I look in the mirror and I don't see myself anymore. I never see myself. I've changed. I'm a monster. I'm a murderer. I killed and I ripped and I tore her apart.
I look in the mirror, and I am faceless.
I know I'm just seeing things. It's just a trick of the mind, isn't it? Just a guilty conscience projecting itself outward as a hallucination. Just like the blood that is still on my face, no matter how much I scrub. I'm not that which killed Kiera. I'm just the man who helped It.
But if I'm just the man who helped It, why do I remember what it felt like to tear through her flesh? Why do I know the warmth of her blood and the feel of her organs?
Guilt. The answer lies in guilt.
I have to get this off my mind. I have to move on. Yet, every time my eyes close, hers open, accusing me. Every time I see myself, I see a monster staring back at me. Every time I see Judith, I know what I did to get her back. How do I move on when everything is a reminder of what I've done, what I had to do?
I had to do it, don't you see? I had to do it.
Judith was all I had left. Judith is all I have left. I traded the last piece of Damien's story for the last piece of mine. It was survival. That's it. Just survival.
Her eyes accuse my facelessness.