[ cool // song is by nicole dollanganger

warnings: language, blood, obviously leads up to murder, ig it's abuse as well??

concept: 'cause i shoot the gun any chance i get. blood on my clothes and my hands, i've done it again'. this time, chase isn't sure if the blood is hers or the man tied to the chair in front of her.

stay safe,
lew. ]

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This is just hunting.

A game of cat and mouse, and for once, she isn't the weak little victim. It's a power trip.

Her heels click down the sidewalk, long hair cascading down. She looks like a respectable citizen, but she's most definitely not.

She flirts at the bar, ensnaring multiple men with her almost seductive smiles and movements. But there's only one man that's lucky enough to get her almost breathy invite home.

He jumps at the chance, just like she knew he would. This is a routine she's perfected over the years. She acts like this doesn't bother her, acts like she loves the attention. Maybe a part of her does, but it's uncomfortable, more than anything else.

She takes him down the block, then fakes being too damn desperate. She convinces him to sneak down the alley way, because 'no one comes down here, like, ever!'

His hands are on her hips, one of hers gripping his face as he surges towards her and brings their lips together.

The height difference is almost comical, because even in her heels, she only reaches to his chest. Her free hand slips inside the crossbody purse she has, and she comes up with that the guy can only hope is a condom.

Unfortunately, it's not.

The last thing he feels is a pinch in his neck, followed by the sensation of falling before he falls unconscious. He's out before he even hits the ground.

She pulls her phone out of her purse, dials the familiar number. The voice on the other end is angry, until she cheerfully tells him, "I've got one."

"Send me your location, I'll be there ASAP."

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She lets him do all the heavy lifting. Why not? He's over six feet tall and works out, and she's a petite little thing.

This is routine for them. She plays the game of cat and mouse, where she has a big risk of things going wrong, and by the time he gets involved, it's certain doom for the victim.

He is merciless.

She has scars to prove it, but she can't incriminate him without throwing herself under the bus as well.

Their victim groans softly as he begins to wake up. He's handsome, dark hair and tanned skin, muscles and large hands- yeah, definitely her type of guy.

Too bad he won't make it.

She forces herself to stop thinking of him as a person. He's little more than a body now, destined for the morgue when he's eventually found.

She looks up at the masked face of her companion. There's no remorse in his eyes, only excitement. It's disturbing, honestly.

She pulls on her own mask, tucks her blonde hair up in a beanie, and pulls on her gloves. There's no going back. She decides to enjoy it.

-

Her hand closes around the handle of a knife, giving her companion a questioning glance. He rolls his eyes, but nods, and she grins.

Her heels click again against the concrete floor. Their victim is tied to a chair, as stereotypical as that is, and she holds the knife between her teeth, perches herself on his lap, and turns his face in her hands.

Soon, she's done looking, done waiting for him to wake up fully. She takes the knife and carves a small, shallow line on his cheek. An idea hits her, and she calls over her shoulder, "Hey, Ezra? Can we do what they do in Saw and cut a puzzle piece outta his skin?"

Before she receives an answer, the guy below her jolts. It's enough to knock her to the ground, knife clattering beside her as she shoots to her feet again.

She doesn't get a chance to retaliate, because her companion, Ezra, comes over. He pushes her out of the way, already with his own plan, apparently. "Go get the brass knuckles, Chase."

"What do you say?" She replies before she can stop herself. She's lucky enough to dodge the slap before it lands, coming back with the item and staying a safe distance away from Ezra.

She never learns her lesson, always smarting off and making comments she shouldn't, and she's amassed quite the collection of injuries from it, from a broken foot to a missing tooth.

The injuries that hurt the worst are the ones given out to the people she cares about instead of herself. On more than one occasion, her roommate's sported a black eye or finger splint, and her unofficial friend has more invisible injuries than visible ones.

She takes a deep breath, and forces herself to watch as Ezra punches the fuck out of this guy, who's more bloody tissue and open wounds than pretty tanned skin at this point.

"Knife."

"It's by your feet."

"Hand it to me."

"No way in hell. I try to get that, and you're gonna kick me or some shit."

"It's you or one of them."

She takes a deep breath, crouches down to grab the blade, but the hit never comes. She hands over the knife, and he just gives her this fake sweet smile that makes her stomach plummet.

"Too late. Maybe I'll cut off one of your roommate's fingers this time."

"Ezra, I swear, please don't hurt him, I know I'm a dumb fuck, but just leave Bailey alone!"

This time, the slap lands where it was supposed to. She has to take a minute and reorient herself, spit the blood from her mouth. It'll be a hell of a bruise. Work's going to suck, and she's already used all of her time off for other injuries.

"Just be glad I haven't done anything more permanent yet."

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[ nice this is longer than i expected ]