The bravado keeps me at arm's length. I hide beneath this shell, this ignorant front, but I show myself in the small details. The pink shoelaces. A tiny detail, something out of place. Is it my way of crying for help? Am I really the one who put up this front? Trying to contain the monster inside me, I keep away from anyone, any emotion.
But am I really the one holding in the monster? Or is the monster holding me in? This shell, this mask, am I the one creating it, or have I been trapped inside, unable to break out? I ponder. Maybe, the monster is this mask, holding me inside, crushing me, reminding me what it was like to gasp for breath under the pressure.
The tiny details, the screaming for help, every night Kay Fury takes over more and more. Am I really sweet Beatrice, the ambitious young girl from Detroit, the girl who loved and lost? Or did Beatrice die the night I killed him, the night the beast took over? Was I doomed from that moment? Is that when Kay Fury was born, before I gave her a name, a face, an identity? I feel myself suffocating, even without the need for air.
I try to speak, and only profanity and crass comments come out. Kay speaks over me. I try to scream, but only the books can hear me. All these vampires around me, and none of them can hear my soul. None of them can hear me past this front. Was Kay Fury the worst mistake I've made?
What have I done to myself?
I may never escape.
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