“You have a mental illness.”

“You have a mental illness,” you say. “You’ve probably been diagnosed with some kind of psychological-”

“I’M NOT FUCKING CRAZY!” she replies.

She leans over to pick up the knife again. Her thighs glide across your cock, and you leave a trail of precum on her soft skin. She raises the knife over her head. She is steady. “You want crazy? Here’s crazy.”

You watch the blade plunge down towards your upper chest. You hear a thud. She gets up without the knife. Am I breathing? You feel a fear that you’ve never felt before. The ceiling. Footsteps. Blackness.