I don't think the wind was ever as harsh as it was the day you came face to face with your best friends murderer.

But I guess you couldn't expect any less from Autumn weather. 'At least it wasn't snowing' was all your rational thoughts could compile into as you briskly walked down the pavement. It was late, the sun was setting just behind a couple of pine tree's in the distance and the warm milky colors spread across the sky with pink and purples, add dashes of yellow and teal and to some, this was pretty much a perfect set up for some kind of cheesy rom-com with happy endings. Sadly, the only happy ending you could muster was the thought of maybe finally being left alone until the very end. No more voices, dark rooms, nightmares or confrontations of pathological liars and maniacs hiding behind every corner that for some weird reason doesn't want to leave you to peace. But this far into this hell, your meaning of peace has changed.

Drastically.

And now here you were, hugging tightly to the last thing you had of (y/f/n); a sweater that you refused to take off your body, while trying to quickly make it home before loosing light completely. Not that that would matter per-say, they'd follow you anywhere anyways.

You could see your split level home in the distance, your father's signature police truck sitting neutral in the gravel driveway. A key seemingly missing from the glove-box that started the car's engine, unbeknownst to your father of course. One you had taken what feels like hours ago and had forgotten to give back. Your hands previously stuffed in your pockets, fumbled with the key inside, remembering what felt like hours was in fact had happened weeks prior. The large protruding sore on the right side of your forehead said so as well, now healing and scabbed over. You had a tendency to pick at it in anxious bad habit.

"You know, dwelling about things is bad for mental health."

You didn't stop walking, you were too tired to deal with him and only a few feet from your home. But, you also knew that not stopping to reply would get you in more trouble than you had energy to deal with rather than some snarky conversation you knew you had in for you. You had done enough research to know his antics and his attitude. If what the stories said where right, than the best reaction, would to have none at all. But, you couldn't help but retort.
"Having stalkers is bad for mental health as well, but you still do that don't you." You spatted at him, without looking back. [e/c] eyes staring steadily at the white house with blue hinges in the distance. You could hear his footsteps slowly make their way out of whatever crevasse they were hidden into and pad against the sidewalk, not too far behind you. "Oh come on baby, that isn't any way to treat your savior."
Taking a deep breath your closed your eyes and tried so.. so very hard, not to concentrate on the harsh, barely understandable, slur of a voice. It must be hard to talk without lips, you pitied him once.

Pshh, once.

You heard him approaching closer and at one point you believed that a long time ago, you'd feel panicked and start to run. Except you knew better, he loved runners.
"[y/n]" His voice growled behind your ear, feeling the breath against your neck you finally stopped in your tracks. Eyes closed in frustration you were only a couple steps away from your walkway, from your porch and from your bed. Though, safety wasn't exactly your goal here. But being surrounded by people, did kinda make you feel better. "Tell me..." He continued, your eyes still held shut as the cold reality pressed against the curve of your back. "Do you have wet dreams about me?" You swallowed and refused to give him the satisfaction of any reaction.

"Wet," He mumbled as the hairs stood up on their ends. "Sticky, moist, slobbering cum, dripping down your FUCKING LEG." He fiercely gripped your hair and pulled your head back, pressing the now very dull knife against your throat. You took a deep breath in through your nose and still held your eyes shut like steel. There was a low, rumbling laugh that barreled up and out his mouth, wild and piercing so close to your ears. Soon after, he took his tongue and licked up the back of your ear and around your lob. "Don't tell me you don't enjoy my presence [y/n], you know you FUCKING LOve it." Breathy, he pressed his grotesque face against the side of yours, trying to fixate his pupils at your eyes as you continued to go against him. He tightened his grip and pressed the knife harder against your neck. You winced, but that was all you were willing to let go. "So.. broken.. if only I could help you...I'd put you to sleep and then this would be all over.." He watched you, you didn't know for how long, hand still holding tight to your hair and still white knuckled grip on his knife held steady at your throat. As his breath was steady against your skin. It stunk, rotten egg and iron was all the flooded your nostrils. It made you want to gag, you resisted the urge.

Taken the chunk of hair he had laced in his grip, he threw your forward. Leaving a stinging cut on your left cheek from his steel as you keeled to the ground with the adjacent kick to the back. A wild laugh followed as he walked up to your weak body. "Your no fun anymore [y/n]!" A rough kick was slammed into your side and you groaned to yourself, silently writhing in pain. He kneeled down before you, lifting your chin up with the tip of his blade, finally making the first eye contact you've had in days. He tsk'd his tongue to the roof of his mouth, a smile quiet literally plastered on his face. You never actually caught him talking with his mouth in fact moving. But somehow, his voice haunted everything. He shook his head, placing his weapon in the pocket of his hoodie before any if not all sight that you had became a blurred mess of pain as his foot came down in a concrete kick to the face.

Your breathing staggered as a laugh followed and soon withered away. Wiping the back of your hand against your lips, which now where numb; red was smudged and spread across the back of your hand. You struggled to lift yourself up, but you did. And luckily enough, were right in front ofyour home. How you could have ever been beaten up in your own lawn, you had yet to answer. But, waking up it very slowly. You made it to the front door before collapsing. And when no reply came from the other side of the door, after frantic knocking and repeated doorbell rings.

You cried.

At least, you thought you were. As far as you were concerned, the warmth running down the rounds of your cheeks could either be tears or blood. But with the leftover iron taste in your mouth and reopened wounds. It didn't matter.

You closed your eyes shut, and cried. You body shaking as you brought your knees up to your chest, body still aching against the... attack? You couldn't remember how you got inside after that. But the red and blue lights were what left that you could recall. And his face.

Jeff's fucking, disgusting face.

I don't think the wind was ever kick out of you as harsh as it was the day you came face to face with your best friends murderer.