It was going to be difficult to kill him. Not because he was well trained: he definitely was not. It’s because I’m in love with this god damn stupid psychopath idiot. Sobs racked my body because I was bound, gagged, and kidnapped by the psychopath I’d stupidly fall in love with. Despite my physical circumstances, the only part of me that felt tortured was my heart. My body was bruised and my joints were sore but that wasn’t pain to me. I’d been honed to endure so much physical pain I often had to check my own self for injuries because my pain tolerance was so high. Emotional pain? They never said shit about that in training.

The tears just wouldn’t stop coming. Fuck man, I love him! How am I going to do this? I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!

“I have to,” the words came out like wobbly sobs, not decipherable words at all.

Suddenly the volume of the music increased considerably.

He’s always hated when I cry. It was what gave him his first glimpse of human emotions, which came in the form of feeling protective and concerned over me. I still remember the way he made love to me that night…

The sudden veering of my thoughts somehow brings me back to the matter at hand.

In case you’re wondering, it’s not Stockholm syndrome. I’m not his captive or his victim. At least I wasn’t until approximately 36 hours ago, give or take 10 or so. (The time lost from the sedative he gave me makes it hard to be sure.)

It’s crazy to think that less than two days ago we were just two people who were absolutely consumed by the love we created together who just so happened so also be living completely secret and separate double lives.

And now we were both plotting the inevitable murder of the other. I hoped he’s at least hurting a little bit at the thought of killing me. But something tells me he’s managed to turn off that part of himself again. Which might be best. I’ll feel better knowing he’s emotionally numb when I end his life.

The most fucked part about this situation, you ask? It’s not his secret — you know, the whole him being an absolute psychopath and serial killer. No, that’s not the worst part. It’s the fact that I’m a rogue detective who infiltrated this man’s life planning to ruin him, and I somehow grew to love the beautiful parts of him more than I hated the sinister pieces, even though there were _wayyyy_ more of those than the former.

I know he loves me too. In his own defective way. And I know you probably don’t want to hear that. But it needs to be said because that’s why this is so hard. It’s going to be ME that kills him. The only person that’s ever made him feel… _anything. _

A year ago this would have brought me unfathomable joy, knowing how utterly I’m about to destroy every morsel of this man. Now our beings are bonded, souls fused and hearts stitched together.

Killing him will kill everything inside me and I’m not ready for the pain. He stopped killing when he met me, and if he loses me — especially by his own doing — I just know he’d lose the last bit of good left in him as well. I might already be going to hell for loving an evil man, but I’m not a monster. I _CARE_. Too damn much. That’s what got me into this mess. And that’s why I’m going to do the hard thing.

If he killed me, then it will become open season for more innocent people. And as much as I love him, my soul just can’t carry the weight of that.

So I cry into the bandana pulled tight into the corners of my mouth and he turns the music up louder.

“Baby, please. Don’t do this,” I plead through my sobs as he extracts me from the back of his van. I can’t see anything. I don’t know how long we traveled but a frigid wind whips against my exposed skin, indicating we must have driven several hours north. I expect him to set me on my feet but he doesn’t. He carries me bridal style and says nothing. I hear leaves crunching beneath his boots, and leaves rustling about our heads. Other than that and a few sounds from nearby animals, all is quiet. We’re in a forest.

I wonder, Is this where he took his other victims?

“I love you, Jason.” I start up again with the crying. “Please. I don’t care what you are! You’re mine and I love every single fucked up part of you. All of it. You know I make you feel happy, baby. Don’t take that away from yourself because you’re scared. I love you and you can trust me with this. I won’t tell.”

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up!”

His arms vanish and I drop. The ground comes up to meet my spine fast and hard. It knocks the breath out of me and I roll onto my side wheezing and groaning and sobbing even harder.

He did it. He really shut it off. There was no piece of _my _Jason anywhere to be found. Just the hollow vessel of the killer he’d been when we first crossed paths.

I made the sudden decision that it was time for radical truth.

These were his final moments and I’d be damned if I didn’t use them trying one last futile time to reach the good man I knew was lurking behind his cruel eyes and broken mind.

As if I were a sociopath just like him, my blubbering stopped abruptly. My breathing had already evened out and I wrangled myself into a sitting position, angling myself towards the sounds of his heavy breathing and tilting my head up to hopefully appear to be looking at him even though I couldn’t see a damn thing.

“I’m going to kill you tonight,” I told him. “I want you to know that you’re the love of my life and if I knew of any other way to keep you here with me and ensure you won’t harm anyone else, I would do it. You’re my person, Jason. Every hideous part of you belongs to me and I just want you to know that I see you, I accept you, and I’m going to miss you.”

I listened to the sound of his breathing which had grown faster and louder as I spoke.

Even though I could feel something there, like a smell in the air — fear, maybe? Or dread? I’m not sure but either way his voice held nothing but anger.

“Whatever you’re trying to do isn’t going to work, bab— Melanie.” I hear the unmistakable _pop_ of his jaw as he clenches it. He is struggling with this. Some piece of him, buried somewhere deep, isn’t happy about murdering me. I know it’s insane but I find quite a bit of comfort in that. It’s strange the way I can know him so deeply in some ways, and be nothing but a stranger to other parts of him.

Jason continues talking and I silence my mental chatter. “I wanted to keep you for longer but our time is up. What I feel for you is… strange and heavy and unpleasantly pleasant. But I won’t abandon my path for gratifying distractions. I’ll pass a message along to your family for you, though. I know you care about your mother’s mental state and I know it’s a fragile thing. If that will give you some sense of peace I’m willing to do that for you.”

The way he talked was so confusing. Even when he was his authentic, closeted psycho self, he still expressed emotion. Now he was acting like a normal caring person but it was obvious there wasn’t nothing inside him but rotten emptiness. He didn’t even seem real right now. Like he was on autopilot, reciting a script that had been programmed into him.

My Jason truly wasn’t anywhere to be found. That helped me somehow. This person I was about to kill was just a vicious murder. Not the person who made the sun seem dim in my shining world. My Jason was already dead, I told myself. And the person in front of me was the one who killed _him_. I owe it to the man I loved and who loves me, to kill him.

….My mind did something. It finally clicked and my entire being went still with resolution.

I tilted my head up again and this time I could feel that I was staring right at him.

“At least tell me how you’re going to do it,” I demanded with an eerily steady tone. Was he catching on? Did he sense his soon his life would be over?

The only answer he gave to my question was the sound of him retracting the hammer on a revolver. His guard was completely down. Perfect.

A sob racked my body again, but this time it was just for dramatic effect.

“Can you at least tell me you love me? Even if it’s a lie. Let me die believing the person I love, loved me back.”

Two beats of silence passed while he drew in a slow breath. These were our last moments together. Did that mean anything to him? I tried to convince myself that it didn’t matter either way.

“I love yo-“

My hands shot out from behind my back, flying forward blindly and thankfully finding purchase on the cold metal of his gun. I yanked as hard as I could. It happened so quick his body hadn’t even reacted. The gun slipped from his grip as if he were willingly handing it over and the momentum from snatching it sent me somersaulting backwards. I sank into the motion, letting my body roll over itself. I landed on my knees and had the pistol trained on him before I even pulled the blindfold off.

In a single moment, I released the blindfold, gripped the handle of my boyfriends pistol firmly with both hands, squeezed one eye shut, adjusted my aim delicately so the crosshairs lined up with the center of his forehead.

I stared at that spot only, trying not to perceive the shock and fear in the eyes of the man that I love.

I pulled the trigger first, watched him hit the ground, and then said, “I love you, too”

THE END

~~~~~~~

Lots of editing mistakes, especially the sporadic switching of tenses. But I am simply too tired and impatient to fix it.

Oh and I think I need to chill out on all the dark romance novels I’ve been reading 😂. Let me know how you feel about this concept. I think the human capacity for love is interesting. We really don’t care how messed up people are sometimes, or how much they hurt us, if the love feels good we’ll take that pain all day and I think that’s a really dangerous but also incredibly beautiful thing.