I thought I could manage.
I’m too angry. Too lonely. I hate myself for what I’m doing. Hurting people.
I hurt my mom. I hurt my classmates as Sophia. I hurt people as Shadow Stalker, and I hate myself for enjoying it.
I thought I could manage it. I had Emma. She had my back.
Except she turned me down. I loved her, really loved her, and when I confessed she turned me away. Acted like it was a joke.
This is the right thing to do. I won’t be able to hurt anyone anymore.
Holy fuck.
Terror surged through her body like ice water. When he laughed in reaction, it came out shaky.
Yeah, no fucking wonder she’s scared!
He littered the burned photographs around the piece of paper, with Emma’s face missing from each, then drew an arrow from the crossbow’s cartridge and laid it across the bottom edge of the paper. It was overdramatic enough to work.
Theatrical to the end, huh?
Well, not your own end, but you get what I mean.
He stood on the chair and began wrapping the extension cord around the base of the light fixture. He grabbed the cord and hung off it for a few seconds to verify it could hold her weight. The light fixture itself was flimsy , but the frame it was attached to was bolted securely into the wooden beams of the ceiling.
Welp, here we go.
Is he actually going through with this?
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