"Ok fine," I said, just barely in control of my voice.
As I continue to hold the knife in my hand, the tip pressed against his chest. I could feel it, the breath in and out, the warmness of the thin fabric of his shirt, the regular beating of his heart . One push. That's all it would take. And this would all be over in a single movement.
But seconds felt like hours.
The room was dead silent, only the rhythm of breathing, which was shallow and panicked on my part, and deep and controlled on his. The knife flashed under the dim light. With every passing second my grip on the handle was tight turning my knuckle white. I Couldn't push forward. Couldn't pull away.
"Well, I'm waiting," he said. But this time he sound pleased almost entertained by my struggle . This was yet another game to hi
