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Danvers himself is facedown, so I can’t see his expression. It wouldn’t bother me to look into his face. I’ve done it before. I’ve watched the fear, the anguish, the suffering, all eventually sinking into dull resignation and then the utter blankness of death. Life over, snuffed out by the endless emptiness of the universe. Back from whence it came into nothingness, like a spark from a campfire disappearing into the night.
I feel no sympathy. No guilt. Those are emotions I’ve never experienced. I’m aware, academically, of the full range of human emotions. I’ve studied them intently so I can mimic their effects. But they have no power over me. What I do feel, I feel intensely: rage, revulsion, and pleasure. These are elemental forces inside of me, like wind, ocean, and molten rock.
Cole said he’d send a car for me at 9:00. At 8:20 I left on foot.
And he’s right, that’s what fucking kills me, he’s right!
I want her with me constantly. I want to do every fucking thing I want to do with her.
“Loving someone gives them power over you,”
“Distance is meaningless when she still lives in your head,”
Because scars don’t heal -- they’re there forever.”
I don’t know if Cole’s being serious. I know I certainly am. I want to fuck him, not date him.
When people show you who they are . . . believe them.
Never mind my lingering suspicions he might be a murderer.
it’s human nature to believe the best instead of the worst. To allow yourself to be convinced. To give in to seduction.
“What were you thinking?” I cry when I finally catch my breath. “You could have killed that guy!” “I hope I did,” Cole says. I turn to stare at him, gasping in the thin, damp air. “You can’t mean that.” “Absolutely I do. He disrespected you. Put his hands on you. I’d kill him for much less.”
Instead, he turn and walks away. Leaving me there alone.
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