girl on film, stu macher

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍➪ 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰

-*-

Kimberly tossed and turned, awakening from her seven hours long slumber. A ringing was sounding from the nightstand next to her. And, a good ring or two, it stopped.

She sat up, leaning against the comfy headboard before reaching over and snatching the phone that appeared to have four new notifications on it. Four missed calls. All from the same number, one she recognized, too. Dewey Riley's cell.

From within her palm, the phone began to go off again. This time, she answered, but made a mental promise not to actually say anything for Stu's sake.

"Kim, is that you?"

She wanted so badly to answer, to assure him that she was okay. But, she couldn't.

A sniffle came from the speaker and his voice seemed cracked and dry. "If you're listening, Kim. I just, hope you're okay. The killer-" He paused, needing a moment to recollect himself. "He got Randy."

A breath fell from her pinked lips, and her eyes became wide. She couldn't say anything, not even if she wanted to. She was too stunned.

"Just, please be okay. I love you."

Just like that, the line was dead. So was Randy, apparently. Her best friend.

Steps marched up from the staircase, peeling the thoughts from her head. "Kimmy, darling!" It was Stu in his casual sing-songy tone. "I have arrived with thou food!" Mcdonald's bag in hand, he cheered while entering the couples now shared room.

With a bag in in each hand, he pushed through the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot. "What're you doing?"

His eyes locked on the phone in her hands, but he didn't want to jump to any conclusions. He didn't want to upset her, she was fragile enough with him at the moment.

"Randy's dead."

Stu's mouth fell open, and he turned to set the food in his hands down. Suddenly, he was unconcerned with her use of the phone."Oh god, Kimmy."

Yes, Stu had been fantasizing about this day for years, but he knew how much it was hurting her. He hated it when she hurt.

She moved over on the bed by an inch, subconsciously making room for him to sit. His arms fell lose around her, stroking her back with a hush. "I'm sorry, I know he was your friend."

Kim, however, couldn't speak back in return. She was too utterly shocked. She was beginning to feel like she could never get close to anyone, not without the risk of their lives.

As if, no one could be friends- or love her. Because they'd always end up dead.

Kim was a killing curse, the grim reaper. Everywhere she went, people died.

After minutes of sniffling and using Stu's shirt as a tissue, Kim sat up, pulling apart from him. Her eyes were turned a bloodshot red, and the trace of slept on mascara had become bolder from the tears.

Wiping her eyes, she let Stu caress the red of her cheek, trying to remove the tear stains. "I got your shirt wet." Her eyes were examining his torso before trailing up to his shoulder where she once let her head rest on. There was a stain, tinted black and damp. Her tears.

He laughed. "It's alright."

Kim dabbed her pointer finger to her eye bags, trying to dry them. "I'm sorry." She mumbled, looking away as he stood from the bed.

He was pulling his shirt off, tossing it to the side and moving over towards his closet. "For?" He hummed, rummaging through the rack for a new one.

"Being a mess."