Somebody once said that a villain is really just a victim who’s story never got told.
I don’t know who said it but that’s all I could think about as I lay on my own bed, staring vacantly up at the ceiling.
If you’d told me something like that in the past, I would’ve scoffed.
Brushed it off.
There’s something so . . . wrong with that statement to me.
It felt like an excuse.
Something bad happened to me so I’m taking it out on someone else?
Seems petty.
And worse, the idea that mistreatment might turn a human into a monster is just plain unsettling. How little does it take to drive somebody crazy?
“Have you eaten?” Phil was asking, lying half on top of me. He’d pulled back to look down at me and I immediately pulled him back down against my ches
