The diaper remained on me. Another habit I couldn’t bring myself to break. There was nothing to stop me from changing myself, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I hoped she was dead. Then I hoped that she wasn’t dead. Then I hoped she wasn’t dead so I could shoot her again to make surer she was dead. I couldn’t make up my damn mind. I had no idea about what I should do next. Was she really dead? If so, how would I hide the body? And how long would I have until anyone noticed, given how recluse our lives were? Each question spawned a dozen more, none of which I had satisfactory answers for, and all of which depended on a question I remained unwilling to discover.
