“Goodnight Dakota,” you tease through the connecting bathroom door knowing I can’t help but call after you.

Dear god, I would rip you apart.

I adore you.

I’m crying and running my hands through my hair.

I’m shutting you out because I know it’s starting to show, my feelings about you. I know you notice. You miss me getting flustered over you. Now that I’m pretending not to want you, you miss your little puppy.

You want to be wanted just as much as I do.

I need to mutilate you.

I need to be violently careful with your organs.

I need to cover myself in your blood.

I want to be wanted.

You want to be wanted.

Want me.

I want you.

When we are older you’ll never have to do those dirty things for money. You’ll have me. You have me. You’ll have me to take care of you and you’ll never have to do it again. I’ll have and be everything you need.

Please. I’m everything you need. I’m going to build a life for us. You’ll never have to leave to our house. Friends won’t be necessary. Food won’t be a worry anymore. I know you worry about how much you’re eating but, love, you’ll have no such worries after you’re gone and even when you’re gone. You won’t really be gone. Lack of bodily function is not death.

It’s not like you’ll have a body much longer.

I need to rip you apart and eat your skin. I want to see if it imprints with my nails once it’s off your body. Does skin rip like paper or a fruit roll up? I’m sorry, is that a bad comparison? I thought it was quite clever.

You don’t need a spree to be create a perfect murder if you’re smart. These other men, they had to learn and build their craft. I won’t be that stupid. You won’t be a perfect murder. I need to dent your head against the hard floor. I wonder what made me this way.

[clearly I’m running out of material. My criminology class is getting good and I’m getting tired.]