24/07 -- the day i find his house plan.
I AM ARMELLE. I SHALL FIND HIS HOUSE PLAN.
Diary,
I met with Calum again, today. His bloody lip has lulled to a crusty scab, and the bruises that littered across his face have faded to a mellow purple, mixing into his skin like innocent bumps. The limp in his leg is still there, though. I must ask him how it happened -- so I can string a story out of it like you do, Diary. I wonder if he will feel as I did when you began to use myself and my misery. I wonder if he will stop helping me when he sees I feed off of not only Michael's pain, but everyone's. It thrills me, Diary -- like concerts do for some, or festivals do for others.
Calum is fantastic with computers. He found a few old records of Michael's and the history of the house he lives in. It was built in 1996 -- two years before mine was. We found a house plan, and discovered there are two Windows parallel to his bedroom and outside of his property. Like me, he has a balcony and a door which was loose at the hinges. I don't remember him ever going up there, so I take it that it's usually unoccupied.
Knowing Michael, he has dinner at six in the evening, sits on his doorstep for three hours. He smokes a cigarette or two, finishes one bottle of Jack Daniels, then heads back inside with his notebook clutched under his arm. He proceeds to shower and change, which takes approximately half an hour and brews himself a cup of black coffee to which he takes to his bedroom. The time where he turns off all the lights is nine forty five, but he plays video games until perhaps two or three in the morning, when he finally falls asleep.
So, three thirty in the morning is my peak time -- the time where I clamber through his balcony and head to his room, and kill him, there. Or, I could wait in the kitchen until daybreak for him to come down for breakfast, and shove hand into his mouth and shoot him. Oh, but the neighbours will hear. Then, I can use my beloved knife and slew it through his stomach, letting the blood drip onto my wrist, warm like bedtime milk.
This all seems so perfect, I want to kill him now. But I can't.
I must wait for him to trust me. I must wait for him to love me.
Because the greatest pain is when your beloved turns against you.
