The girl screamed, of course. I felt a bit like screaming, myself, except I was getting use to Cronic’s violent nature. That made me as much a monster as Cronic himself. I was getting use to his volatile nature and I knew and feared it had to reach its peak sometime. It had to. With every action, there has to be a reaction, and I was running out of those. I could respond to every violent act, but it’s not quite the same thing. It’s an overwhelming numbness, a feeling of inevitability and acceptance.
The girl screamed, then covered her face with her hands, her chest hitching like she was incapable of ever catching her breath again. I could almost feel and even taste the mixture of sweat and tears pouring into her small palms, a concoction of sorrow and horror. I wanted to lick her face clean like a bitch cat caring for her mewing baby. God, what had he done to me?
Excerpt from the forthcoming novel: Cronic