Sometimes I dream about throttling you. I would do it slowly. I would do it when you weren’t ready, when you were relaxed. I imagine wrapping my hands around your long, pale throat and watching the fear bloom in your eyes. I imagine your skin turning red, your breathing quickening as you struggle. I want to watch you in pain, up close. I want you to beg me. I want you to admit you were wrong, that I’ve won. Maybe you would even sink to your knees for me. Plead for mercy. That would be fun, but even then, that wouldn’t be enough—
MY GOD.
