You did this! You made me this, Mitchell! This is all your fault.
You left me! You brought me into this and then you left me. I woke up surrounded by strangers. It should have been you there. Ever since then they just pass me around. I’m like this orphan.
It’s all I can think about. When I can kill again. When I can feed! It’s this screaming pain in my blood and nerves, right under my skin. And it gets shorter and shorter, the time I feel good after I’ve killed.
The me I used to be—the me who got hay fever and was scared her parents would find out she smoked— she’s almost gone. Soon all that’s going to be left is hurt.












