There was a girl at the restaurant yesterday and I wanted to kill her. I wanted to tear her throat out with my bare hands so she couldn’t scream while I bit into her flesh and tasted. I wanted my lips dripping with someone else’s blood; I wanted my canines to hit bone and scrape along the muscle. Feel her heart give out in my hands.
Sitting at the next table from her was Daniel Westburn: the private investigator hired by the law firm to follow me. I didn’t think about killing him. I’m envisioning everything but death for him.
The hunger is starting to affect my working life. I can’t concentrate. I drink water and I taste blood. I want to put someone’s head through the industrial shredder. I’ve broken three nails from scratching at my desk instead of doing my job.
Heather asked me on Monday if everything was alright at home and I nearly cried.
James doesn’t know how bad it’s gotten. He knows I’m struggling but he doesn’t know. He took me out to a public restaurant yesterday because…
I don’t know why, but whatever the reason, it failed.
I. Am. Not. Well.
Someone needs to die. Soon.
But for now, it can’t be by my hand. Not until I deal with Daniel Westburn.
As always, dear readers,