The moment he saw her, he knew she was perfect.

He'd left the manor feeling anxious and angry. Although Joe had not dismissed him, and had chastised him for dismissing others, he left. He decided that, if questioned, he could blame it on the office calling and wondering where the Sheriff had been.

His cruiser had been parked at the manor since Joe had arrived.

Roderick sped through the back roads, through the woods, feeling more comfortable and in control. He had been trusted and needed while Joe was in prison. He expected to be his right hand man once he'd orchestrated Joe's release. Now that it had happened, however, Joe was stalling.

Nothing enraged Roderick more than the stale promise of his mentor.

In the distance, he saw something at the edge of the road, along the tree line. As he neared, he realized it was a lone jogger.

Her hair was in a ponytail, wavy, and swaying as she ran. Her legs were firm and toned; a seasoned runner.

As Roderick neared, she did not look back. As he looked closer, he saw she had ear buds in. She was oblivious.

Roderick smiled to himself. What an idiot… Don't women know not to run alone? Especially distracted?

His eyes followed up her legs, her back, to her neck. Thoughts crept into his mind.

How easy it would be to subdue her…

Roderick chuckled at the thought. He was the Sheriff. No one would doubt him around these parts.

He toyed with the idea of pretending to arrest her and then taking her into the woods and slaughtering her. He'd done that ruse before.

He looked in his rearview mirror. There was no one. She was alone. She was vulnerable. This was what he needed. This was what would make things right.

As his eyes came back to the road and the runner before him, she quickly stopped on the shoulder.

Roderick slammed on the breaks as he lost sight of her, then cursing himself when he realized she would be on to him.

He could see her approaching the cruiser in his side mirror. All he could see was her torso as she came closer.

As she came to the window, he prepared his Sheriff speech.

"Morning, ma'am," he said officially, putting on his best crowd-pleasing smile.

Her hand was on the top of the cruiser as she swung her head down to greet him through the open window.

"Hey there, Roderick," she said with a smile, her ponytail falling across her shoulder.

Roderick's award winning smile fell as she grinned at him. He hadn't recognized her before. The sight of her jarred him even worse than someone calling him Roderick outside of the manor.

"Jesus, Lauren, what the hell are you doing out here?" he said, stunned, the light returning to his eyes as he recognized her.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead, shaking her head, and grinning.

"Pushing my five mile time," she explained, glancing at her watch with a smile, "The loop through town was getting old."

"You need to be careful out here," Roderick warned, admiring her, "There's all kinds of dangerous people."

As he said it, his eyes found the scar on her neck; the one he'd given her months ago. It was fully healed, curving from below her ear, almost down to her collarbone. The one he'd begged her to let him give her. The one she'd finally given in and let him do.

He admired it like a tattoo artist would admire their completed masterpiece.

She was even more beautiful with it than she'd been before it.

He winked at her and she rolled her eyes. She knew what he was about.

She held his glance, still smiling, remembering the last time she'd seen his face. It had been two weeks after the scar. He'd told that injuring her wasn't enough for him; that even after, he still wanted to kill.

He'd expected her to run screaming, which would then allow him to kill her without second thought. It would have given him a solid reason he hadn't been able to find before.

Instead, she'd said something that he was reminded of now seeing her.

She had shrugged and said, "Well, we're all fucked up."

Roderick was so surprised at her response that he didn't go back to her after that. He still couldn't answer why.

Even now, alone on a deserted road, she wasn't scared of him. She knew exactly who he was, what he did, what he wanted to do. She knew why he killed, the same reason why anyone had an addiction, or a habit they couldn't break. They were all fucked up.

Roderick admired her from her smile to her scar. He wanted badly to touch it, to remember doing it to her.

"Get in," he offered with a smile, "Let me take you back to town."

She looked back at the road, considering it. She glanced at him, smiling but still evaluating him.

After a long thought, she shrugged, deeming the offer suitable, and getting in.

Roderick took in the sight of her body in his front seat, a sight he hadn't seen in so long, but on he welcomed.

He winked at her as he put the cruiser in gear. She rolled her eyes, brushing the hair of her face, her fingers slipping past her scar, knowing he was looking at it.

Truth be told, it was exhilarating for her to be around Roderick again. He was charismatic and electric. She loved the façade of him as Sheriff even though she knew what he was. The irony made her laugh.

"What's so funny?" Roderick asked with a smirk, as carefree as she'd seen him in a long time.

"I was just thinking that this whole Sheriff thing is working out quite well for you. I mean, you wanted to kill me when you first met me and I know you were thinking about it when you saw me running now, too. You could easily do it as Sheriff," she laughed, her hair bouncing.

"Lauren, if you were 'fucked up' like me, you'd want to kill, too," Roderick explained, "Especially lone joggers."

She laughed. "I'm just as fucked up as you, Roderick. You kill people and I run. It's just a means to an end. It's just who you are."

Roderick almost shuddered hearing her explain it so easily. How was it so easy for her to justify who he was?

His face darkened. "Then why didn't I just kill you when I gave you that scar then?"

His tone was short and clipped.

She smiled. She wasn't scared of angering him or hiding her expressions. "Because you're not as fucked up as you think you are."

Roderick thought about it, not looking at her.

He hated that she could explain him. He hated that she wasn't scared of him or worried about him as a threat. He hated that she accepted that he was a killer. He hated that as much as she could explain him, he still didn't understand her. He still couldn't figure her out.

Roderick stole a glance at her riding in the front seat, her long, tanned legs stretched out in front of her. His anger was superficial, misplaced. He couldn't hate her. Lauren was beautiful. He wasn't sure if it was because of the prominent scar, the one that was testimony to her strength and character, the one she wore proudly… or if it was because her scar was the only proof that he may have one shred of humanity left.

Let me know what you think. I began this idea as a one-shot although it could go on farther to have more chapters and explain what happened with the scar and the dynamics of their relationship. Let me know!