When you wake up, your face will be dry. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t cry.

How ironic it would be, to die at his hands while trying to save him, when he first came to me because he was trying to save me.

I’ve made her relive, over and over, the last few days,” I say softly, watching Ms. White’s body. “I’ve had to fill in the blanks with my own feelings and experiences. She’s spiraling around those last moments, those times when she went against me, and she’s feeling it from my side, the pain, the betrayal.”
She thinks she’s awake. I’m doing to her just what she did to me. I’m making her feel what it was like to slowly go crazy, to question everything. To watch my mother die. To fight for my life against my best friend. To feel the man who loved me try to kill me.
To know that the woman I trusted as much as my own mother betrayed me.
That’s what I’m making her feel.
I’ve turned her into me, and made her live the life she forced me to live.

Over and over and over again.

I woke in the hour before dawn, stuck in that strange state where the memory of your dreams is still powerful enough to motivate your actions.

If tears were painful, no one would cry.

When tears fail laughter will prevail