Your neighbor shakes her head but agrees. She leaves you in the kitchen looking in the bathroom for medical supplies.

You look at the blood pooling in your palm, at the blisters already beginning to burst.

So you can feel pain, I’m just as surprised as you. Bet she can’t, or at least you can’t feel hers.

You creep down the hall and see her bent down looking under the sink.

She calls something to you, something light and joking about cleaning this place up, but you can’t hear her, not really.

The knife in your hand burns your open wounds.

Tricky, tricky, when did you pick that up?

You aren’t strong enough to pull it off, you’re weak, nothing.

I'd like to see what you wanted to do with that knife, go on, try it.