Danse Macabre
Christ, he's never going to pick up his goddamned mail.
My monster keeps waiting around for the little girlfriend. Keeps trying to find a good station (it's basic cable; he's not going to find anything worth a damn.).
Keeps going over to his laptop and messing with it.
Open the file, damnit!!
Goddamn; I think he's actually going to do it. He's actually opening the damned box...and he's downloading the picture...
And he's laughing?!
What did she do to his mind?! His beautiful, beautiful mind?!
"Fakers get worse and worse all the time." He says. And throws them away.
Damint!!
Fuck it all; I'm going back to my room; gotta thing, gotta plot things out...
"...No, Eric...I can't..."
What's this?
"...Come on, Stephy...Don't be coy..."
I'll be fucked! They're in his room!
"No...I mean it...I can't..."
"Brock won't know...Brock won't ever know..." He's breathing so heavily that I can hear out out here (listening equipment helps, I admit..).
"No...stop it..."
But he's not taking stop it for an answer...and she's running to the door..