He poured his heart out to me. For an hour, at least, we sat in my car while he begged for his life. He knew he was failing. His attempts weren’t impressing me, so he began to plead. Telling me personal secrets and asking me to put aside my fear. He told me to stop overthinking it and just go for it. He assumed I liked being lonely now, but I’ll eventually get sick of being miserable. I told him he did a very good job, but he was completely wrong about basically everything. I tried to care about his feeble attempt and pathetic begging, but I really couldn’t have cared less. I tried to explain my problems as quickly and shallowly as I could without giving too much of myself away. And in the end he just didn’t get it. He doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. I’m heartless and I will destroy him, but he doesn’t believe I’m capable of hurting him. He has no idea what I would love to do.

I would love nothing more than to rip his heart out of his chest and make him suffer for no other reason except that I can. I want him to trust me and start to fall in love with me so I can crush him and laugh about it. I want him to ask me why I am being so cruel and I’ll tell him smiling, “I warned you. Now do you see what I’m capable of?” I want to rip him to shreds and make him regret ever meeting me. I want to take a piece of his soul with me when I walk away from his broken heart. Why? Because I can.