Jobs

Lucia:

It's been a month since I last saw them—since I heard their screams, saw the terror in their eyes, and felt the satisfaction of showing them the truth. 

But here I am, a full month later, and it hasn't brought me the peace I expected. 

I thought I'd feel better. 

After everything I did to them, the pain I inflicted, I thought maybe it would heal me. 

But it hasn't. 

I feel relieved that I showed them the truth, sure, but the emptiness inside me remains, an unshakable weight in the pit of my stomach.

I can still hear their voices in the quiet moments of the night, echoing like ghosts. 

I can still see the fear etched across their faces as they realized what was happening, what I'd done to them. 

And for a while, I thought that fear would fill the void in me—that maybe it would be enough.

But it wasn't. 

I can't tell what I feel toward them anymore. 

Do I hate them? I should.