Was insanity really easier to accept than unconsciousness?
No blood at all. I could hear that phrase repeat itself in my head, louder each time. No sticky, hot, messy, awful blood. No splatter. NO BLOOD AT ALL. Why hadn't I thought of that?
This was just no fun. I wanted my brain back.
Anybody can be charming if they don't mind faking it, saying all the stupid, obvious, nauseating things that a conscience keeps most people from saying. Happily, I don't have a conscience. I say them.
Perhaps it was only that I did not feel any crazier than I had ever felt. I did not notice any missing gray tissue, I did not seem to be thinking any slower or more strangely, and so far I’d had no conversations with invisible buddies that I was aw...
It took me a moment. I blinked, and suddenly it swam into focus and I had to frown very hard to keep myself from giggling out loud like the schoolgirl Deb had accused me of being. Because he had arranged the arms and legs in letters, and the letters ...
In that tremendous flash of freedom, on my way to do The Thing for the first time, sanctioned by Almighty Harry, I receded, faded back into the scenery of my own dark self, whole the other me crouched and growled. I would do It at last, do what I had...
It was almost enough to make me feel emotion.
Me, feeling. What a concept.
I did not like this feeling of having feelings.
I think that's nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for Deb.
And I was having too much fun to stop now.
Killing makes me feel good.
I had killed our careful relationship by driving my tongue through its heart and pushing it off a cliff.
What, in all very seriousness, the hell was going on?
For the first time I could remember, I felt weak, woozy and stupid— like a human-being. Like a very small and helpless human-being.
How bad could things be if my hair was neat?
In its own way the kiss had been an act of murder.
