going to run off, continue your shower for heaven’s sake!”
Her emotions seemed to shift from fear to anger, becoming snippy towards her only remaining flatmate in such a situation.
As the water started again, she entered his room, looking around at his belongings. It was usual stuff you would find in the average room of a man—books, magazines, clothes littered here and there—but what caught her attention the most was a small box peeking out of the bottom of his bed. Pulling the box out, she lifted the lid, revealing various sketches of what looked to be her, as well as a few pages of different poems.
Sweet and gentle words, describing all the different ways she shined and glowed, all the different ways she seemed to melt him without her knowing. His words were full of yearning, pure want deep from within the soul, stripped of lust or any sort of violent nature. It was, oddly romantic, but so starkly different from the Alex she knew as her flatmate, the Alex she knew as cold and closed, arrogant and thick-headed.
She hadn’t even noticed the way Alex had crept up behind her, silent as he watched the way she held the papers in her hands.
“I didn’t take you as a private investigator,” he hummed, causing her to jump.
Her attempts to blubber out an apology to him were pathetic, tongue caught in some excuse about why she would be in this room instead of her own. She noticed that he was shirtless, only a towel wrapped around his lower waist as his hair was still wet. If he hadn’t murdered their flatmate earlier within the day, maybe she could’ve found him slightly charming rather than unsettling.
“Listen, I’m not mad, but next time please ask before you go digging in my room.” He walked over to his dresser as if nothing happened, pulling out a t-shirt, boxers, and a pair of pants, putting them on right in front of her. She looked away, and Alex seemed to laugh at her action. “Am I really that much of an eyesore?”
“I’m looking away out of respect, and also, who are these poems about, Alex?” she questioned.
He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, even though he was hot red with embarrassment. “Take a wild guess, darling. You don’t see me bringing home any girls—matter of fact, who do you think I’m attracted to?”
It could’ve been about anyone—his coworkers maybe, a lady on the street, a reporter, but she still found it eerily similar to herself. “I mean, the description matches me, I guess.”
“Smart girl,” he chirped. “Now were you smart enough to at least start packing before we flee from the police?”
“Do I look like I spent all my time doing nothing while you were in the shower, Alex?”
He huffed and started to pack his own bag, stuffing clothes and even the little pages of paper into it as he zipped it up.
“You better be grateful I tolerate you,” he joked as they walked out of the flat, causing her to give him a glare.
“I don’t tolerate you yet, Alex, so don’t try anything stupid with me.”
Smirking at her words, he drove the car off towards a cheap motel for them to stay the night, taking a breather away from the world before they started to make any plans of a true escape.