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A year ago, I was a different person. Happy, normal, and content with my life. I couldn’t think of one thing I would’ve changed about my life, but now, if I could, I’d change it all.
No one here knows me, the real me, and it’s going to stay that way.
Girls like it when I look at them, and their dads don’t.
The smart move would’ve been to never sell illegal guns in the first place, but what did I know?
I would help people, save lives instead of ending them.
I don’t think a person ever gets used to being hated.
“What I want are your screams, your tears. I want you weak and immobile. I want you begging me to stop while I take and take until there’s nothing left to take.”
Afraid of me shutting down and never resurfacing.
I need something to anchor me, something I can control.
We’re enemies, and that will never, ever change.
“Sometimes, being who you are has perks,”
I’m in control. Everything happens because I say so. This is my game, my rules.
People want me dead, and since they can’t kill me, they’ll do much worse things.
For a single moment, my heart stops, and I’m frozen in time.
If she dies today, her blood will be on my hands.
This isn’t about control. There is something deeper here, something heartbreaking.
“Pretend you don’t want me. In fact, pretend for both of us because now that I’ve had a taste of you, I don’t know if I can ever go back.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t like her.
As fucked up as it is, she is my missing piece. The calm to my storm, the virtue to my wickedness.
If I allow us to think we aren’t enemies inside this bedroom, then who’s to say those feelings won’t follow us outside of it.
Fear immobilizes you. It consumes you even when you don’t want it to.
There is no way she survived a crash like that, yet I somehow hold on to the hope that she did because the thought of her dying because of me kills me.

