She's mine.
That's how it is.
That's how it should be.

Every bit of her, from the bottom to the top. It's mine. Mine, mine, mine. She doesn't have a choice.


5. Amaris: Entry 5


Dear Amaris,

I found a way into the boot of your car. I am squished in, and you're driving. I can't see you, but I can smell you. I can almost taste you dancing in the air, Amaris...

I have no idea what time it is... An hour must have passed at least, Amaris.

Let me fill you in:

I remembered the chair in the right-hand corner of the attic, Amaris. That was the chair I executed a few of my first Amaris's. I remembered that one time I stabbed Amaris- my other Amaris- so hard the chair collapsed, breaking a small dent in the floor.

I grabbed my hammer and smashed the dent until it became a hole that I could slither through. I scooped up my brown pouch and took it with me as I jumped through the hole. There was another rotting piece of wood on the wall, some halfway down, which I could break easily with my incredible strength, and I did, Amaris, I did. Then I crawled out onto the road, just as you were getting in the minivan. I progressed into a crouching position and wobbled swiftly towards you.

Just as you started the car, I grabbed the handle of the boot. It squeaked loudly, but you didn't notice, Amaris, because you were too busy trying to get the car to start, twisting and turning the key in the slot.

I broke through and dived into the boot of your car; this attracted some attention from you; you spun around, but I had managed to close the door shut so you quickly lost interest.

Finally, the old minivan started up, and over the roar of the engine, I crawled further into the boot and got comfortable.

In my brown pouch, I have knives, bullets (even though I don't have a gun) rope, gloves, a mask, and ooh! Now I have a few strands of your luscious hair, Amaris. It was caught in between the back seats. It smells like you and tastes like you. I'm excited about this ride.

A song is playing, a loud, horrible pop-ish noise. You're singing. It's beautiful, Amaris. I'll make you sing for me later again.


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