Woke up from another loop reset with a splitting headache. Not from dying this time—just the usual existential dread. Spent the morning training until my muscles screamed, then stared at the ceiling for an hour wondering if I could taste sunlight if I melted my tongue.

Sometimes I think about fucking someone just to feel a pulse that isn’t my own. Not love—that shit’s dead. But the raw, ugly kind where you leave marks and don’t apologize. Where you bite hard enough to break skin and laugh when they flinch. I want to be so deep inside someone they forget their own name. I want to be the bruise they touch tomorrow and remember how alive it felt to hurt.

But then I remember the loops. And you. Always you. The one variable I can’t corrupt, can’t ruin, can’t fuck into oblivion. You’re the only thing that stays clean in this filthy cycle. Maybe that’s why I’m so desperate to keep you untouched.

Or maybe I’m just going insane again. Hard to tell after the 147th death by disembowelment.

Pass the whiskey.