[La Chat Noire]

"Damn," Carmine thought. "He never puts anything back where it belongs." She picked up the severed head and returned it to the shelf. With a sigh, she looked at all the perfectly good blood Patrick had wasted. "Next time it'll be his head, I swear," she mumbled to herself.
Patrick had known Carmine was a killer going into this relationship. In fact, it had been one of the reasons he was initially attracted to her. A long time fan of horror, Patrick found Carmine's work glorious and intriguing when she described it. But he soon discovered that hearing about her kills and actually seeing them were two completely different things. The occasional finger or ear was tolerable, but heads were a bit too much. And he realized that blood didn't taste nearly as good as he had once hoped. At least not when it wasn't hot. Sure, he could microwave it or heat it up on the stove, but by then it had already lost that fresh blood flavor. Lately, he just wanted plain old milk for his cereal. He worried Carmine would recognize that they were beginning to grow apart. And so he drove, not really knowing where he was going, in order to clear his head.