Hey guys! It’s been a while, haha. I’ve been busy with exams and whatnot. Anyway, I found this thing I wrote for English Language last year! I got an A on it as well as a comment of “Are you sure you don’t need a therapist?” Oh well. I like it kinda, even if it’s old.

Nathaniel makes a joke about something and Vance laughs so hard, he falls off the thin wall we’re sitting on. I smile, but I don’t really get why we’re laughing. I didn’t even hear the joke.

“Violet, you okay?” Vance asks, giving me a concerned look as he brushes dust off his pants. I nod.

There’s really no point in worrying anyone. Especially since it will only let out my Secret, and I will die if It gets out. Nat always said I concern myself with stupid things. But this doesn’t really count as a Stupid Thing.

Sometimes I think it doesn’t exist, but the feeling always comes back. Especially when I’m alone at home and all the horror of the truth comes rushing back to haunt me; my ability to suppress it faltering.

It’s actually better when I’m around Vance and Nat. Vance makes perverted jokes, Nat gets pissed off, they have a fight and turn to me to decide who’s right. I only ever smile and tell them to stop being stupid. It helps me forget.

I wonder what they would do if they knew. Vance is a self righteous person, so passionate about justice, and Nat is the same, only not as loud and vocal; both of them are extremely against any kind of evil. I think they assume I am too, and I am; I just don’t know if I’m allowed to be.

“I have to go, guys,” Nat says, getting off the wall and walking to his car. “Vi, you need a ride home?”

“I guess,” I say, and he nods. I get into the car and he takes me home.

I hug him goodbye at the door, a childhood tradition we just kept going. I watch as he drives off before turning to give the door a wary glance. It’s just a Door. Nobody cares so much about a door. But it’s not just a Door. It’s a gateway to Hell, and I’d rather stay outside.

I go inside and the familiar feeling of uneasiness settles in. I wish someone was here. I wish I had a Roommate. One that would last.

They never last. Never, ever. I wonder why the police never suspected me. They made a big deal about the disappearances and never suspected me in the slightest. Maybe it’s the Good Girl exterior? Once they joked about me being cursed, and I laughed along with them, screaming inside, because can’t they see how True it is?!

I can’t even count the number of people who have died because of me. Because of my urges, and sick desires. The number of people I love who suffered because of me. Why do I do this to myself? Why couldn’t I have been normal?

My stomach growls and I look through the empty fridge, trying to find something. All I can think of is Nathaniel. I can’t stop thinking about how good he looks, and how nice he smells; how much I just want to sink my teeth into his flesh and bite it off.

I eat a piece of chicken and pretend it’s Nathaniel. Then I cry myself to sleep.

Nathaniel picks me up for school the next day. I give him a smile and we talk about the water park and decide that the three of us – Vance, Nat and I – need to go some day.

Vance agrees wholeheartedly when we tell him.

“Hell yeah!” he cries, pumping his fist in the air. I laugh at his enthusiasm and try to forget last night.

School is a place to forget the sucky life I have at home. School is fun. I can be normal. I can have morals, and other people can disagree. People can judge me the way I judge myself, and it makes me feel happy, knowing someone sees the evil I have.

Lunchtime comes around and I find myself pressed against the wall as Vance squeezes in next to me. He yells at everyone, trying to make space for his girlfriend. Lydia – his girlfriend – blows him a kiss, and Nathaniel, sitting opposite me, rolls his eyes, pretending to gag. I giggle.

The cafeteria food is horrible. The soup is bland and the sandwiches taste like cardboard. I can smell Vance’s cologne. I wonder what it would be like to eat a Vance-sandwich. I wonder what he tastes like.

I excuse myself to the bathroom and sit inside a cubicle, trying to control the tears. Nobody is there and nobody comes in.

Most girls fantasize about boys. If not boys, then other girls. They fantasize about dating them, kissing them, maybe sleeping with them.

I fantasize about eating my best friends. I cry to myself and wonder why I wasn’t born normal.


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