There are men with guns up there. When they see me, they will kill me, if they can," I tell my father quietly. I search his eyes. "Should I let them?" He stares at me for a few seconds. "Go," he says, "and God help you.

He stares at me, and I don't look away. He isn't a dog, but the same rules apply. Looking away is submissive. Looking him in the eye is a challenge. It's my choice.

I will be my undoing If I become my obsession.

I pout my lower lip for a second, but then I grin as the pieces come together in my mind. "THAT'S why you like me!" I exclaim. "Because you're not very nice either! It makes so much more sense now.

I want people to come away from my book with questions. Questions about virtue and goodness. Not answers.

It's not cruelty, maybe, but a desire to understand that motivates them.

How strange that something so simple could have been instrumental in my decision to ruin one of my most relationships and friendships, and damage another.