Chapter 2 - My Little Psycho

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Chapter 2- Daisy

He. Is. Adorable. 

He looks like a big grumpy dog. 

One of those ugly ones with the underbite and the squished nose. Ugly cute. 

Not that he has an underbite. Or a squished nose. He’s just got that gruff and broody thing going for him. 

His nose and mouth are actually really adorable actually. A strong nose with clean edges so straight you could use it as a ruler, and his lips were thin, broad, the kind of mouth that, when he smiles, it’ll spread across almost his entire face. 

I need to see that smile. 

The rest of his face is pleasing too, the whole architectural masterpiece: Two little frown lines in the middle of his eyebrows like quotation marks, chiseled face with a tiny notch just under his right eye a chink in the marble. I like it. I want to bite it. 

And oh my god, the hair. It’s the perfect ratio of black and while. Jet black with white temples like the night sky when it starts to snow. 

The eyes are unremarkable in their colouring, someone’s just clicked ‘fill shape’ and ‘brown’, but the way they keep darting to me and around like he’s looking for danger in every corner. I melt- he wants to keep me safe! 

I drift closer, my eyes low, mimicking a blush (can’t blush, I’ve tried), hoping to appeal to the masculine protective instincts as I hang on his arm like a lost damsel in distress. 

“How long have you worked here?” I ask as sweet as candy floss on a summer day. 

Cole looks a little distracted as I press my chest into his bicep (very good bicep, nine out of ten), but he answers nonetheless. “Twelve years.” 

“Wow,” I purr, letting him lead me into a room. 

It’s bland grey and sterile blue. But I light up as we walk in. “Interrogation Room!” I trill with a giggle. “I’ve only ever seen them on TV!” 

And it’s exactly like it is on TV, one table, four chairs and even a mirror- which I make a beeline for. 

“Does this go both ways?” I ask excitedly, bopping from foot to foot. “Like in the movies?” 

Cole doesn’t look as excited as me, he just looks outside the room, keeping the door open with his foot. “Uh… yeah.” 

I beam at him and look closer, trying to see into the room beyond. I can’t. 

It’s amazing. 

He clears his throat as I press my nose to the glass, all business in his tone. “We have four interview rooms in the corridor. We use them for-” 

“-getting the bad guys to monologue about how and why they did the deed?” I finish for him, looking up from the mirror. His eyes flicker to the glass where I’ve left a forehead-shaped make-up smudge, his hands itching towards his pocket. 

If he brings out a fabric handkerchief right now, I will die of joy. 

“Something like that,” he says and tucks his hands into his pocket- so close to where I’m certain the offending handkerchief is, but he doesn’t bring it out. “We use this room when people stop being cooperative.” 

“Shame. I’d be so good at cooperating.” I can’t resist. He goes pink- from the apples of his cheeks right up to his ears. But it’s true. I would. I would be such a good girl for Cole. 

He freezes up- I made him all flustered. “Do you want to see the office?” He says uncertainly. 

“Sure! Wherever you want to show me, Cole.” 

I slink closer to him, leading with my breasts (my best feature) and stopping only inches from his shirt. I can feel his body heat through our clothes. But he’s not ready yet and steps back, plunging us both into the cool surrounding air like a bucket of ice water. 

“Let’s go, I’ll show you the holding cells.” He rushes for the door, away from the smudge on the mirror that I know he’s itching to wipe off. I have to skip to catch up to link my arm in his again. 

“That sounds fun, are there bars? Like in Chicago?” 

His lips tweak like he’s about to smile. But he doesn’t. He’s so delicious. 

“No.” 

I laugh chirpily at his stoicism, making him raise an eyebrow at me. “You’re funny,” I shrug, snuggling a tiny bit closer. He gives me a curious side-eye and takes me through a door - which he needs a keyfob for and I’m disappointingly faced with the sight of ordinary looking doors with letterboxes in them. There’s a small window in the top but…

“They’re all empty,” he says fidgeting with his keys as I walk down the corridor looking in at the bland white rooms on the other side of the windows. No bars. Sad. 

I twirl round to face him in the middle of the corridor, watching in delight as his eyes travel down my body - he tries to hide it but he’s smitten already, I can tell. 

“You ever role play in one of these?” 

His eyes snap back to my face in absolute shock and I suppress a shriek of delight at the crack in the marble. “Wh-what?” 

“I said have you ever sat in one of these?” I say sweetly, batting my lashes in the way that makes him stare. 

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head like that ugly-adorable dog with the underbite. He’s not going to challenge me, even though we both know what I said. He’s too straight laced. 

Sure enough. He doesn’t. 

“Uh- yeah a few times. Speaking to suspects, you know.” 

I slink back in his direction, “When they’re being cooperative.” 

He holds the door open for me (uh- swoon!) and walks me through the maze of corridors towards a hum of noise. 

“Exactly.” 

I smile up at him, very much enjoying hanging onto his arm like we’re about to walk into a big soiree together. 

We are. He just doesn’t know it. 

He takes me exactly where I want most to be. The bullpen. The beating heart of the precinct. Desks are littered in what once used to be lines but through hours and hours of heavy, stressed and tired people leaning into them, they now lie littered around the room at weird angles. Every cluster of desks has a display board of juicy pictures and post it notes, hand written scribbles. A murder wall. 

But Cole doesn’t lead me to mine. No, he leads me straight to the break room on the other side. 

This is the issue with playing blushing and coy- you’ve got to be willing to put your time in to manipulate your way to what you want. 

“Want a coffee?” He says holding up a mug that says I can’t fix stupid but I can arrest it under a picture of the flag. It instantly makes me want to gag. 

An instinct which does not come easily. 

“No, thanks.” I flash him by best candy-sweet smile as I perch on a chair with a suspicious looking stain. “But don’t let me stop you - is that your mug?” 

He looks at it, as if surprised to see it in his hand. Of course he is, he’s too busy staring. 

“Uh- no.” 

And he picks up a plain black one. Because of course that’s his. He’s perfect. 

“You like working for my Uncle?” I ask, crossing my legs and allowing my skirt to gather a little bit higher on my thigh than normal. 

“He’s a good man.” is all I get in response. He continues to make his coffee (instant, black, no sugar- of course.) clearly comfortable in silence. 

Which I am not. 

“He’s a good uncle too. I never really got along with my parents but he’s always been there for me. Through all the… yeah. It’s nice to be around him again. It’s been a while. I’m staying with him for a bit.” 

I leave an expectant silence, looking at him as though he has a cue for lines he hasn’t learned. 

“Um…” he starts, hiding the fact that he’s too flustered to come up with a question behind washing up his individual teaspoon, drying it on a paper towel and putting it back in the drawer. Adorable. “What do you do?” 

“I’m a dog walker,” I say, rewarding him with a bright smile. “I love dogs. You look like a cat person.” 

Its the biggest insult I know to a dog person. He just shrugs. “Not really an animal person.” 

My heart plummets. How? How could Mr. Perfect NOT be an animal lover? How is that possible? 

I curse the stars for aligning me in a match with a animal-agnostic. “I don’t know how that could be possible for someone not to love animals.” I can’t help the edge of darkness that creeps into my voice at the words. 

“I think they’re fine,” he bumbles sitting down next to me, obviously backpedalling. “I just never had one growing up. So never really saw the big deal.” 

My anger spirals into pity the instant the words are out of his mouth, my eyebrows meeting in the middle over wide eyes as I mourn the person he could have been with a golden retriever in his life. “You… oh…” 

He barks a laugh. A big, soulful “Ha!” that bursts out of him unwillingly. “You look upset for me!” His lips are twitching, suppressing the genuine laugh that threatens just under the marble. 

“I am upset for you.” I sink closer to him, letting my knee touch his. “You’ll have to come with me and my pack one day. We’ll get you dog-mad in no time.” 

He makes a noise that’s equal parts huff and hum as those eyes trail back to my lips. I think he’s about to say yes, to set a date so we can be together for real but he doesn’t. Instead he stands up all business with a definitive “Well!” and I snap to attention as well. “Let’s get you to the Captain’s office.”

My smile takes a moment to surface, it’s true. I had no intention of leaving Cole’s side so soon. But I need to be perfect for Cole. He’s perfect for me- I’ll fix that animal thing tout-sweet- and then we can be perfect together. I spread my sweetest smile and nod. My smile turns genuine less than a second later though when he offers me his arm this time. Oh yeah, he’s mine. 

***

I know it’s bad to go home with a man on the first date- my mother taught me all this. But I just couldn’t resist. I knew Cole was  absolute perfection from the moment he looked at me and told me what a bad girl I’d been. 

Oh my god I’d die if he said that to me right now. 

I shake the thought from my head and focus on the task at hand: getting to know Cole.

Of course, I’m a little limited by the walls his house has, but it’s fine for now. Until I can figure out his security system, it’s totally manageable.  

His home is small, tidy and perfectly kept up. The corners of his bed told me what he nerve did: ex-military. Everything else, neat, minimal alert, just confirmed it. He keeps all his curtains open for me to see in, which is nice of him, so I get a good look as he walks through his house and starts to cook. Didn’t even flop onto his sofa once, even after it was such a long day at work. Love a man with stamina. 

He’s obviously cooking for two though- which I’ll obviously have to fix one way or the other. I hope that he’s cooking for a friend or sister or… 

But no, when she comes to the door she gives him a polite kiss that says together-too-long-to-smooch-not-long-enough-for-a-key. She’s pretty. Blonde as well - obviously a type- although hers is bottled. She has a pleasant, if unremarkable face, some pimples on her forehead from stress. And she’s definitely a cop too even though she’s taken her badge off. Just the way she walks says ‘cop’. 

From my perch in the park opposite, I watch as he lets her in. They eat, and she starts to get ready for bed. She’s asleep within half an hour - not got the same stamina as our man- and he quietly gets out of bed. 

I perk up, loving this side of him. What secrets is he keeping from Little Miss Perfect, who doesn’t have an instagram account for me to stalk? He sneaks into a room next to his bedroom, it’s small, like a tiny office space. He hasn’t been in there all night but when the lights go on I know, 100% that this man is already mine. 

The room is a shrine. 

Floor to ceiling. 

Covered. 

In me. 

My kills. My victims. Their deaths, crime scene photos, medical reports. Newspaper coverage, receipts, even in some cases, bagged up evidence (naughty boy). And there, right on the corner, is a little red origami heart. 

It’s not mine. I’ve never used red. They all tend to be purple, white, blue or yellow- depending on the message I’m trying to send. The purple is reserved for the assholes who mattered, the ones who really pissed me off. White is for those who had reasons of their own that broke them. Blue for the ones who just needed to not be here any more. And yellow, they’re for the ones who needed to hurt first. 

Never red. Red doesn’t say that. Red says passion. Red says love. Red says mine. That red origami heart- in its clumsy little attempt at looking like my signature. That claims me. 

It’s then that I realise. 

How true this all is. 

Cole isn’t just smitten with me. No. 

Cole is obsessed with me.