They're out there.
That fear they cause is a sick poison, seeping into my thoughts, my life, my food. It's permanent; it will never go away.
Seven billion people in the world. Seven billion of them. They're there, somewhere. Living somewhere, perhaps camping out in someone's basement, perhaps getting a quick fix from the helplessness of others. It's a drug, I think. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Gomez and Williams.
Wanted. Now the highest-profile case. The new Zodiac. The new silent BTK killer.
Suspected of thirty others. Whatever: rape, murder, drive-by.
I'm the only one they left alive.
Yes.
Why me?
They're coming for me.
I can't live with it. I scrape and scrub and peel and bleed my body, but I cannot escape it.
They. Will. Never. Leave.
A night spent, wrapped in their defiling embrace. Days kept, hiding from their shadows. Weeks gone, tiptoeing in their absence. Months eroded, living in this fear.
"Better for me to come for me, than for them."
I would think you would agree, yeah?
Roberts tilts his head, pen poised, mouth slack. The one sentence that I've spoken towards him.
"Better for you to come to you, than for them?"
I tilt my head, glare at him pointedly, and then move fluidly to the door.
"Katia! Wait."
But I've left, back to my room. Back to my thoughts. Back to my fear.
YOU ARE READING
20 Confessions of One Clinically Depressed
Teen FictionIt's good to know that others can be worse off than you. And after all, how can you help a person out of his hole if you can't even climb out of yours? The moment I try to help - the moment he gives a fuck - we'll only end up digging ourselves deepe...
