Inflicting pain (or distress) was a guaranteed, instantaneous method of pressure elimination. I didn’t know why. All I knew was the release after stabbing Syd was the best feeling I’d ever had. It wasn’t just that I didn’t care. It was that I didn’t care that I didn’t care. I was a kite flying high in the sky, beyond the reach of pressure and stuck stress and any expectations of emotion. Yet somehow, I knew there was an inherent risk in allowing myself to do something so amoral. It was dangerous, for one thing. But worse, it was addictive.
