I can feel you, deep inside my mind, clawing and screaming to be heard. Your pathetic whimpers transformed into ear splitting roars. My thoughts interrupted by yours, my hands trembling at your will, my time in this body at the mercy of your strength.
If I'm about to die, I want to take you with me.
I stare at the razor blade. Its shiny edge calls out to me in a way that's almost erotic; whispered promises of warm oblivion make my thighs clench and my mouth run dry. Two quick slashes and I will have vanquished you, and myself in the bargain. Two tiny cuts and we will descend into the void together; bastardised twins in death, as well as in life.
But you still my hand.
My fingers are no longer my own, as you once again become their master. Betrayed by my own body, your body. I want to scream but your lips refuse to part. I want to cry but my tear ducts are now yours. The life I kept from you is slowly returning to its rightful owner. The death I thought I had inflicted has finally found a victim, in me.
Images of the damage I have inflicted begin to fade.
You strangle my thoughts. Wipe every encounter from my memory. Gone is the glee of destruction. Withered is the delight in seeing her pain. Destroyed forever; the memories of a life that was never mine.
I will be no more.
But your memory of me will haunt you all of your life, and that thought brings me everlasting joy.
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