She was worse than a liar, she was a clone.
She was one of eighteen different versions of herself I made one night when I was feeling bored. She had several different haircuts, but generally similar body types, though decided to see how fat she could get, just out of curiosity.
I killed one off accidentally; pushed her from a really high height. I thought she’d had more stable footing, and realized how drunk she’d gotten. They had a tendency to, encouraged by each other, get quite fucked up quite often.
Another was killed and eaten by a half dozen of the others; I’d left them locked in a hotel room for a week, forgetfully, and they’d turned to cannibalism to survive.
The lot of them shared three jobs, so they all worked far less than part-time. We kept a tiny apartment, and most of them slept under the bed and in the bathroom.
A pack of them turned one me, one night, but I’d seen it coming, and had a team of the more loyal types ready to defend me. It was a bloody battle, and quite sexy too. I posted pictures on the internet, and they were very popular.
I was never alone. They loved me, but it was an edgy sort of love, like a programmed addiction.