Joshua's POV:

I swear I'm not insane.

That sounds very out of context, I know. But it's not, I promise. Just let me finish my story first.

Once upon a time and all that crap, I was happy. I had a job that let me play videogames for a living. Can you imagine how cool that was for a geek like me? I worked for a company named MahaloGames (before it went belly up) with this cool guy named Matthew. We were doing our thing, having fun making walkthroughs, until one day a new guy came in. His name happened to be David Moss, and he was the start of a new chapter of my life.

He was hired to be the new Starcraft nerd at Mahalo.

I'm not saying I wish I hadn't met him. He made my life better! Sometimes, Lasercorn (that was his nickname- I told you we were close!) used to come to my house. We used to go on reeeeally long car rides, then take walks in empty grasslands. Then we'd bury his latest victim.

Oh, don't give me that look. You knew where this is going, don't pull that crap on me. You were the psychiatrist assigned to my case the minute I entered my cell, for Christ's sake. But yeah, my best friend was a serial killer, and I hid the bodies. It wasn't anything you didn't already know. I gotta have some secrets.

If it weren't for the fact that I was knee-deep in blood and gore every time, I would have found some of these moments sweet, romantic even. He would come back to my house, wash the dirt and fluids off his body, then he'd crash next to me on the couch. On lucky days, he'd actually curl up around me and tell me that he loved me, which always made me turn so red I'd thought I was popping a damn blood vessel.

It wasn't his fault, you know. He had a really fucked up life. Ex-assassin, hunted by governments, blah blah blah. What else is there to say? What, do you want me to repent? To apologize for helping the love of my life stay out of jail?

I heard you out there, talking to the FBI about possible "Stockholm syndrome from being in love with him" and "Doesn't understand the consequences of his actions". You're just trying to pass me off as a nutcase, a man so devoted to his serial killer- that's such a strong word though- that he couldn't even see that he was committing felonies for him.

He is mine, by the way. That look you just gave me didn't go over my head. Since the moment we met, I knew that somehow our lives were connected. Fate and soul mates and the rest of the crap that I spent my entire childhood saying was nonsense. Would I have preferred to have a romantic story, one about a coffee shop worker and a tattoo artist? A band geek who's taking pictures of a football game, only to learn that the star quarterback not only gave up the winning catch of the game to wave to you, but dumped his girlfriend in hopes he'd get the "guy of his dreams"?

You bet your bottom dollar I did. But I didn't get that world. I got this one, and honestly, I really didn't mind that in order to stay together, we killed people. That was only a minor setback. At least, it was until you killed him, which is what I assume happened.

But that's not the case here. I knew exactly what I was doing every single fucking time I helped my friend drag a dead, or almost dead person out to a field, every time I ignored those poor bastard's cries for help, slapping their hands off my leg.

I didn't care. God help me, I couldn't care less that they were dying, that they were in agony for hours or seconds or minutes. In fact, sometimes their cries for help irritated me. All I cared about was seeing that 3 second change in looks from when David looked at his victims, mouth pulled back in a sneer and eyes narrowed and hateful, to when he occasionally looked at me, when his eyes softened, his forehead flattened out and he would mouth I love you to me. Those few precious seconds meant the world to me. Why would you want to help me? Do you think you can change my mind about "Mr. Moss" as you called him? (Which, by the way, he hated to be called. Said it sounded too much like his old man.)

Or is it just about the location of the bodies? You guys want me to spill all the pretty little details about our murder sprees. But why? You already know where they are!

Or do you? Do you need me to solve the case for you like a pet? It ain't happening, sweetheart. No matter how many times you drug me, or "rehabilitate" me. I will never help you convict my best friend, the only person I could ever love. You can't bribe me with a get-out-of-jail free card today. But I will tell you my side of the story. I just gotta make one thing clear:

I regret nothing.

HEY GUYS. NEW STORY TIME (YAY!). THIS FIRST PART WAS HEAVILY INFLUENCED BY THE LOVELY JelloProdigy. IF YOU HAVEN'T CHECKED HER OUT THEN I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. SHE'S FANTABULOUS AND A GREAT AUTHOR. HOPING TO TRY AND MAKE MORE CHAPTERS, BUT I NEED SOME IDEAS ON WHERE TO START. LEAVE A REVIEW/PM AND I'LL TRY TO INCORPORATE IT INTO THE STORY. EVERY FAVORITE, FOLLOW OR REVIEW GETS A AMAZINGLY UN-AMAZING PRIZE, LIKE A TRIP TO NARNIA. (not really).

STAY SASSY AND STAY CLASSY FOLKS.

~Interview A Sarcastic Demon