One look at Decari, standing in my doorway, after not seeing him for a few days, and I know that this is going to be difficult. Why? That would be because I went into this with the full intent of looking for the negative in him, and focusing on that.

However, now that he's standing right in front of me, I'm realizing that there is nothing. At least, not surface level. Nothing about his appearance that I could realistically pick apart. Nothing wrong with him.

What the fuck am I supposed to do, now? Lie to myself? Oh, his super angular jaw and high cheekbones are so hideous. Imagine being that muscular, how embarrassing. His kind eyes and perfect smile make me want to throw up.

I think I might be making it worse.

"I brought some files with me," Dex tells me, and I snap out of it. "Can I come in?"

Shit, how long have I been standing here? Why did he have to invite himself in? This whole ordeal is already a disaster. I can't let it happen again.

"Uh, s-sure. Yeah, come in." I open the door wider and motion him inside, and he gives me a simple nod, obliging. I have no idea how he wants to go about this, or what spots in one's house people usually reserve for investigating themselves with their cop neighbor. I first lead him to my kitchen, before I realize that my dining table only has one chair.

Oh, yeah. I've never felt the need for another, because I never have people over here. Clearly, that was the wrong call to make, and now I'm out of ideas. I risk a glance at Dex, who hasn't even noticed the table-chair predicament. Nope, he's just looking around my apartment. It makes sense why, when he speaks.

"Did you clean?" Dex asks me, and for some reason, I feel my face starting to warm up. He finally locks eyes with me, after fully taking in his surroundings I assume, and I'm already nervous.

"I mean..." I realize, then, that he's standing kind of close to me. I take a step back, averting my eyes and pointing at the couch behind me. "Yeah. I don't have another chair. Is the couch okay?"

Dex nods, expression not giving much away, but there's something more to the look in his eyes. It sets me on edge, and I truly resent how self conscious I feel around this guy. It doesn't even matter how hard I try to hide it, and I really do. That changes nothing, because no matter what, I end up standing in front of him, fidgeting with my mothman shirt, hair a train wreck, and looking like I haven't slept in days.

Maybe I should've focused less on cleaning up my apartment and more on cleaning up myself.

Once we have each taken a seat on the sofa, TV playing some sci-fi movie in the background, Dex turns to face me fully. He puts the stack of folders he brought over here on the spot between us, and I just watch as he organizes them. As he does so, he begins to speak.

"So, tell me more about your sister."

Oh, this is bad. Nothing new there, except, a wrong step in this situation could risk him actually beginning to catch on. The lie I told him was by no means bulletproof, and now it appears as though I'll have to build upon it.

Then again, I never said she was my biological sister. I don't have one of those. That's it! I could say she was a foster sister or something that I stayed in touch with. Do I want him to know that about me, though? Probably not, but I don't have a lot of options right now.

"She was my foster sister." I tell him, and he just nods, still busy organizing the papers. It's nice not having his full attention on me, a lot less nerve-wracking. "Uh, she disappeared, and they found her dissected."

I hope that's enough to pacify him, glancing up to gauge his expression. He seems to have finished messing with the files, at least for the most part, and is already looking at me. He only responds once we've locked eyes, clearing his throat and glancing away, appearing to be examining all of my posters that decorate the walls. I can't help but feel like I missed something.

"Okay, that could be something. What was her name?"

Uh oh.

I pause, doing everything I can to not let my expression change as I realize how bad that question is. I can't say I don't remember, since I've made it out as though I cared about this person quite a bit. I try to think back on all my victims and what I know about them. Generally speaking, I have a fantastic memory, especially when it comes to the details of the people I've killed.

I don't remember anyone being in the foster care system. At least, not a woman, let alone one who would be age appropriate. So, I decide to just stick with one of the younger women, though I don't remember details of her childhood and I'm not actually sure if she was ever found. Unfortunately, it's my best bet right now.

Her name was Jessica Leonard, and I'm pretty sure her crime was some sort of car accident, probably a family-related hit and run. I think she was one of my youngest victims until relation to myself—about 20, when I would've been around 23.

Close enough, at least for now. If that doesn't track I'll just have to come up with something else. "Jessica."

I stick with only a first name and hope he doesn't request specification. Luckily, he doesn't, possibly not wanting to question me so much on a personal topic this soon. Thank god, because all this lying is giving me a headache.

"Okay, I'll look into that." Please don't. "He's had a lot of victims, I haven't even been able to go through them all yet."

I just nod, and I hadn't noticed before, but I've been fidgeting quite a bit with the strings on my pajama pants. Oh my god, I'm wearing pajama pants? This does not help the lingering feeling I've had of self consciousness, and I've never really cared all that much about my appearance in the past. However, the fact that I absolutely look like a raccoon that just jumped out of a dumpster at the moment bothers me.

I decide to just move on and ignore my appearance, also choosing to not look into the reasons why I care so much all of a sudden.

"We think there could be more, but the only link between them is that the majority have criminal records. That doesn't apply to them all, though, and we can't figure out a motive. That's a basic summary of what we know, do you think your personal research gave you anything useful?"

I stare down at my hands, which can't seem to stay still, and try to think of anything I could give him. If I went through a phase of being obsessed with a serial killer, because I thought one took my sister, I'd have uncovered something, right? What could I possibly tell Decari that wouldn't advance the investigation, though?

That's right, nothing. I know too much to give him anything that wouldn't be of substance. So, what should I do? "Uh, I'd have to go back through the notes I took. I don't have a great memory."

This is a lie. As stated before, I have an excellent memory. It tends to benefit me if people don't know that, though. I finally look at Dex when I say this, and he is of course already fucking staring at me. Why is he so great at eye contact? I'm jealous.

"Okay, do you have them here? I'd also like to borrow the newspapers, if you don't mind, just to be thorough." He tells me, and I only last a couple more seconds before I have to break eye contact again. He cannot have my newspapers. Or my nonexistent notes.

"I'd have to find them. I packed the newspapers away when I cleaned," I tell him, deciding that stalling is probably my best option here. I see him nod out the corner of my eye, but refuse to look away from the poster to the left of him, which is a diagram of the human heart. I am vaguely aware I'm contributing nothing to the conversation, but that's because I am dealing with a lot of fear, from multiple sources. As per usual when in the company of this guy.

How on earth am I supposed to look for cons when I can barely even look at Dex to begin with? Maybe that counts as a con: inability to function when in company.

"Okay." Dex replies simply, and I give him a small nod, still studying the heart diagram that I could draw with my eyes closed from memory alone. After a moment of presumably looking at me, though it's hard to tell since I'm not doing it back, he speaks again. "Camilo?"

My fingers are tapping restlessly against my criss-crossed legs, feeling annoyingly antsy. I finally drag my gaze over to him when he says my name, and he moves his eyes to meet my own. I have no idea where he was looking before.

"Hm?"

"Has anyone ever told you," He begins, and something about the atmosphere is different. I have no idea what he's about to say, but his entire tone has changed. I'm unable to pinpoint how. "That you're really pretty?"

Suddenly, I have no thoughts.

There is a simple answer to that question: no. Nobody has ever told me that, actually. In fact, I can't remember the last time I was given a compliment that wasn't backhanded. I have no friends, despite my coworker's attempts, and have no intention of ever getting any. Also, I've never been in a romantic relationship. I never had any loving parents to compliment me growing up, and was too socially awkward for any of my classmates or teachers to try.

This is completely new territory. I do everything I can to avoid people, and always have. Compliments have never been common, especially about my looks. I was always under the impression I was average looking, if a bit nerdy.

I just blink at him, vision somewhat unfocused as he single-handedly wipes my mind. I am at a complete loss for words, have practically forgotten the entire English language. How does one normally respond to compliments? They say thank you, right? Was that even a normal compliment to give a neighbor? It sure doesn't feel like it. That compliment didn't even sound friendly, it sounded like—

Oh, I have no idea. All I know is I feel warm, and that's never really happened before. Not like this.

"N-no, uh... I'm—thank you?" Oh my god, what the fuck? What did I just say? I feel like my entire body is on fire, giving Decari a look like a deer caught in headlights. I can barely even gauge his expression, feeling like I'm about to have a heart attack. I'm barely even processing reality.

Decari appears amused, but I don't know how accurate that is. I feel like I'm about to die, and it takes a while for me to put a name to it. I'm flustered. Beyond so, and there's no way this situation ends without me feeling embarrassed until the end of time.

"You're welcome," Dex replies, delayed. I feel on edge, and probably couldn't look him in the face if I was paid to. Nope, I'm back to staring strictly at my fidgeting hands. "You might need better friends, if you didn't know."

I gulp, but I'm starting to gain functionality of myself again. I realize my hands are shaking, and they won't stop, and I have no idea what to do. Why am I so messed up over a compliment? I mean, I understand I never get them, and that specific one felt intimate, but it must be in my head.

That was probably a normal thing to say. I don't know, I have nothing to gauge it with. Why am I being weird about it?

"I've never had a lot of friends." I tell him simply, unsure what else to say and still refusing to make eye contact. That's an understatement, too. Willow is probably the closest thing I've ever had to a friend, but considering the fact she's 17—meaning I'm technically her caretaker—as well as the fact that our relationship tends to lean on the more business side, I don't know if that counts.

"Want one?"

My gaze flicks up to lock with Dex's for the first time since the compliment, who looks my face up and down. I just blink at him, before I remember he just said something. He just offered his friendship. I should say no.

Right? I should tell him to leave, in fact. I should've never had the reaction I did to him complimenting my looks. He probably didn't even mean it—I basically always look like shit, including right now. That has been well established. So, he's probably lying.

He looks really sincere, though. What if he's not?

"S-Sure."

Dex smiles at me. I feel like I'm going to pass out.

"Okay, well, sorry for coming over so late. My sisters are staying with me right now, I had to wait for them to go to bed." He explains, and the couch dips as he pushes himself up to a standing position. I don't follow, instead staying in my seated position. I still watch him, but I feel like I'm in shock. "I'll leave these files with you for now, see if anything jogs your memory."

It takes me a moment to realize he's leaving right now, which is probably for the best. I stand up as well, giving him a nod of acknowledgement, and walk with him most of the way to the front door. "Okay. I'll get you the newspapers."

"Thank you," he replies simply, before holding out his hand. I snap out of the mini trance I'd fallen in, staring at nothing as I contemplate this entire interaction and what it means for our future. I take hold of his hand, noting how warm his skin is. My hands have always been freezing cold, for some reason.

His hand is larger than my own, enveloping it as he gives my hand a couple firm shakes before letting go. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I have no idea what that means. We made no plans for tomorrow, but I nod anyway, and do my best to match his friendliness. I don't smile often, and when I do it's usually forced and uncomfortable.

This one isn't. This one is nervous, and flustered, and then he leaves.