Slaying the Holidays: A Dark Rom Com

by Beatrix Hollow

I also happen to have the peculiar habit of looking for signs of psychopathy in normal people. I guess I think it would be fascinating for my barista to secretly kill people between one peppermint frappe and the next.

Maybe this was his entire plan since we first met. Stalk me, kill my date, and then drag me back to the sex hovel he made for me. Honestly, no one’s ever made me anything before. That’s a level of commitment that’s as flattering as it is disturbing. I mean, depending on the state of said hovel. A hole in the ground would fucking suck.

I don’t want to ask if he plans to kill me, but I wonder if that’s why we’re here. I look around at blue-green pine needles and watch soft snow collect on the limbs. This wouldn’t be the worst place to die. Obviously, I don’t want to, but I like to prepare mentally for the worst.

No one is more desperate or dangerous than a man caught doing something bad.

There’s a certain Hell for people who blush when a killer calls them their wife.

I could handle a bad date and a murder, apparently. But being proposed to while my perversion is revealed? Too much. God, please pick another soldier; this one has had enough battles for one night. Ugh.

This is a lot more fun than the last kill. Everyone should drag their therapist along for murders.

This is truly what love is. I know it from my kids. Love is about being terrified of loss. It’s other people having the capability to destroy you. If Sophie’s hurt, if she’s gone, I won’t survive it.