Even before you take your first step, you feel the blade slip between your shoulder blades, sliding smoothly out between your ribs as you gasp up a bit of blood.

“Darling, that’s no way to catch up with an old friend. I have so much to fill you in on.” They slip the blade out of your body, cradling you to the ground. As the world goes dark,  you remember that they were once a Pre-Med major, and a good one, too. They haven’t killed you — not in the slightest. In fact, they’re the only one who can keep you alive.

And keep you alive they do. For a long, long time. Long after you’d wished they wouldn’t. But isn’t this how it’s always been — a long, excruciating string of heartbreaks? Emotional masochism? Letting them walk all over you, knowing you’ll come salivating back for more as soon as they stitch you back up?

Try once more?


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