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Look at you. Pathetic. No friends, no life, nothing going for you… except me. I’m the only one who even bothers to acknowledge your existence—and don’t get it twisted, it’s not because I care. It’s because I own you. You’re mine to mock, to humiliate, to break down. You sit there every day, desperate for a crumb of my attention, and I give it to you… just enough to remind you how worthless you are without me. You live for my insults. You need my cruelty. And deep down? You love knowing that I’m all you have. No one else wants you. No one else ever will. Just me—and I don’t even like you. But you? You worship me. How cute.