You Thought You Could Get Away With It
"You thought you could get away with it, didn't you?" she asked, staring into the restrained man's face, her lover's face.
"Didn't you?!" she shouted at him, bring the dagger to rest against his jugular. He swallowed nervously, slowly. She
placed her other hand on his head, patting it lovingly, then pulled it back suddenly, the dagger ever ready at his throat.
He whimpered, his wrists bound behind the chair back, his ankles bound to the chair legs. She was breathing raggedly,
angry, almost to the point of insanity. He saw the intensity in her eyes, and tried to say something to calm her, but
failed, his mouth gagged. She pressed the blade of the dagger to his jugular and he stopped breathing, fearful of getting
cut.
"You're not going to get away with it," she said calmly, rasping the dagger's blade against his cheek. He winced, feeling
the sting as he skin was scraped off.
"Did you hear me?" she asked, her tone deceptively sweet, staring into his eyes, holding the dagger blade flat against
his cheek. He simply looked at her, not daring to respond in any way. She leaned her head down to his ear, her warm
breath, along with his confusion and fear, causing his flesh to rise into goose flesh.
"I said," she whispered, "DID YOU HEAR ME?!" she finished shouting in his ear, her knuckles white with how tightly
she was holding his hair. He jerked his head back instinctively and instantly regretted it, feeling his hair being pulled
from the roots. She stared down into his eyes, a clear, insane calm in her eyes.
"Now, answer. Did you hear me?" she asked calmly, nicking his earlobe with the dagger point. He winced and nodded
slightly, as much as her hold would allow, looking up to her, clearly afraid.
"You didn't get away with it. Neither did she," she said matter-of-factly, just the faintest of smirks on her face, looking
down to his face. His eyes widened, the whites blatant, as he realized in horror what she meant. His brows furrowed in
worry, disbelief, ultimately anger. She smiled gently, then burst out laughing in his face, a maniacal laugh. He shouted
angrily towards her, the gag causing his words to come out muffled, struggling to get out of his restraints, struggling to
get at her. Immediately, she stopped laughing and instantly drove her foot onto his groin, and shook her head slightly as
he dropped forward, his groans of pain resounding. She moved her foot off and shifted, leaning her head down to be at
his eye level.
"I killed your little whore. Ripped her open. From here, " she said, the sweet, matter-of-fact tone intact, placing the
dagger on his groin, "to here," she finished standing, the dagger on the hollow of his throat.
He looked at her, his eyes looking into hers, tears falling down his cheeks. She leaned her head down and kissed the
tears away on his cheeks gently, and he pulled back roughly, his eyes hard with hate. She smiled softly, and brought the
dagger to his throat.
"It's your turn, love," she said with a soft sigh, and on the word 'love', drove the dagger into his jugular. His eyes
widened as he struggled for breath, gurgling the blood, his body shaking, going into spasms, struggling, trying
desperately to free himself. She simply held the dagger in place, pushing deeper, watching his jerky motions, watching
the blood spurt and flow from the wound of the carotid artery, some of the warm blood spraying onto her. She
watched, quiet, as his body gave the final, pathetic attempts of freedom. The bloody flow trickled to a stop and she
pulled her hand back, idly wiping the blood off on his drenched shirt.
He was a bloody mess, stains of crimson trailing down his chest and a small pool collected in his lap. The dagger kept
him pinned, the blade firmly stuck in the chair back. She sighed, looking at him.
"If only you had told the truth. I would have forgiven you. But no. You thought you could get away with it," she said
with a sigh, then shrugged. She turned, giving her back to the still warm corpse, and walked out the door, humming a
ballad to herself.
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