Henry

Henry balled his hands into fists and stared at the words he had typed. The room hummed with the power of them. His tongue felt like cotton. He needed a drink of water. He needed to sit and stare at the words forever.

Not yet.

Not yet.

The high of the words pumped in his veins, euphoric. But also depressing. He’d given in to temptation. He’d brought her to life on his page.

Dangerous. So dangerous.

Suddenly and heavily sad, Henry stumbled to his bed, burying his face in the pillow.