It’s very easy to make a petrol bomb. Almost worryingly easy, really; any old criminal could do it.
After Briar left the press event, I was upset for a very long time. For hours, I paced up and down my cabin, crying, screaming, breaking things. Trying to decide what I should do.
It’s the middle of the night by the time I make my decision.
I drive myself to the nearest gas station to buy petrol, some cloth, and a glass bottle of pop.
I am very, very, very angry.
I admit, I’m not thinking clearly. My head is in a haze. I’m just so mad at Briar. I have worked so hard, building her a home. I have spent years sending her gifts and messages. And she’s thrown it all in my face.
Well. I’ll show her. I know where she’s staying. I think I might just pay her a visit.
As I’m checking out my shopping, I see a couple of young teenagers loitering in the candy aisle, holding hands. I stand and watch in disgust as the guy bends and kisses the girl on the lips. They start making out, right in the middle of the store.
Fury lashes through me, so strong I almost drop my shopping. Why the Hell should a fifteen-year-old boy be able to get a girl, when I can’t? Things like this make me feel so angry I want to kill someone.
I take all of my materials home and set about making the bomb. I’ve just finished when my phone buzzes. I look and see that Briar’s sent another tweet. Not the bullshit one her PR people published earlier this evening. A tweet just for me.
I’m sorry X
Oh.
Heat rolls down my whole body as I read it again, and again. I moan. Oh, God. She’s talking to me. She’s talking right to me.
I feel light-headed. My breathing gets fast. I lean back against the sofa, blushing furiously, and force myself to take some time to calm down and really rationalise.
I’ve gotten it all wrong.
Briar is a sweet girl. I know she wouldn’t say those nasty things about me if she didn’t have to. Celebrities are like puppets on strings. They have managers, and PR people, and agents. Everybody is always telling them what to do and what to say. My angel is being manipulated. That’s why, as soon as she could, she tweeted out that apology to me. I imagine her lying in bed right now, typing out the tweet before her people can notice.
God, my poor girl. I remember her face as that security guard carried her away from the event. He’s the same guard who keeps making her kiss him in front of the cameras. She’s being controlled!
But soon, she’ll be free. In two days, she’ll be here with me. I’ll give her a new life.
I look down at the petrol bomb. I guess I may as well use it. Ideally, I would blow up that awful guard, but he’s staying at the same hotel as her. She could get hurt.
I glance at the clock. It’s past midnight. Technically her birthday. An idea forms in my brain. I’ll use the bomb as a birthday present.
There’s one man my angel has always hated. One man who hurt her more than anybody else. Who turned the world against her, and spread vicious, awful lies about her. I’m sure she wants him dead.
So I’ll make that happen. To prove to her that I’m not mad at her. And as an extra-special birthday present.
I stand up and grab my car keys. She’s going to love it.
