Your Midweek Update for 01/12/22

I don’t want to talk about it.

I can’t talk about it.

Let’s talk about something fun.

Like the time I hit someone over the head with a champagne bottle and then jammed the jagged edge into their chest and tried to pull out their heart like I was separating an egg yolk.

Emphasis of tried, unfortunately. It was incredibly difficult to remove the broken bottle once I’d thrust it deep enough to hit the heart. Plus there’s all those pesky bones in the way trying “protect the major organs from damage” – annoying – so I didn’t go straight for the heart. I actually stabbed them in between their ribcage and thrust upwards.

I definitely latched on to something squishy but it just would not budge. So disappointing. Can you imagine if I’d been able to remove their still-beating heart by the jagged-edge of a bottle? It would have been so fucking cool.

It still was. When a dog-walker found them, they were draped over a fence with the glass protruding from their chest. The crime scene photos looked like a god-damned painting. James brought some home for me to see, he was so proud

…

Anyways.

It was a good kill, I was really happy with it.

Fuck.

I DON’T want to talk about it.

I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to feel it, I don’t want it anymore.

But I can’t not think about it.

Every time I close my eyes, I see his stupid face and I wish I could get rid of it – get rid of him – but I can’t. He’s in here – in my chest – he’s a part of me and, like every other organ, I can’t remove him.

Letting one person have so much of my heart was a mistake.

Fuck. 2022 was supposed to be a better year. Our lives were supposed to be getting back to normal.

I can’t fall asleep at night. I’m so tired when I go to work and I can barely concentrate. I need him and yet I can’t stand him. What am I supposed to do now?

As always, dear readers,

Stay Safe