The Girl Who Cried Wolf.

L

The knife slides out and clangs to the floor when he pulls away from her.

Something twists and turns from the wound, and she falls to her knees, trying not to writhe from the searing pain.

Warm liquid drips down her shirt, some pooling in her hand as she keels over.

Death bends to collect her in his arms and wipes her sweaty forehead. Then he stares at her blankly as she covers her mouth, coughing.

Her skin heats up like she's caught a wild fever.

When she pulls her hand away from her lips, she sees the blood splattered on it before she tastes it in her mouth.

It's sour and metallic.

"The clouds are pretty today," Death comments.

His sudden change disorients her and she finds herself looking up.

He's right.

Deep streaks of orange and red flood the sky. The sight is so breathtaking that she doesn't realize she's losing the feeling in her legs.

"You look like the clouds," he says, "pretty and red. I'll keep you with me forever."

A small smile lifts the corners of her lips. "That's the sweetest thing you've said in a while."

He laughs in that deep voice of his and a calm washes over her.

As if she's not minutes away from taking her last breath.

"Will you do me a favor?"

Death hugs her closer to him. "What do you want?"

"Will you kiss me?"

His canines peek out as his lips spread in a smirk. Then he nods.

She tries not to scream in pain when he lifts her and presses their lips together.

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes as he digs his fingers into her hair and kisses her softly.

She finally allows herself to fall apart.

Death kisses her like a man in love. She grips his shirt and pours her all into the kiss.

Was it impossible for her to have met someone who'd treat her right?

Who'd buy her flowers, take her to prom and treat her like his reason to live?

Could she have kept friends who'd climb into her bed on a Saturday night for re-runs of a rom-com and share chips and gossip?

What if she'd opened up and let people in? Would they have seen her for who she really was or who she wishes to be?

Should she have told everyone the truth, that she wasn't who they thought she was and that she'd only maintained the pretense to keep herself from fading?

Would they have listened?

Would they have cared?

Would they have tried to understand?

But why couldn't they try?

Why couldn't they hear?

Why couldn't they see her?

Wasn't it all so obvious?

She sighs against Death's lips as he pulls away and brushes her hair away from her sticky forehead.

Maybe this was the ending she deserved.

'Or maybe not.'

"You're one hell of a kisser," Death compliments, wiping the blood off his lips. "But you're taking too long to die. I need to go."