Mine (Jenlisa)

fifteen.

Lisa's POV~

Instead of satisfying her, I decided to let my kitten squirm. All tied up, looking delicious. Tasting delicious. When I took my knife out of the drawer she nearly cried, but I left her there without touching her again.

Release. That is what she wanted. That is what I wanted too, but I can control myself. I can control her. Yes, every thing is falling nicely into place. Even with her little stunt with the razor. I admired her for that. She is a smart one, I know that from the beginning. There is something different about her that made my mind go into a reeling circle of...

Emotion? Maybe. Maybe it is the thrill of the kill, enhanced by her as a witness.

I ran a bath for myself: I wanted to imagine that I was her. Imagine what she must have felt like. In the other room she moaned, but I ignored the sounds. I wanted to know what was in my kitten's mind, what she was really truly capable of. Now I know she is capable of killing, or trying to kill, and I understand that. She had also been capable of suicide. I settle myself into the bath and picked up my knife from the granite edge of the tub. It looked bigger than when I had used it to kill other people.

Could I do it? The shadow resting over my heart is a poison, but could I bleed it out this way?

I put the point of the knife to my skin. The blade made a dimple on the thin tissue of skin just under the heel of my palm.

Could I do it? I wanted to. The world grew dark around me and all I can see is the point of the knife, the shiny steel blase. I twisted the handle slightly. The knife pierced the skin and a drop of blood welled up at the point where it had slipped through into me. My teeth gritted lightly.

In the silver reflection of the blade I saw myself. My mouth twisted in horror. Pain crumpled my face. I looked almost... human.

The knife left my hand, flew across the bathtub. It hit the cream-colored stone and bounced back, slid down into the water at the other end of the bathtub. I pulled my knees back, as though the knife would come after my legs, wanting to finish what it had started.

My hand gripped the punctured wrist. It ached already, ached much more than a simple cut should have hurt. Under my fingertips I can feel the pulse of my heartbeat. It is fast, frightened, but it is still there. I am still alive after all.

Not like this. I can't end it like this. If I could snap my fingers and turn the world off, turn the shadow off, I would. More than her, more than anyone, I hated living. It is an endless fight against the shadow, one that I can not win. I did not want to live, no, there is nothing on Earth that makes me want to stay alive.

But unlike her, I am too scared to die.

I could lie to myself about why I stayed alive. I saved women from being abused. I saved children from being molested. A service to humanity, but I served the shadow only; the real reason I kill is to drive back the darkness. If I could make it go away by killing myself...

I unwrapped my fingers slowly from around my wrist. The drop of blood smeared red over my skin. I lifted the wrist to my lips and licked off my own blood. The coppery tang filled my nostrils and my stomach roiled.

I stood up from the tub. Water dripped down my body in slow rivulets; it felt thick as blood. At the bottom of the tub, the knife's edge rippled under the waterline, silver, and shining. I will never be as brave as her. No matter how much I wanted to.

How then? The thought of popping pills repulse me- the vomiting, the mess. A gun will be a sure thing, but again, messy. I don't know why I care so much about my body. It is only a body after all. I had sink into the thick Earth of a graveyard as easily as anybody else.