Page 167 of Unholy Obsession

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TheFeelings Wheelis stupid.

I don’t know what I fucking feel.

Nothing.

I’m about to slam the journal shut. Or better yet, throw it across the room until its spine cracks against the brick wall.

But I don’t.

I sigh, then take a forced breath.

Inhale for three. Exhale for six.

I pull open that goddamned color wheel on my phone and try to find a word for whatever the fuck this emotion is.

Inadequate. Alienated. Empty. Apathetic.

I try each one out. But no, none of the outside wheel words are quite right. So I head inward to the more basic emotions.

Sad.

Afraid.

Angry.

Oooh, angry, my old favorite.

But now that Bane’s not here, I can’t even work up a tenth of the buzzing, bright fury I used to be able to call on at the twitch of my fingers.

I feel like a witch whose magic was stolen.

But I do think about unaliving myself a lot less often lately.

So, you know.

There’s that.

Dear Journal,

I don’t know how to want things without wanting to swallow the entire world whole.

I don’t know how to want things like a person on a canoe with strokes so even.

I don’t know how to want things like a sane girl.

I miss the chaos.

The kaleidoscope of such pretty, wild colors ever-shifting.

Today, I’m still just black and blue.

Today, I meet the rest of Bane’s family.

SIXTY

BANE

I knock once.

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