Ignorance Is Bliss, Cherish It

I stayed on the floor for a little while longer, until Frank got up and went off somewhere. I stood up carefully and made my way to the hallway. I looked both ways before tip-toeing to my bedroom. I closed the door quietly behind me and locked it. My eyes darted around my room before resting on the shirt with dried blood on it. I felt my eyes tear up again. What if that was my mother's blood? I picked up the shirt and held it out in front of me like a dead animal. I decided I'd leave my room for just a second to get rid of the shirt. I was just about to open my bedroom door when I remembered the gun in Frank's bag. I glanced in the bag and saw that it was still there. I carefully picked it up and held it in my right hand, the shirt in my left. I opened the bedroom door and went quickly but quietly to the kitchen. I threw the shirt in the garbage and turned around quickly, ready to dash back to my room. I jumped though when I saw Frank watching me. He looked at the gun in my right hand before looking back at me.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Please, just get out of my house," I said, holding up the gun and pointing at him, my hands visably shaking.

"Iris," said Frank, stepping closer. "Please put the gun down."

"Stay away from me," I said. Frank just continued coming closer. "I'll shoot you."

"No you won't," Frank said. He reached his hand out and I pulled the trigger. I stared at the gun in disbelief. It hadn't shot anything. It only made a clicking sound. I pulled the trigger again and again, but it only made that clicking noise. Fed up, I just threw the gun at Frank.

"Ow!" he said. "Son of a bitch that hurt."

He glared at me.

"I didn't think you'd actually attempt to kill me," Frank said. I glared back at him. "Luckily, I didn't leave any bullets in there. But did you really have to throw it at me?"

Frank was now right in front of me and he grabbed my arms roughly, slamming my back against the wall behind me.

"Let go of me," I said. Frank laughed.

"I don't think so," he said. He let go of one of my arms and grabbed something off the nearby counter. The steak knife. I started to squirm. "Stop moving."

He held the blade against the skin on my neck. I stared him defiantly in the eyes now.

"Do it," I said. "Slit my throat."

I saw a wave of pity flash through his eyes and that made me more angry. I pressed my neck firmly against the edge of the knife, feeling it break my flesh a little.

"Do it!" I yelled. Frank let go of my arm and pulled the knife away from my neck.

"I'm sorry," Frank said, looking down. "I don't know what came over me."

"Just get the fuck out of my house," I said. "Just seeing you and thinking about you makes me sick."

I left the kitchen, hoping Frank would actually listen to me. But somewhere deep down inside me, I knew that I really didn't want Frank to leave.