“I’m scared. I’ve done it before, haven’t I?”
Do you see what you’ve done to him?
“I remember… I remember how the rope felt around my neck; how the blade felt slicing into my flesh. How the metal against my temple was so cold and the gun so heavy in my hand. I can remember, and yet I can’t. I don’t understand.”
The memories leak through, you know, like radio frequencies bleeding into each other. No wonder we feel like madmen.
“I’m afraid I’ll do it again.”
And he will. He always will. Are you proud of this, the spill of blood and tears? Is it poetic enough for you?
“I wasn’t always this damaged. Why is this happening to me? What did I do?”
Yes. What did he do? What did we do to deserve this?
[ I know it’s silly to be afraid of one of your own fictional characters, but fuck Daren’s scary when he’s mad at me. ]