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Oh. God. Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m going to be sick, and I manage to turn sideways before it comes up. She pulls out the blade, and my pant leg begins to turn dark red. Emily holds the handle in one hand and pokes her index finger with the bloody tip of the blade.
"Did you know that my father, your grandfather, stabbed me in the exact same spot once?" She peers down at my leg with an unreadable expression. "Gray and I were out with Ronnie, Ronnie wouldn't drive me home when he was supposed to, and Daddy lost his temper. He never liked when he didn’t get his dinner on time." She goes on as if I’m not bleeding in front of her. "When I blamed Ronnie for what happened the next day, he slapped me then laughed and made Gray take me to the hospital to get stitched up." Her eyes are vacant, lost in her memory. "But that wasn’t the only time I got acquainted with his knife. See."
My breathing is labored. If from the shock of what just happened, from the pain I cannot feel, or from the entire situation...I’m not sure. It doesn't matter anyway. All I can do is stare at the woman who gave birth to me as she keeps going on.
Emily holds out her free arm, turning it so I can see the inside between her biceps and triceps. A jagged scar, about three inches, is clearly visible. "Ronnie also didn't like when he didn't get what he wanted."
Who the hell is Ronnie?
"Maybe we should try your arm next—the one you don't need to write, that is." Emily is now on all fours on the mattress next to me.
"You can have the money," I croak the words out before she can inflict more damage.
She doesn't hear me; she is too far gone. She lifts the blade and pokes the tip against the skin of my upper arm. I fling out my other one to deflect her weapon, but it's no good. Between the drugs, the exertion from sitting up, and now the blood loss, I have the strength of a malnourished stray kitten. All I accomplish is cutting my palm on the blade.
"Ahhh!" I can’t stop the scream, nor do I want to.
Suddenly, there is a loud bang somewhere outside the room followed by shouts and footfalls echoing through the house. Emily doesn't seem to notice any of it. She pokes the end of the knife just underneath my ribcage, twisting it until it breaks skin.
A whimper escapes me, and tears run down my face.
I don’t want to die.
"STEP AWAY FROM HER, EMILY!" The command penetrates the room, and both of our heads snap to the door.
