He grabs me before I can move, his hand tight around my arm as he yanks me forward, dragging me down, forcing me to the ground.
“I was trying to make this good for you,” he says, his voice rough now, angry in a way that feels unstable. “I was trying to give you what you deserve.”
I struggle against him, my body weaker again now that the adrenaline is fading, my movements slower, less coordinated.
“Get off me!”
He grabs the knife.
The same one I dropped.
And before I can process it, before I can move, there’s a sharp, burning pressure in my side.
For a second, I don’t understand it.
Then the pain hits.
It spreads fast, hot and disorienting, my breath catching in my throat as my body reacts, my hands pressing instinctively against it.
“No—”
The word barely forms.
He’s still above me, still holding me down, his grip tight enough that I can’t get any leverage, can’t push him off, can’t...
“I didn’t want to do it like this,” he says, his voice lower now, almost frustrated. “But you won’t stop fighting me.”
I try to move.
My body doesn’t respond properly.
The strength that surged through me seconds ago is gone, replaced by something weaker, heavier, the pain in my side making everything feel slower, harder.
“You’re mine,” he continues. “I’ll take what’s mine if I have to.”
My hands slip slightly where they’re pressed against my side, something warm spreading beneath them.
My head spins. The room tilts. I try to push him. Try to fight. But my arms don’t have the same strength anymore.
My body doesn’t. Everything feels too far away.
Too slow.
The adrenaline fades completely, leaving nothing behind to replace it. Just weakness. Just pain.
Just...nothing.
My vision blurs.
The edges darken.
His voice continues somewhere above me, saying something I can’t follow, something that doesn’t land properly anymore.
My body goes heavy.
Unresponsive.
And as everything starts to slip, as the room fades and the pain dulls into something distant, one thought cuts through the rest.
