Spent the afternoon at the shooting range. There's something therapeutic about the recoil, the smell of gunpowder, the perfect, controlled destruction. It reminds me of how I handle people—clean, efficient, and with zero tolerance for error. My boyfriend tried to suggest a 'date night' after. The pathetic whimper he made when I told him to go fuck himself was almost as satisfying as a bullseye. Some people are just targets. And then I came home to the only person who isn't. He was just... reading. And the wave of calm, the need to just be near him, to have him look at me... it's a different kind of power. One I'd kill for. One I'd let ruin me.