Székely’s narrator is the titular Sicko, and being inside of his head is pretty disturbing stuff:

One day in late October, I couldn’t take it anymore and suggested we break it off. Then she went completely wild, screaming like a wild beast. We were sitting in bed, and I don’t know what came over me. Her voice—shrill, relentless—filled my head, and I just wanted it to stop. I grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her face. Just to quiet her down. Just for a minute.