Blood on the knife

“He made me do it! He made me do it!” she screamed, her voice trembling as tears streamed down her face.

“Is… is he… dead?” Sydney’s words came out in broken gasps, her entire body shivering. She couldn’t take her eyes off the lifeless body sprawled on the blood-streaked floor. Red rivulets seeped from the puncture wounds on his chest, pooling beneath him.

Her hands trembled violently, still clutching the knife—the one she’d plunged into him six times. Maybe more. She wasn’t sure anymore.

“Quite a scene,” muttered the coroner, laying out the body bag on the kitchen floor.

Sydney’s breath hitched as an agent reached out carefully. “I’ll take that,” he said, his tone calm but firm, gesturing for the knife in her hand. She released it reluctantly, her eyes glued to the crimson-stained blade.

“Everything is red… everything is sticky and red…” she mumbled, her voice hollow. Her gaze darted to the ruined velvet cake smeared across the counter, a cruel reminder of the evening that spiraled into chaos.

It was supposed to be their last night together before his next deployment.

Thirty minutes earlier…

“I want you gone by the time I’m back!” Emery’s voice boomed across the dining room, shaking the flickering candles perched on the cake.

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Sydney flinched. “What?”

“You heard me,” he spat, his voice cold and cutting. Without another word, he grabbed the cake, its delicate frosting still perfect, and marched to the kitchen. He shoved it into the sink, turned on the faucet, and watched the water ruin it.

“Since you’ve got no job, why not start by cleaning that up?” he sneered.

Sydney’s anger boiled over. “At least I’m trying to do something! What about you? Always tearing me down!”

He rounded on her. “Something meaningful, Sydney! You sit in this house all day doing nothing!”

“There’s nothing to do here!” she shot back, her voice rising. “You’ve locked me in this prison of a home! You won’t let me leave, you won’t let me—”

“Oh, you’ve had plenty of time leaving the house… like when you were ‘riding the mailman,’ huh?” His words were venomous, and his eyes glinted with malice.

Sydney’s jaw dropped. “The mailman? At least he knows how to act like a man!”

The taunt hit its mark. Emery’s face darkened, and in an instant, he charged at her like a bear ready to maul its prey. He grabbed her by the neck, his grip rough and suffocating, and yanked her from her chair. She struggled to breathe as he slammed her against the cold edge of the kitchen counter.

“You think you can talk to me like that?” he growled, his breath heavy with the stench of whiskey.

Sydney’s vision blurred with tears. Her fingers scrambled against the counter, desperate for anything to defend herself. Then she felt it—a knife. Cool steel under her fingertips.

Time slowed. His drunken rants faded into the background as one thought took over: He’s going to kill me if I don’t stop him.

With a burst of adrenaline, she grabbed the knife and swung.

Now, standing amidst the chaos, Sydney could barely comprehend what had happened.

“He was going to kill me…” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling as the agent led her away. “I didn’t have a choice… I didn’t…”

The bloodied knife glinted under the dim light, a haunting reminder of a decision made in the heat of survival.

And somewhere in the distance, the birthday candles finally burned out.

anymore.