Update as of 3/12/17

Okay so lately a lot of people have been making rude comments about how much of an idiot I am because I wrote Gomez as a Brazilian man but he speaks Spanish. I'm not dumb. I know Brazilians speak Portuguese. It's part of his character. Keep reading the story and about half way through you'll see why he speaks Spanish instead of Portuguese. It's not an blatantly stated, but there is an explanation and you have to use your brain to put two and two together. Again, I'm not stupid, enough with the hate:)

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I decided to stay away from school for a few days. I wasn't up to it. My body was so weak from all the malnutrition, that I was hardly able to stand. Luckily, I had snatched an old wheelchair a while back just to wheel dead bodies around if need be. I used that to get around my house.

I left the flowers in the oven for a few minutes, and they started to crumble and turn black. They looked beautiful.

For days, I just looked out my bedroom window, thinking about her. The days were grey and tedious. On the last day of my fast, I found out a very convenient truth.

I was staring out my window, as usual, and from across the street, I saw her. She drove into the driveway and pulled out suitcases and boxes. I smirked bigger than I ever have before. She was moving in right across the street.

I wheeled into my kitchen and opened the fridge for the first time in a week and a half. Nothing but molding cheese and rotten milk. I rolled my eyes and wheeled to the pantry and ate some cereal without milk.

I looked around the house for some money and called up for a pizza. Once it came, I ate it up so fast that my stomach began to hurt. So I threw it up.

A mouse scurried across the floor.

I stared out the window again.

Ava Lane lived across the street from me. She lived right across the street.

Over the next few days, I observed her daily routines. She seemed nervous every time she stepped outside. And with good reason, I suppose.

It seemed that she was an only child, living with a single mother. Interesting.

One night, it was late. I was getting a bit tired of sitting around and collecting data. So, I took the flowers that had turned crispy and limp, and walked across the street. I left the dead roses on her porch with a suggestive note and walked back home.

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Srry for not updating in a while! And I know this chapter is short. And Luther is a psycho path, keep in mind, so I have his POVs writing a bit more scattered and, well, not normal...

I am going to do a few chapters with Ava's POV here pretty soon, so keep an eye out!