“Remember that when you try to love me again.” I’d told myself for years that all I’d wanted was to shatter the light in her eyes. Smother it out with my hands around her throat. Who knew this was what would do the trick. It flutters away into the darkness, and I want to keep it. That last good piece in her, tucked away inside of a jar. But it’s gone before I have the chance to savor it. Even though this is exactly what I wanted, had been wanting, I don’t feel triumphant. Power doesn’t lace through my veins. I just feel damp. And I despise the look on her face, the one I’d purposely put there.
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