Twist
A twist of the knife, he’d taught her. Merely sliding it in was effective, but twisting it drove the point home. Both physically and metaphorically.And yet she let it linger. The tip of the knife was barely into the man’s heart, his eyes wide as he struggled beneath her grip. She’d already punctured one lung, and all of the escaped air was filling his chest cavity instead. The growing pressure was already making it hard for him to breathe.Good.She smiled as she gave the knife a little twist, watched as a tear slipped down his cheek. God, she wished he could’ve been here to see her like this, finishing his work.
-------------------------------------
“You think it’s easy, but it’s not. Killing a man up close.”She scoffed. “If I’m pissed off enough, should be easy.”“And that’s why you’re an idiot.” He got his knife under the bottle cap and flicked it off in one twist of his wrist. Then he squeezed a lime down the neck before taking a sip.“Anger doesn’t make it easier, because anger means you still feel something. You wanna go through something like that, you gotta make yourself not feel anything at all.”“Not caring’s easy,” she replied dryly as she snatched the bottle from his hand and took a drink after him. She didn’t give it back.“Funny. I see you doing a hell of a lot of mother-henning around me...”And she didn’t know why she did. He was insufferable to the point of pulling out hair... and yet his acidic attitude was exactly what she needed in her life.
-------------------------------------
He had been right, too. But with his death, she had nothing to care about, nothing to ground her in this reality. All she had was his knife, and that was enough.
