down here, drinking her whiskey, and stewing in the hornet’s nest buzzing throughout my skull. Two of my employees installed security systems throughout her house, unknowingly to keep their boss out. I basically invented these systems, so I’m more than capable of disarming them with a click of my phone. In the beginning, I just picked her locks to get in, then reverse-picked them after I left. The only predator I'll allow in her house is myself. Despite her shit locks, I’d never leave her vulnerable. I was relieved when she installed the security system, even if it was meant to keep me out. Breaking past those barriers is just another lesson to teach. Eventually, she'll learn that she can’t shut me out any more than she can fuck another man. She tried to convince me of that the other day, but with one look at her cameras, I knew she was bluffing. Trying to get me riled up. It almost worked until I remembered that I’m taking it slow with her. In the beginning, I tried so hard to forget her. I tried to run. But I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I went home from that bookstore and attempted to talk myself down. But it seemed the more I struggled to convince the beast inside of me to leave her alone, the more it raged. And the second I started looking into her life, digging up anything I could find, the obsession only grew. She became an inoperable brain tumor that plagues every waking moment of my life. Sometimes it feels like if I tried to cut her out of me anyways, I wouldn’t survive it. Taking another swallow of whiskey, I twirl a red rose between my thumb and forefinger, a drop of blood pooling from where the thorn pricked me. Ignoring them, I keep rolling the dangerous stem between my fingers, a vortex of anger and anxiety swirling in my stomach. Children are being tortured at this very moment. This second—this millisecond —while I sit here and drink liquor from a crystal glass. There are children being sacrificed right now. Hurt. Maimed. Raped. Killed. While sadistic fucks circle around them and drink the blood from their bodies. My phone rests on the island, the screen lit up with the grotesque video playing on a loop. I haven’t been able to stop watching it—or rather, stop torturing myself. It’s a small price to pay for the absolute horror this poor kid suffered from. My need to find where these rituals take place digs deeper, and it’s driving me fucking insane. There’s nothing I can do at this moment. I’ve attempted to trace the source of the video, but whoever is leaking them has done their homework. No hits came through, leaving me feeling utterly fucking powerless.