“I hate you,” she whispers. The reminder of her lack of feelings only spurs on my sudden stupidity. My sudden need to finish what we started, no matter how doomed it was from the beginning. Because here, nothing between us matters. With one of her wrists still grasped in my palm, ensuring the other knife won’t slice my skin as well, I lift my free hand toward her face. It’s slow, soft even, so as not to startle her. I hold my breath, heartbeat pounding in my ears. She seems to still, to melt under the feel of my fingers pulling the scarf from around her face. Her breath catches, her body
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