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You knew before I did	By : LuluDreams Category: S through Z > YOU Views: 20 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: all characters belong just and only to the marvelous Caroline Kepnes, Netflix etc, I just own my sick ideas, lolAlso, there are at least of all the original dialogues from episode 5x8.

Chapter List
- 1-You knew before I did
- 1
Written for the Love is Love: Prompt Challenge June 2025 on r/Fanfiction
Prompts
12"They called me confused, but I’ve never been more certain than who I am when I’m with you."
15"You knew before I did. That’s what scared me the most."
Setting: episode 5x8
Pairing: Joe/Bronte

You knew before I did

Bronte’s POV

How does an average person's morning start?
Usually waking up.
Let’s say my morning started like this, more or less, despite the fact that I didn't sleep very well, there was something in my body aching.
Even my awakening can’t fall into the ‘average’ category: I’ve found out I’m handcuffed.
And nope, I don’t mean any of that kinky -yet, in an innocent way- sexy games I used to do with my former boyfriend.
Well, not that he was my boyfriend for real back in those days, more like a secret lover, a married man, but on his way to get divorce, so I guess it’s almost the same, right?
Right.
Anyway, my wrist is fucking handcuffed to a bed for real and I try to yank at it, as I’m taking a look around, finally realizing where I am.
I do know this place.
It’s my former flat, the one said former boyfriend offered to me.

Does it mean that…

And then it’s you, here again.
The man I’ve stalked for years, the man I catfished, seduced, falling in love with him in the process.
The man I’ve set up, without really wanting to do that.
The man I’ve really, really pissed off, so bad that I had to run away.
The man I couldn’t stay away from for too long, no matter what, so I’ve tried to get in contact with.
And it seems it worked.
The question is.. what version of this man I’m facing now?

“Joe, why the fuck am I chained to the bed?”

Geez, I didn't mean to sound so harsh… given that I still don’t know your mood.

“Oh, here, I’ll, I’ll help you.” You walk closer. “Your ankle was swollen. I thought it might be sprained. So I didn’t want you to walk on it.” You explain as you set me free.

I still don’t know why I’m here, what you’re planning to do with me.
I’m scared as hell and I know you can feel that.

It’s like you’re keeping your distance, studying me.

I try to leave the bed, but as soon as my foot connects with the floor I see stars and I curse.

You rush to bring me some ice.
Still a gentleman, despite everything.

We talk about the guy with the van and his ill intentions, but it’s clearly not the main topic you want to face with me, Joe.

You explain to me why you were there, ready to save me.

“I saw the threats you were getting online. Some asshоlе with more followers than sense put a hit out on you.”

I gasp, sensing there’s more to come.

“It’s crazy how some people will just believe what strangers say about you on the internet. Isn’t it?”

Ouch. I didn’t miss the dig, Joe. Your eyes are so accusing and your tone grew more bitter, but I deserve every bit of that.

I nervously caress my hair, before speaking.

“I guess we uhm… we should probably… talk about that.”

You nod, pretending nonchalance at the same time.

“Do you mean the catfish?”

“Yes. Specifically about the catfish.” I fight to keep my tone hearable.

Average couples have issues and they try to talk to each other to solve them.

But maybe average people didn’t do something as horrible as what I did.

Will you ever forgive me, Joe?

I just need to get it out of my chest.

I tell you about Beck and how I felt right after her death; I tell you how I ended up on reddit groups, cos it made me feel so alive having a purpose… right before figuring out how wrong it was.

“So, what happened between you and me…” You pause, but I already know what you’re about to ask. “Was that real?”

And I know I must be utterly sincere with you.

“Not at first. But it became real. Despite my best efforts to think of you as a monster, I just… I couldn’t.”

I see relief in your eyes, but is there already room for forgiveness?

All I know is that a few minutes later we’re sitting at the table, eating the delicious breakfast you cooked.
Just like average couples do.
And we joke about the comments after your tiktok interview, and everything feels natural, serene and chill with us, like proper soulmates.
But there it comes, a very tough request from you.

You just asked me to confess something I would be embarrassed to say.

Not typical of average breakfasts.
What surprises me the most is that I don’t even have to think about the answer for long.

“Let’s see. Um… Uh… I once crashed a stranger's funeral.”

Take this, Joe, you didn’t expect it.

“Okay. All right. Okay. For.. why?” You wonder, definitely puzzled.

So cute.

“Uh, I guess to… just to see if I’d cry. I didn’t cry at my mom’s.”

You slightly nod, fully engrossed in listening to me. I need to tell you the truth, even at the risk of scaring you.

“I guess actually the real confession is… I wanted my mom to die.”

And that’s the worried -disgusted, maybe?- face of yours.
Oh c’mon, I would understand. That’s something horrible, really horrible to say.

And yet you’re still sitting, waiting for me to go on.

“She was just… am. It was so dark. Seeing her like that for so long. I sometimes thought about just giving her some extra morphine, maybe she’d just fall asleep.”

Huh? Still here? Not repulsed by me?

“In the end I didn’t have the guts, so… I wonder what was more cruel? Like, what I did for her… or what I didn’t do.”

And then you reach for both of my hands, holding them tight, your eyes piercing mine.

“One of the hardest situations anybody would ever have to face. There’s no… right answer.” Your soothing voice comforts me.

However, Joe, this is an emotional game for two players.
I wipe away tears and challenge you.

“Okay. Your turn and, um… it better be good.”

I see you’re pondering way too much, what is gnawing at you?

“Say it. That confession that’s peeking behind your eyes. Just say it.” I urge you.

“I wanted to kill Clayton.” You admit, without even glancing away from me.

I gasp and slightly startle, but I keep listening to your words.

“I saw his hands on you and I knew right then that I would kill him. And I would do whatever I had to to protect you.”

There’s so much devotion in your eyes, there’s so much sweetness in your voice, in stark contrast with the awfulness of the content of your speech, that I feel I’m melting.

You almost chuckle, before going on.

“And I looked at you. And I think part of you wanted me to.”

Oh, God.
Fuck.
With all the things that happened in such a rush, I’ve never stopped, not even for a single second, and thought about how right you are.
It really felt like you asked me permission and I allowed you with an unconscious, or, worse, a fully conscious nod.
And when I saw you smashing his head against the marble of the fireplace, after the initial horror, God may forgive me, but I felt relief. Freedom. Even thankfulness.

“What do you think about that?” You bring me back to the present.

I chuckle nervously, tears in my eyes.

“That scares me. But I… I find it comforting.”

You smile so sweetly at me. Your hands are still holding mine.

“So you don’t want to leave?”

“I’ve been asking myself why I haven’t just gone back to Ohio. It’s. It’s you.” I can’t help chuckling, for how it feels so easy to confess. “I don’t want to run. I want to be here with you.”

You leave my hands, but only to get up and run to me.

I’m so eagerly waiting for the make-up kiss that follows.

I’m so happy I wish this kiss could never end. It’s you and me once more.
This means our blockhouse has not crumbled down, maybe it just lost some irrelevant bricks, but it withstood the storm.

Caressing your face, feeling your breath so close to mine, I feel home again.

And then you part and look at me as if I was the most precious thing in the world.

This would make it hard for me to walk, not only for the aching ankle.

“I have something for you.” You smile.

That’s it.
In average relationships it’s not unusual that one of the partners makes a present to the beloved one, to make them feel special.
And that’s what you, my boyfriend, did, as you’re taking me down to the basement, holding me and covering my eyes as you walk me to a chair you put in the middle of the room.
And finally you allow me to see the surprise.

Fuck.
Okay, not so average detail: it’s not something you can wrap.
My fucking boyfriend just gifted me with a fucking hostage.

Probably you’re studying my reaction, but I’m too focused on the guy who’s lying unconscious in the cage to notice.
I know this guy.

Flashbacks of our troubled meeting recur.

You explain to me what that guy was supposed to do, then you kneel before me.

“Bronte. I don’t want to hide who I am anymore. So think of this as a kind of offering. A life with me means no one would ever hurt you again.”

As it wasn't scary enough already, you point at a sort of table where there are a knife, a syringe, some tapes and a hammer.

“Whatever you want me to do to him, I’ll do it. Let him out. Never let him out.”

Fuck. This makes me wonder… are you accustomed to these… sort of things?
How many times have you done something like this before?
How much of you do I still have to discover?
And yet I don’t want to run away from you.

“The choice is yours.” You smirk at me.

I stare shocked at the cage.

“Joe, this… This is crazy.” I try to reason with you. “You really trust me? How do you know I won’t call the cops?”

“Honestly, I don’t. You fooled me before, you could do it again. But… I think I have figured out who you are.”

I’m so curious now.

“Have you?”

“Well, you write about taking down abusers. You catfished someone you thought could be a serial killer, to avenge a friend.”

I’m overwhelmed by your words and how true they are.

“You didn’t create Bronte just for me. I think you decided who you want to be. Then you dared the world to see you. I saw you.”

And right after giving me the most motivational speech of my life… first you part to answer the phone, then you leave me alone with this guy!?

Seriously?

You search for something in your pockets and there you go, you even give me the key, just in case, putting it on the table.

You put your hands over my shoulders, probably to decrease the pressure I feel all over me.

“If you want to wash your hands of all this, go back to Ohio, be Louise, I will understand. But in my experience, finding who you are starts… with taking your power back.” You say, kissing my knuckles.

You’re really giving me a choice.

And since you’re gone, I guess I’ll try to follow your advice.

When this Dane guy regains consciousness, I really try to establish a dialogue with him, but he’s really making it hard.
He just keeps saying - should I say ‘growling’?- he wants to talk with you, instead of talking with me, diminishing my role as a female.

Fucking misogynist!

I try to investigate what he was planning to do with me, with the zip ties; but all I got is him screaming at me to let him out and insulting me, very aggressively.

Laboriously, I get up and walk over to him, knocking at the glass with my index, with fake innocence, and then I figure it out: he’s afraid of me.
He finally understood his fate is in my hands and he’s terrified.
It’s like I am having a sort of influence on him.

Is this the power you talked about before, Joe?
May I be damned, but I’m liking it.

“Interesting.” I whisper, as calm as Dane is pissed off and this is probably driving him mad.

After a while Dane seems to calm down and we start talking for real, finding out we even have something in common.
We both were caretakers. Well, he still is.
The discussion is so emotional he bursts into tears and I explain to him it’s the effect of the cage.

All over the time, I know you’re watching me, because I see the red light of the camera.

I’m utterly aware you’re putting me to a test, Joe.
And I won’t let you down.

As I medicate my still swollen ankle I even reveal to Dane that he hasn’t anything to do with the whole situation.
He even apologizes to me, saying I’m not so bad.

He really seems to have learnt from his mistakes, from this not average experience, when he says something that really triggers me.

“I’m gonna be more careful next time.”

“Next time?” I repeat, anger clear in my tone.

“I just mean I’m only going to go after females that really deserve it.”

Fucking misogynist, this experience taught you nothing!

I try to retort, saying no one deserves it, ever, but he just goes back insulting me.

The hell with apologizing to me!

“God. Joe was right. You are a waste of time. God damn it.”

And he sounds even amused.

I swear I can’t stand this guy a minute more!

“My friend, Beck, was murdered by an angry, fragile, little sheet heel, just like you!” I hiss.

“Well… I hope she died screaming!” Dane has the guts to say, staring at me with a fucking satisfied smirk.

My eyes are wide open in shock, I’m breathing faster than I should and all I see is red.

“Okay, Dane, you probably know better than me that it’s useless to keep you here. You’re just an annoying asshole who’ll never learn.”

He immediately changes his mood.

“Wait. Are you really gonna let me go?” He tentatively asks, and there’s hope in his eyes.

“Not so fast. First I have to be sure Joe can keep an eye on you and that you won’t leave town. So your documents will stay here for a while. And I’ll also need some passwords." I bargain with him.

“Fine, bitch!” He grunts, taking the documents.

As he’s busy doing that, I limp towards the table, taking the key and something else I hide under the sleeve of my cardigan.

I open the cage and Dane stares at me with diffidence before, then he softens again.
“Well, thank you. Hope to never see you again.”

Oh, Dane, don’t be so sure. I’m afraid you’re still gonna be our not so welcome guest for a while.

Just when he’s about to go upstairs I take the knife I was hiding and stab him in the hip, meaning it.

The blade slides through the skin as it was made of butter, before I draw the knife back.

Dane’s grey T-shirt starts getting stained as he falls on the ground, cursing, screaming, glaring at me and grabbing his hip in pain, before passing out in a puddle of blood that gets larger and larger.

Oh, God, what have I just done?

I yelp, throwing the bleeding knife on the floor, staring scared at the scene, trying to calm down.

It’s just that my impulse took over.
Is this what you felt, Joe, before killing Clayton?
Did you feel like this more than once?

But I should focus on me, right now, not on you.
I’ve just hurt a man. Okay, an evil asshole who deserves even worse, but that’s not the point.
I‘ve fucking hurt someone.
Why am I not even feeling guilty?

All of a sudden, I recall what you told me at the Sandbox.

You hold all the power.
I think you're scared of how powerful you could become.
Of who we could be together.

Is this what you meant? About who we could be together? The things we could do? Track down the wicked people and teach them good lessons?
Why, instead of revolting, do I find all this… so appealing?

Everyone has a dark side. It’s all a matter of how deeply people are going to embrace it.
And I guess I’ve just found it out.
And you knew before I did. That’s what scares me the most.

The truth is that I’m not just feeling scared.
A part of me is thrilled.
The same part of me who wanted to kill my mom.
The same part of me who wanted you to kill Clayton.
The same part of me who sent you that text message during your tiktok interview.
I thank that part of me.

Fuck my former friends when they kept saying it was too much form me, that I should go back to Ohio, getting my head on straight and be Louise again.
They called me confused, but I’ve never been more certain than who I am when I’m with you.
I’m Bronte. Your soulmate.
We’re not average, Joe. We’re something special.

Can’t wait for you to go back to me.

There’s a reason why I didn’t stab Dane in the cage.
You would have seen that from the camera.
Instead this way you’ll think I let the guy go.
What, do you think you’re the only one who can make surprises?
I’d better limp back to the chair, before you think I left as well.

Can’t wait to see the face you’ll make when you see his bleeding, passed out figure.
I’ve been a sort of nurse enough to claim the bastard is not risking death with that wound.
Also because I’m going to let you finish the job… and I’ll enjoy every single moment of that.
Hurry up, Joe.
Notes:
I still don't know if it's enough like this or if I should put Joe's reaction in next chapter...
I don't even know if someone is gonna like this wicked twist , so probably I'll keep that chapter to myself ^^'
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You knew before I did

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