I often don't venture into that dark corner in my mind where you used to lurk. I get a couple thoughts, occasionally, that would probably make you proud. You know the ones. Angry, dark thoughts, ones of murder and blood, winter and chains and torture. They don't come that often, but when they do I try to push them away. Lock them back up in the cage where they belong.

And what sickens me is that every time I have them, I feel… happy. No, delighted. It's almost like I want you to look at me and tell me I'm not just a worthless little girl, and that these thoughts are good, that they make you like me. You did once before, but you lied, didn't you? You and everyone else.

They say I'm strong, that I was brave, and that I've worked well through this. But I see the look in their eyes, and it contradicts every word they say, every comfort they ever gave to me. Sometimes I wondered if they thought I let you in on purpose. Sometimes I wondered if I did.

But I've grown up now, and I'm no longer weak and pathetic. I feel it's time to clean out some of those cobwebs so I can see clearly, and know exactly what happened, exactly what I had been thinking. I want to relive it full blast, nothing to interrupt the memories, nothing to stop the pain.

I've barricaded the door to my room, laid myself down on the bed. I'm ready now Tom. It's just you and me, one on one. One last and final time. I won't let this haunt me any longer. I won't let you haunt me any longer. So Tom, come and find me. Do your worst. I dare you. I dare you.