Blood On My Hands

Blood on my hands.

And his lips were like morphine. They attacked me hungrily. I couldn't get enough.

I wanted more and more from him.

"Am I beautiful yet?"

"Soon," he said, while sucking on my bottom lip.

There was so much blood.

Red.

"How much do you love me?" he asked suddenly.

Eyes were widened. She loved him so much. But how could she explain that to him? She made eye contact with him, but quickly focused on something else across the room. His eyes were piercing; he wasn't looking at her, he was looking right through her, and it scared her. It scared her a lot.

Loud music played in the background. The artist was screaming and screaming and screaming.

And her brain was becoming fuzzy and the world was spinning. How did he manage to scream so angrily without hurting his vocal cords? And there was so much blood. It was getting all over her white shirt. She frowned, her mom wouldn't be happy with that.

Curse her for thinking of her mom at a time like this.

She stared into his eyes. "I love you so much," she replied quietly.

That was all he needed.

Pain erupted inside of her body. More blood. Her head began to throb, trying to alert her that something was very wrong. But she was too far gone to even notice.

"Am I beautiful now?" she asked, falling to the ground. She was sweating, her hair sticking to her forehead. Her breath was coming out quickly, but no matter how much she tried to breathe, she couldn't get any air.

"Perfect," he said looking at her and at the knife in his hands. He closed his eyes, smiling.