I dropped to my knees, fumbling to grab the biggest knife I could find. I managed to wrap all five fingers around it, grasping so tightly my knuckles cracked.

(Don’t you dare slit my fucking wrist, you goddamn psycho. Don’t you touch me. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.)

“What’s going on?” the boy asked, putting both of his hands on my shoulders. He was on his knees with me now, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. There wasn’t any fear in him. Just concern.

He was so focused on my eyes, so focused on spitting out words he hoped would calm me down, that he didn’t even flinch when I dug the knife into his stomach. Didn’t even scream when I twisted it.

But she did. I could hear her high pitched wailing bounce around my brain. It was like a squalling car alarm, one that wouldn’t go off, even once the keys were back in the ignition.

She was so flustered by the shit show she had just witnessed that she released control for long enough for me to say, “Now you’ll have to stay with Danny.”

And then I slipped back into my reality, ready to spend the rest of my life living vicariously through her.