(It's been about a week since I beat my friend's will to live back into her. I should be happy. I should be happy I don't have to feel awkward around her. That I don't have to feel like I'm living with a mopey stranger. I should feel great over the fact I was able to solve the problems with my fists. For some reason I don't. Instead I'm left with an emotion I've rarely ever felt in my life...guilt. I hate it. It's as sick and alien to me as love is. Yet another emotion I have felt. Another emotion that disgusts me. It's as if the gods laugh at me. I shouldn't feel bad for the possibly excessive beating of Vivian. So why do I?

She's about the only person on this pathetic planet I give a damn about. It took me a long time to even come to terms with the fact I care about another human being. All these odd emotions I've felt in the last several months swirl through my mind as I lay in my bed. My curtains are shut, but they aren't dark enough. This apartment came equipped with white curtains. Who would want those? A steady beam of sunlight glares into my room, only mildly filtered by the curtains. On my back, I stare up at the white ceiling. I agonize over things I shouldn't, and have never wanted to feel. I spent most of my life content with the fact that only I mattered to me. Somewhere along the way I screwed up.

It's not that I've tried to not feel things growing up. I just never did. People might as well have been insects for all the thought I gave them. That changed when Vivian and I became friends and she backed me when no one else would dare. I didn't ask for it. She just did it. It created a bond. A pulsating, festering bond. I tasted friendship and wanted to puke just so I could remove the bad taste of it from my mouth. Yet I grew to accept it. I thought that would be the last time I would have to accept some so-called normal emotion. I was wrong.

Johnny Christian came along. We brawled. I even threatened to kill him in my home and claim self-defense. I told him I'd tell the cops he broke in and tried to rape me. I also told him his father would shrivel into scandelous obscurity and his family name would be ruined. Somehow I ended up falling for the egotistical bastard. I'm not even sure how I could find anything remotely charming within his idiocy...yet I did. So I made a plan to remove the cancerous emotions I was beginning to feel. I pretended to want to be a couple. Ten minutes later I showed up at his match and bashed his face in with a blunt object. God that felt good. Apparently that wasn't enough to cut out the feelings I so hate. Now I've got him working for me in my stable. I do manage to keep him at a distance though. I will not surrender to the pestilence known as love.

I grew up in the oh so happy American family. The two loving parents. Caring siblings. My parents were madly in love my whole life. We even had a picket fence. How pathetic is that? They made good livings, we went to church, we always had to be home to share dinner together, and we even had family night. Every night as I lay in bed I had to prevent myself from wretching. I knew by the age of five that I would rather impale myself on the picket fence then end up like my parents. As soon as I was old enough to leave the house I did. I never looked back. My family has no way of contacting me and I will never try to look them up. For some reason they have no idea why they disgust me so. How could they not see it? It's so obvious. I'm nothing like them and want nothing of their life or their disturbing love. I wasn't built the way everyone else is and I prefer it that way. They should be happy I'll never visit. It keeps them safe...from me. Their grotesque sentiments only make me want to destroy them and everything they stand for.

Does all this make me wicked? Truthfully this is the first time I've ever even asked this question to myself. Why bother to answer it? I don't care. I wasn't put on this planet to care. A true warrior has no use for any of these things. I once heard that a warrior uses the fact that he or she cares to fuel their desire and ability in combat so that they can protect those they love. The person who said that was a moron. A true warrior does use emotion, this is true. I'm a true warrior. I use my hatred and anger to strike down those in front of me. I use my desire for violence and my lust for battle to fuel me. To fill the emptiness within myself. Bleeding and shedding blood are the only things that make me feel even remotely whole. They're all I want and they're all I'm supposed to need. So why is it that I feel guilty for trashing Vivian? Truthfully...I'm not sure I want to know why. I just want to not feel it.)