I laugh, mirthless, a mad laugh. I savor the scowl on her face, the hate in her eyes. She was like a machine; she was cold and emotionless, bound by logic alone. And I broke her.

I am selfish. I am brave.

Sorry, am I being rude?" she asks. "I'm used to saying whatever is on my mind. Mom used to say that politeness is deception in pretty packaging

I'm sick of doing bad things and liking it and then wondering what's wrong with me. I want it to be over. I want to start again.

I don't have a bullet in my head, do I? So I'm fine.

Do it fast, you pansycake.

It was him or me. I chose me. But I feel dead too.