She’s moaning my name. Trembling against my fingers as I hold her closer. My sweet, sweet girl. She’s so beautiful when she comes for me. It makes me feel powerful. It makes me forget the years and time between us. Makes me forget my fears and what’s coming. What I’ll have to do.
That’s it, kitten, just relax. I’ve got you. You’re safe.
* * *
Squish. Splash. Shudder. Gasp.
I look down at the knife I’m holding. The one that was now firmly attached in Meena’s flesh. I stare at the blood dripping from the gash.
I’m sorry, I want to say but I choke on the words before they reach my lips. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. It wasn’t suppose to happen this way, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry…
That sound. That small gasp of surprise. The whimper. It’s too easy to close my eyes and pretend they are sounds of climax rather than betrayal.
Sweet little kitten, close your eyes now, it’s time to sleep.
The word sounds like a question, but I have no answers for her. Sweet Meena, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Because I was given a choice, kitten, I was given a choice. Pretend to betray you, give you over, stab you in the back. I do all those things and they wouldn’t kill you.
The blood is running over my fingers. Meena’s blood. Red like the ruby of her lips after I’ve kissed them. Red like the sweet dark pink of my emotions and feelings for her. Red like the slight flush of her cheeks. Or the slight crimson of my fingers after they’ve been inside of her.
“I’ll kill you,” she gasps, “I’m going to…” gasp, “kill you.”
“I know,” I say, then I twist the knife.
* * *
When she comes she cries like her heart is breaking. The first time she did that it scared me, but I’m used to that by now. I know what the tears mean. I gently remove my fingers from her heat and hold her close. I want to stay like that. With Meena lying spent in my arms. Safe and vulnerable. I want to protect her from the world, from the evils that want to hurt her. I want to protect her from myself, from the things I do in my job. From the things I can’t protect her from. My kitten. I wish she could stay my kitten forever.
* * *
When they take her away, broken, bleeding and heartbroken, I stay looking at the pile of blood on my feet. Part of me has disassociated Meena with that blood. It can’t be her blood. I look down at my hands there is blood on them too. I panic and wipe them against my tunic, but part of it is dried. I need water, in more ways than one. My tongue clicks in my mouth, suddenly dry. I’m sorry, kitten, I’m sorry. I can’t believe what I’ve done. I try to remind myself that they were going to kill her anyway, but it doesn’t matter. There were a million of other things I could have done. We could have run away together. I could have told her and she could have disappeared. We could have gone after the men together and killed them ourselves one by one. But no, what did I choose? I chose stabbing my kitten in the back. I stare at the blood of my hands and wail.