A/N: Trigger Warnings / Serious Talk - Making sure that people reading this are comfortable and safe is considerably more important than maintaining a spoiler-free/surprising fic, and I do know that a lot of people reading this fic haven't watched the source material of the AU (Jennifer's Body) so I just want to make a few things clear! This story doesn't contain any overtly sexual overtones or instances of rape/sexual assault, HOWEVER, as many people know, Jennifer's 'death/undeath' in the film is seen as a metaphor for surviving sexual assault, and this chapter features Fallon ('Jennifer') recounting her own murder/undeath from a first person perspective. Despite this being strictly a murder in this story, the language of helplessness, etc, might come across too familiar to sexual assault survivors and trigger negative memories.

If you want to skip this chapter entirely, or begin reading and find that you're having trouble finishing it, please just skip it! The plot will continue in the last chapter and be explained through other characters with less intense language, and should all tie together just the same.

You know when you just know that a man is evil? It's so easy to tell, too, because most of them are so proud of it. Even the not evil ones; the edgier ones, want you to think that they're something wicked because they think it makes them seem more interesting. They really took that whole 'girls only go for bad boys' mantra and ran with it.

The one thing about the really evil ones, though, is that they are unfortunately interesting. And knowing that I wasn't going to be the only one who was interested made me more interested. Pathetic, I know. Sue me.

I couldn't shake it, though, and I think in any other situation I might have been able to, but I'm pretty sure that I was in shock. Plus, you said it yourself that he was into me. Plus, you didn't stop me from leaving.

I know, I know, I know. It wasn't your fault. I'm over it. Promise.

I really wish you'd tried just a little harder, but I'll drop it. Given the circumstances, I think this all turned out just about as perfectly as it possibly could have. Most girls aren't so lucky.

There was a period of time where I pictured how it was going to look on the news, or what photo of me they'd have blown up on a poster and displayed at what would obviously be a massive funeral. Knowing what we know now about how this town handles tragedy, it wouldn't have been that great of a tribute, probably.

I knew you would be sad if I was gone, though. I couldn't stop thinking about you the entire time.

We pulled over and bounced through the shoulder of the road, and the sound of all of the tiny branches and long grass scraping the sides of the van were so so loud. I kept trying to squeeze my eyes shut but every time I did, I was picturing zombies clawing at us as we crunched over them. Remember when we rented Land of the Dead on Halloween? Remember how I couldn't sleep for days?

I could feel the shock wearing off, too. Every bounce when we went over a root or a clump of dirt made me feel more and more lucid. I don't think I'd ever been so scared in my life. And when we stopped, I think I finally had the sense to try to run for it, but I barely remember. I just remember the van door opening and then suddenly I was on the ground.

The whole concept of 'evil' stopped being interesting. I just wanted to go home.

I used to love those trees. You know I did - we both did. I loved that we could go out there and just scream and act like wild animals and no one could hear us or tell us to quiet down. It used to be sort of cathartic, y'know? Especially when my mom left.

But no one could hear me screaming, just like old times, and I just kept wishing over and over again that I'd die before they finally stopped walking.

I didn't though, not right away.

You'd have thought I was some kind of trapped animal, the way that I was kicking and screaming. It took the entire band to carry me into the clearing, so at least I have that to be proud of.

I did my best, Kirby. I really did.

Remember when you told me that I wasn't an ugly crier? It was right after my mom left, and I apologized for being ugly, and you told me that I was still pretty? That was the first nice thing anyone had said to me all week. I'm pretty sure I made a liar out of you that night, though. I thought begging for my life would work, but I couldn't even get the words out. I was a mess , Kirby. A snotty, hoarse, pathetic mess.

So, as it turned out, my assessment of 'evil' was a little too accurate. Like… sacrificial cult evil. Have you ever been stabbed? Even a little bit? I hadn't. One time was enough, though, I wouldn't make the effort to relive it.

I've never felt that much pain all at once in my life. I'm not kidding, I think I could actually go through childbirth now without any drugs. When the burning started to slow down, I remember thinking that I felt god-like. If my guts didn't fall out and I managed to make it back to the main road without bleeding out, no one would ever be able to tell me anything ever again. I'd probably start fights for fun, actually.

You know what the worst part was, though?

They left me there.

I thought Nick, that creep, must have cut something important on accident because I swear it was like my legs were paralyzed. Turns out they were just really really fucking cold. Bad night for a slutty outfit, I guess.

So I laid there.

On the cold, fucking hard ground, feeling my blood going sticky and scabby and gross , and thinking about how they'd probably turn my death into some spooky podcast episode. I knew they'd be looking for me immediately. A rich white cheerleader from a small town high school with a bright future doesn't go missing for more than twenty minutes without trending worldwide and becoming a national tragedy. I thought that maybe you'd come looking for me - that was a nice thought, for a moment, until I remembered that you'd have no fucking idea where to start, even if you did. You seemed kind of pissed at me, anyway.

Wow. You were pissed at me, and now I was dead, or about to be, at least. That would fucking show you.

If the fact that I was used for a virgin sacrifice and then tossed aside like an old cum rag wasn't insulting enough, I think the fact that I was used for a virgin sacrifice by a group of idiot men who didn't know what the 'virgin' part of virgin sacrifice really meant was even worse. Like, come on, you're going to kill me, and not even for the right reasons?

I mean, to be fair, I wasn't a virgin on any count. But I can't believe that they couldn't even do a simple Google search. Do men really think that the laws of ancient magic and voodoo or whatever it is are actually governed by an obsessive, turn of the century misogynistic societal expectation for sexual purity in women? Do they think Satan is down there doing hymen checks?

A virgin sacrifice means you're a virgin to being sacrificed, not an actual virgin. Back in the day, or whatever, they'd haul someone from the village out and take some blood and usually the person would live just fine. Medicine was a little tricky back then, but the intent was good. Seriously, I read up on this. You should Google it if you don't believe me.

Anyway, they couldn't use the same kid twice. Most things calling for a 'virgin' just meant 'new to being used in these rituals'.

I donated blood last year for the blood drive that the cheer squad organized. Remember? You had to hold my hand.

I guess that counted. It's all I can think of, unless one of those times I passed out at a party, someone used me for devil worship without me knowing about it. My money is on the blood drive, though.

So, as I was saying, I've never been stabbed before. I wasn't sure what the general procedure was supposed to be. I almost threw up when I looked down - I think part of me was starting to… fall out. Leave it to men to make a mess of literally everything.

I kept getting these weird rushes of cold, and my heart was slowing down and then picking up - I thought 'this is it… no… this is it…' so many times, I lost count.

By minute forty-five, I felt alright. Starving, though. I chalked it up to half of my stomach contents lying in the grass around me. So, I did what anyone else would do, and picked my ass up to go home.

That was when I saw you driving on the road, and I couldn't let you see me all… ripped apart and bloody. You do have a tendency to overreact about these things. Sorry I didn't stick around. I saw what the car looked like and… yeesh. You figured it out, though, so you don't get to hold it against me.

The longer I walked, though, the hungrier I got. And your house was closer, anyway. Honestly, all I planned to do was maybe raid your fridge and see if your dad had bought any more of those little pizza stackers.

Remember how I said I felt like a god, earlier? I felt like a dog, now.

I couldn't force myself to care about making a mess or leaving blood all over the counters. I knocked shit over and I made noise and I didn't care who heard me. No one was home, anyway. You surprised me by showing up - I sort of thought you'd have been at Liam's or maybe at the police station or something else, but I was so excited to see you.

I'm sorry for scaring you.

I didn't mean to freak you out, honestly. And I didn't mean to get mad. But you smelled so… different. Good different. Unfamiliar.

I don't know how to describe it. I was almost let down, I wanted familiar , I wanted your perfume and your laundry detergent and your shampoo. It was still really nice, but… how do I describe this?

You smelled like home. A crackling fireplace and those stupid wall plug-ins that my stepmom is so obsessed with. But then, wrapped up in the smell of like, a four-course meal at a five-star restaurant.

I swear, I could have eaten you on the spot. But I didn't want to hurt you.

So that's when I went to find Evan.

Or rather, he came to find me, the idiot . Like a turkey walking into a Thanksgiving dinner. Y'know, I only slept with him once. I think I probably could have held off on chasing him through the forest. I bet you he would have let me eat him if I just asked; pushed my tits up and batted my fuckin' eyes at him. Men.

So, here we are.

You're not mad at me, are you?