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Meg didn’t understand herself. How she could be so mean...or why she felt absolutely no emotions sometimes...then, at other times, she felt things so hard she went crazy. Like tonight. When she was murdering Cam’s uncooked dinner.
I must be f*****g crazy! She cackled to herself as she entered the kitchen.
Meg hadn’t set a timer because she knew the exact level of gingerbread smell she’d need to experience to know the cookies were officially done.
It was just the right time. They were ready.
As she pulled the tray of baked goodies out of the oven, she noticed one cookie towards the back of the pan wasn’t yet baked. In fact - it still had the raw, gooey texture as if it hadn’t ever entered the oven.
What the f**k? Meg asked herself as she set the tray on the counter.
Using her index
