The book is empty. The book is empty and it's in Judith's head and... I've been so stupid. I've been so fucking stupid. It's not my fault. I couldn't have known. I should have listened, but I couldn't have known. I don't know what to do. For once in my life I don't know what to do. It's gone and it's all inside her and I just can't think anymore. It's out of control. Everything is out of control.
I tried to burn the book and the words were gone. The entire notebook is just scratches of red; pages of pages of red ink. I can get to the end now too. It isn't infinite. It's just a normal notebook filled with red scribbles and I know where all of that insanity went and I'm so fucking scared. It's not my fault. It can't be my fault. Not Judith. Not her...
She came over yesterday. I hadn't checked the book yet so I didn't know, I still didn't know. She's still here now, in my room, asleep. Thank god she finally fell asleep. She's all tears and sadness and other things when she's awake so at least she finds peace in sleep. At least she doesn't find herself smiling and then start sobbing because she doesn't know why she's smirking. At least she doesn't see the words everywhere.
She came over yesterday, and she fell into my arms and started talking about how she didn't want to read the book anymore. I asked her what she meant because I knew she didn't have the book so she pulled out a notebook from her purse and said that she did have it. The notebook was the wrong color. I opened it, and the pages were empty. I told Judith that wasn't the notebook. I asked her what was going on. She started accusing me, saying I was lying about not seeing it and I've never seen her so angry or so frightened. I held her, told her I wasn't lying. She started crying again a bit later. I let her go, asked her what was wrong. She pointed to a white blank page on my desk. She said it was there too.
I didn't know what to do. I don't know what to do. I sat her down, asked her to write down what she saw. What she wrote was insane and psychotic and there was too much for one page and it wasn't fucking there and she didn't write in her handwriting. It was his. God, it was his.
I have to go check on her. I have to make sure she's okay. Please let her be okay. It wasn't my fault. I don't know what to do