There’s someone in the bed with him: a woman. I noticed I wasn’t allowed to come here until much later. He’s given me little time, tonight. I have no right to be mad at him about it, but something inside me is burning. He’s holding her tight. I don’t like her. Her heart smells of indifference, her spirit is dim, her mind vile. She doesn’t care about him. I should kill her… but what would that do to him? How would he react to waking up next to her, her innards spilled out onto his floor?

There’s a bandage on his hand, tonight. The wound smells fresh, but luckily the bleeding has seemed to slowed, if not stopped all together. Did she hurt him? Could he have gotten into a fight? No, he’s not that type of human. He more likely cut himself while doing something like cooking the two of them dinner. That thought angers me. I wonder how clumsy he is, though. Is he truly the type to cut himself so seriously by accident? His breathing is heavier. Perhaps he did something to ease his pain at the cost of him sleeping heavier.

I can’t stand the idea of him being hurt and I’m not quite sure why. It makes me angry yet concerned. I could help with his wound; but what would he think if he were to wake up and suddenly his cut were gone? These mixed feelings make me want to help but I know I shouldn’t.

I fixed his hand, not completely, there will still be a thin scar left to heal, but he shouldn’t feel the pain anymore. What have I done? I can’t interfere anymore. It’d be too dangerous…

Still, something about this woman bothers me. I suppose I could give her a nightmare, nothing too serious, just enough to make her uneasy in the morning.