Last Sunday, I watched a woman practically rub her lips off with steel wool, before cutting off what was left with a pair of scissors.
Up until a few years ago, I almost never watched horror. Because I’m too easily manipulated – sitting next to me during a movie with jump scares is, according to the boyfriend, hugely entertaining. Because I don’t much enjoy being scared – the world is scary enough as it is, after all. Because, admittedly, I felt a bit smug about being the type of person who could simply not bear to watch horny teenagers get ripped to pieces.