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Turns out the state penitentiary is an amazing place for a writer's sabbatical.
At least, if you can ignore the occasional fights and stay out of trouble for long enough. Luckily, after word got around about what "I" did to get into this place, people left me the hell alone. It didn't help that I didn't talk for the first month I was in here. I guess I didn't trust anything I said anymore.
Even though I largely keep to myself, every once in a while I'll get picked on. In this day and age, it's rare that such a psycho of epic proportions wanders the Earth, or at least gets caught. So, the other inmates tend to ask questions. Pressing questions. I learned that telling the truth gets them to think I'm insane.
Anyways, I've had plenty of time to read a lot of books, and my behavior's been good enough that I can order paper from the commissary now. It's nice to be writing again. I miss it.
I know I saw everything. I know I heard everything. I could even hear what "I" was thinking. If I wasn't thinking about ways on how to keep Bear around me constantly or how much I was failing at getting him to love me as much as I loved him, the dead space was just filled with Bearbearbearbear… It was insane. I was insane.
And the real me was trapped within my own senses, not being able to save myself from the monster I had become, or rather, the monster that Bear made me.
However, my memories of everything that happened play through an old, analog TV for me these days. The pictures are fuzzy and the audio doesn't quite make sense anymore, but I can still discern the screaming. My screaming. Are they really my screams?
I think what I remember most is how I felt during everything. How utterly disgusting I felt throughout. I was Bear's stupid-ass sex doll. Actually, not even! I was conniving! I lied my ass off and it worked.
And even when it didn't — even when he knew I was lying — he didn't care. All that mattered was that I was his. Completely.
Anyways, is it any surprise that I'm glad that he's dead?
Sarah's dad visited me. My (former) boss. Once I saw him, I knew he had questions for me. I broke down, knowing I couldn't provide the answers myself. When I first came back to myself and wandered the wreckage of Bear's house, I couldn't recognize the corpse sitting in the other room. I had the slightest glimmer of hope that Sarah had made it out of this situation alive. That out of all of us in our fucked-up-friend-group, she would would make it out and go to Luther, like she's dreamed of doing. But seeing the cold face of Mr. Harper staring down at me as I sobbed… he's right to feel the way he does. I understand. I just wish it wasn't towards me.
I think it's for the best that I forget what I did to Ian and Sarah in order to protect my own sanity. Or at least what's left of it.
My future has become so small. The world I wanted to explore is off-limits, now that I'm imprisoned. But it's nothing compared to the cage that my body had turned into. I get to take care of myself. I get to change my radio's stations as I please. I get to feel the way I want to. And now, I have all the time in the world to write whatever I've wanted to write. If I don't get to have a happy ending, at least I'll get to write some.
I will become me again.