dystopia
Inspecting your face in the mirror, you bare your choppers.
Yes, the chip is noticeable, and yes, your mother will ask about it.
Do try to be careful next time you down a bomb drink, won't you? That shot glass has quite a knack for sliding down.
She's asleep in my bed. Has been for quite some time now. I think she's sick.
Yes. Sick. You see, her skin has gotten kind of cold, and it's almost.. waxy? That's not the right word. No, I have her under blankets. I brush her hair for her while she sleeps.
Now if you'll just excuse me... I've run out of air freshener again. I don't know what's causing that smell.
A whisper from behind you.
"Just say it. That's all you have to do, love. Say it. Admit to it. Then this will all be over, you can go home."
You feel her breath, soft against your neck. Her bare chest brushes against your back.
Home? Why would you want to go home.
Do you ever wonder why people confess to committing crimes they didn't commit?
Well. They say afterwards that they didn't do it. They say during interrogation that they didn't do it. For a time, anyway.
It's because they know that have it in them to do whatever it is they're accused of. They know that they could have done it, so they just admit it. And maybe they didn't. But they certainly aren't sure of it anymore, so why should we be.
Just admit it.
You’re worried. Well. I would be too, if I was you. After all, you keep waking up in strange places, with no clue how you got there. I know, of course.
Tell you? Why, that would ruin the fun. I kind of like having this power over you, Alex. The control.