Amity was the cold, steady gaze of a double-barreled shotgun, bearing down. She was the glint of pinprick pupils gleaming through a night-lit window, the rythmic blast of a door left banging in a gale...
But the gun was here. Cold, solid steel against my palm. I wrapped one finger around the trigger. And smiled.
Amity's inhuman. More than human. And she's inside of me. I'm inhuman right now, too.
But every once in a while, I could be normal. I could be the way other people are all the time. I could be nice. Once in a while.
There's probably a fancy doctor's term for it, some chemical misfires in my brain that make me who I am. But, plainly put, it's this: I am evil. And I don't mind at all.
I thought then that Amity was already all mine. I didn't realise it was actually the other way around.