I just know there's something dark in me. I hide it. I certainly don't talk about it. But it's there. Always.
This dark passenger.
And when he's driving, I feel...alive. Half sick with the thrill, complete wrongness. I don't fight him. I don't want to. He's all I've got. Nothing else could love me, not even, especially not me. Or is that just the lie the dark passenger tells me? Because lately, there are these moments when I feel...connected to something else, someone. And it's like the mask is slipping...
and things...
people...
who never mattered before, are suddenly starting to matter.
