The world went quiet. Too quiet. She held me close, twisting the knife a little deeper into me. Her hair smelled sweet, and her skin was soft and smooth. My knees shoke, and I tried to keep them locked, assuming they would buckle otherwise.

“Why?” I whispered.

She didn’t respond, but rather pulled the knife out. I collapsed to my knees, trembling. She took three swift steps to the counter and wiped the knife clean with the dish rag. She washed her hands at the sink, then walked calmly towards the sofa and put her clothes back on. She never once looked at me, though I watched her intently. I grunted on occasion, and my breathing was quick and erratic, but I hadn’t called for help. There wouldn’t be any out here.

She walked by again back into the kitchen. After digging through the cabinet and pulling out a pan, she poured the rest of the cooking oil from the counter into it, put the pan on the stove, and set the gas burner to high.

Finally, she turned to me and gazed straight into my eyes. She glided over to me, knelt down, held my face with both of her soft hands, and gave me a gentle kiss on my cheek. She stood, turned, and without a word or another glance, walked out the back door.

I allowed my body to slide from my knees to the floor. The world around me was muted. I couldn't see the bright orange flames through the black smoke, or hear the alarm over the pain that finally started screaming in my brain. I could feel the kiss though, soft and cool on my cheek.