I had the razor blade, he didn’t. Life or death…
His eyes locked on mine. I could see the terror reflected. His body trembled: his chains clanked against the stone flagstones where I had hidden the blade in a crack; where I had honed it to a deadly sharpness. I felt his fear whisper through the hairs on my arm; smelt his sweat dribbling down his cheek. I moved closer.
‘Don’t,’ he said.
I took no notice; drew the blade across his cheek; smiled. He recoiled.
I watched the red droplets ooze from the cut.
Enough time before the guards returned.
I circled the blade emulating a hypnotic trance, saw him fixate on it. ‘Remember our pact? Remember, damn you.’
He shook his head; slowly, as if trying to erase the memory. A look of despair crossed his face. ‘I can’t.’
‘Yes you can.’
His eyes searched mine for a glimmer of hope. ‘Matthew will come.’
He turned away, wouldn’t accept it had to happen. Not now.
I sighed: tried once more. ‘John...you have to be strong.’
I heard laughter outside in the courtyard: they would be returning soon; starting again, inflicting more pain and suffering upon our tortured bodies.
It was time.
John was crying, but he didn’t resist; couldn’t resist. I straddled him. The blade sliced through his neck; I felt blood pumping over my hands. Warm and wet.
No time left. I sawed through my wrists, forced open the arteries, blood spurted. I felt my eyes close, succumbing to my fate. They wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore. I wouldn’t smell their filthy bodies; feel them prising my legs open...
I heard explosions, gunshots, loud voices...it was getting dark...I was sinking.
I felt someone near. An exclamation: horror.