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16+ Language

Exes and Killers: Continuing


Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for language.

(continuing this cause why not)

Behind the school, Christen stood perched on icy rails, watching his surroundings with a shaky hand. He drew for his lighter. Because of the snow, most students were inside keeping warm; however, not this imposter. Instead, he was sitting on white-covered benches, simply reading.

An exact mimic of what his ex-boyfriend would do.

What a damn weirdo, Christen thought, taking a long puff of his cigarette. He struggled to understand why he was out here; he could be warm and cozy inside, but nope. After everyone had acknowledged this—whoever this was—he hadn't seen them, probably in class. But screw class when this is more important than boring business basics!

How they are not freaked out by this is beyond him; doesn't it strike them as odd that some new guy, with a face mirroring Adrian's to a tee, is walking around school grounds?

Christen gripped his abdomen and groaned, his cigarette falling to the ground as he crunched forward. "Fuck," he grumbled, eyes tightly shut. Coming to, he glanced up and jerked back, heart pounding out of his chest when he saw him.

"Are... you, okay?"

That voice. He covered his mouth and shut his eyes tighter than before. He rapidly inhaled cold air into his lungs; his throat felt as if it was closing up. Something caused him to peek at this guy again. He slowly reopened his left eye, glancing through his thick lashes, and was met with blinding baby blues.

Christen's mouth filled with saliva, thickly sticking to the roof of his mouth and gums. However, what broke him was when Adrian cocked his head. He wrenched hard and turned swiftly, leaving.

He ran straight to the bathrooms, bumping into walls and doors. He kicked open a stall and emptied his stomach.

After what felt like an eternity, Christen batted his lashes, sniffed, and moved off the ground, disgusted. His vision was dazed; trying to move seemed to end with him colliding with walls. Eventually, he made it through the bathroom doors, carelessly swinging it open and stumbling out.

Students raised brows at his weird movements, some thinking it was the drugs. And maybe it was.

He couldn't catch his breath as he staggered through the crowd. Sweat and a tinge of vomit smeared his face; he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, the deafening sound of his heart beating like a drum in his ears as he darted across the hall. Mechanically stopping at Adrian's locker, Christen gritted his teeth at the image of that imposter taunting him, edging him, and turning his confusion into anger. He clenched his fist and bared it against the locker, over and over again, startling and drawing eyes from students who stopped to watch.

"Hey...! Hey...! Christen!"

He was pulled away, dragged into arms, and squeezed into a familiar chest.


In the dimly lit classroom, the flickering light of the film casts a bluish glow on the faces of the students. Some are fully engrossed, their eyes fixed on the screen as they diligently jot down notes in their notebooks. Others, however, struggle to stay awake, heads nodding intermittently or resting on their folded arms.

In the back row, Michael was deeply fixated upon the movie, yet his unblinking eyes said something else. He was stiff in his chair, relying on his elbow for support. His brown, dull eyes scooped up the characters shuffling around as he silently tapped his pen against blank sheets. He was never present to begin with when it came to this class; he thought the teacher's style of pedagogy was dead and difficult to follow, especially when the movies she put on weren't exactly attention-grabbing.

As the movie played, he thought back to earlier and couldn't help but cringe. A face he swore he'd never see again secured itself, claiming a place in his mind once more. The foreign memory of them driving around, getting drunk, and partying led to devastation, tears, and many, many court hearings. He had promised himself to never look back at that night, to simply forget it because that was the plan, a simple, easy plan.

But that face, the mannerisms, everything was a perfect mimic of Adrian. It made him want to puke; only the sheer will to keep his cool in front of Christen stopped him. Christen... seeing that guy must have been hard. Well, no shit, he didn't exactly expect to see a carbon copy of his dead ex-boyfriend walking around today, did he?

He's worried about Christen; he always is. Who else would be if he wasn't?

The gritty sound of the bell snapped him from his thoughts. Michael swallowed and exhaled, standing as he quickly grabbed his things and made a hasty exit. He wanted to make sure everything was still intact as before, that everyone still knew the situation. So, in his rush, Michael pulled out his phone:


Michael: Meet me at my house after school, all of you.

He pressed send and took a deep breath. Continuing down the hall, he stopped, seeing an enraged Christen beating at Adrian's old locker. For a moment, he stood there watching as sadness and soaring desperation captured Christen's expression. He'd never seen him like this, so emotionally driven. Well, no—he had seen this side of him, and that too he wished to forget.

Wasting no more time, he acted. Rushing over, he pulled him away and tucked him into his chest, shielding Christen from peering eyes. Michael said nothing when he felt his undershirt wetting; he simply buried the brunette deeper into his chest and cooed silent nothings into his hair.

The halls were thankfully emptying by the second. As they stood there, Michael gazed over a passing figure, and his clutch around Christen only tightened.

The figure stopped and worriedly coaxed his brows. "Is...is...everything okay?"

Michael's eyes widened, and he trembled, nodding. The doppelgänger took solace in his confirmation and walked away.

Even his walk, he thought dreadfully, it's the exact copy. Michael looked onward as he got further away. He glanced back at Christen and, if it was possible, held him closer. The ominous tightening in his stomach and chest told him something wasn't right.

His phone pinged. He sighed and successfully fished it from his pocket.


Lucas: yeah...maybe we should meet up

Michael eyed the message that followed, an attached image that turned his face pale white.

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