I stuffed myself into a lacy blue bra and posed with the knife rested against my cheek, between my teeth, and hovering over my neck. I figured the guy had some sort of fetish. Some bondage, BDSM, masochistic shit. For 500 bucks, I really didn’t give a damn.
It looked like blood, except it was the wrong color. Too thick. It almost felt like the slime we used to play with as kids. The kind that stuck to the wall and crawled its way down.
Sammy was always there.
I am a coward and I may have begun the end of everyone I ever knew.
“I feel like a fucking idiot looking back, but at the time… How the hell could I have guessed what was going on?”
Standing beside my boyfriend’s limp body, there was a man. I could only see his legs, his sleek black trousers, and one hand, holding a glock.
She swept the knife across her skin, like she’d done it hundreds of times before. Like she was used to seeing blood.
It was like everything in the house was having the life drained out of it. Like everything was dying.
It’s difficult to describe the sensation to you now, but in the moment everything felt perfectly rational.
“They kept talking about whether or not they should kill me or let me go. I convinced them to drop me off as long as I promised not to say anything to the cops.”