I suppose I've always felt this way, full of murderous ideas and envy. I envied the girl who slept in my brother's bed. Indeed he was my brother, but how I longed to kiss his beautiful pink lips and caress his olive colored cheeks. He was handsome, and I felt if I couldn't have him, no one could. I didn't have a clue what incest was until I was 10, and once I found out what it was. I was drawn to it. I was attracted to my brother and I suppose he felt the same way. The way he looked at me and talked to me. One time we were even close to kissing: my mom walked in and caught us. I even remember him touching me, and it felt good. Like it was supposed to happen. I remember he would say, "Don't tell mom, I'm so sorry Amanda." He would then go back to his room.
Thinking about that, it made me feel good about what I've done. She deserved it. To see her in pain, crying for mercy made me feel in total control. "Crazy" you may say, but I don't think I'm crazy. I do what I feel is right. And seeing Christine lying down in a pile of her blood made me feel good. She was a lying cheating bitch anyway.