A couple of weeks went by and I barely left the house. People were starting to talk. I hadn't uploaded since he entered my body because my movements were so unpredictable that I didn't trust myself. I was loosing weight at a steady pace due to my appetite being at an all time low. I guess spirits don't need to eat. Mark was getting worried, I could see it in his face but he didn't say anything. He'd been with me through a depression dip before and this had a lot of the same symptoms. I shuffled around the house like a zombie, a sack of bones. I couldn't sleep, he didn't allow it. I was up all night scribbling down notes, plans for what he was going to make me do next. I hadn't slept in about 4 days and it was taking a massive toll on my body. I couldn't feel my toes or my right pinky finger.
I heard Mark's bedroom door open at half 8 in the morning. I had been spaced out and staring at the wall in front of my since about 4am. The toilet chain flushed and footsteps coming back my way.
"Jack?" Mark called out softly.
"Yeah?"
" Can I come in?"
"Yeah" He opened the door and I shook myself out of the trance. He smiled at me a little and came to sit on the end of the bed.
"How you doing buddy?" That was a stupid question. The bags under my eyes were dark, the eyes themselves were blood shot and the rest of my skinny frame shaky.
"I can take you back to the metal heath place again if you think that would be a good idea. I hate to see you like this Jack" I couldn't talk. He wouldn't let me.
His body was breaking down and his mental health was taking a nose dive. I was starving him to make him weaker so he couldn't fight back. They're easier to control this way. He has to obey my commands. We've been planning the way that we're going to kill his friends. Wade, then Bob, then finally Mark. We needed to get a gun to take out Wade. This is America so obtaining one won't be hard. As much as he wanted to eat, he wasn't allowed until got a gun. I wasn't one of giving in either, but I wouldn't push him until he was hospitalised or he died.
Mark had made me come downstairs so that he could make me food. Not that I could eat it. I was sat at dining table staring at the hands. He was making me a stack of pancakes and my stomach groaned at the smell. I might have to fight and give in. NO! You're not allowed to eat! My body jerked at him screaming. Thankfully, Mark was way to into making the pancakes and slightly swaying to notice my sudden movement. He placed the stack in front of me, smiling. I couldn't eat it so I just pushed it away. Mark frowned.
"Jack, please eat some of it" NO! NO, NO, NO, NO! I was shaking. Too much to hide it from Mark.
"Jack?"
