You Are The Knife I Turn Inside Myself Novels & Stories

I don’t care though, I want to see why this image has imprinted itself in my mind. "I'm there too,” I note, seeing myself staring up at my mate, grinning unnaturallly wide. "You're not meant to feed into memories. This should be a vision,” Keo insists, trying to draw me away from it. I see myself, knowing this isn’t a memory. When I draw my hands once nearly tucked behind my back out, I have a knife in my hand. Kastriv remains stil as I push it straight into his heart. I gasp. "I stabbed him."

It’s embarrassing that my thighs press together. I put the knife away and switch to handwork, because blades make it too easy to pretend the heat in my belly is violence. The truth makes my skin prickle. I want his mouth on me. I want to know what those clipped orders feel like when he’s not holding them back. I want to drag the sharpness of him down where it hurts sweet, to see if his precision can come undone against my pulse. Ridiculous. I am ridiculous.

//AZRAEL// She was still trembling when I withdrew the knife. Her hips jerked, suddenly empty, and she gasped at the loss of pressure—the absence of the thing she had been riding, the thing that had filled her, the thing she had taken all the way down without knowing she was capable of taking anything at all. Before she could process the emptiness, I flipped the blade in my hand. A muscle memory honed over years. “The knife was just the appetizer, luv.”

The facade of strength I was putting on was beginning to crumble, revealing the vulnerability and devastation that lay beneath. I picked the knife from the fruit bowl on the table, my hand trembling slightly as I held it up to my neck , the glint of the blade reflecting the turmoil in my eyes. "Reject me now, Xavier, and leave me alone for once and for all," I whispered, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

The knife slashes—random and cruel, like the marks of someone trying to carve their own hatred into me. I knew each and every one of these scars because I had stood in the mirror for hours, asking myself what I did wrong. I was only just a child. I was only just ten. I swallowed, but the dry ache in my throat wouldn’t fade. The silence stretched long between us, but there was no need for words. She now knew. "This is me, Ravenna," I said, my voice rough. "All of me. It's not pretty, but it's mine."

I am not broken". Emma and I said at the same time. "AhaHhaaahaaa" that witch laughed and then said," If both of you aren't broken than who is the one which is broken. Is it me? Denying the reality doesn't change it but it'll make you feel better". Emma and I looked at each other and then again to that witch. She continued," One is trying to fight with none other than himself and the other is trying to fight her destiny. Oh, it's so interesting. But remember that the fight with your own self is the harder one. Tell me. Why are you both here?"

Without betrayal. The knife in my drawer flickered through my thoughts—cold, simple, definite. A way to end the noise. A way to stop being a story. The image sat heavy and unwanted in my chest. I told myself I wasn’t brave enough. I told myself I would not let her win by dying on her terms. But the temptation was a quiet, invasive thing. I took a step forward. Then another.

“Then you can do whatever you wish to anybody, even me. Either way, we're both stuck in a cage, but unlike you, I'm very self aware.” Before I could speak, he slipped a knife into my palm. “You work better with this. A knife makes you look hotter than you already are… like a true killer.” With that, he went past me, and without throwing a glance or two at me, he left the training grounds. My hand gripped the knife he handed to me. It had words carefully carved on it. ‘Roses have thorns’ A dip appeared on my cheeks. He was going to see what I was capable of.

Into whatever chaos he holds for me with a knife behind his back. Because this darkness, this ache and this ache I chose… is mine. Not anyone else’s. And I will not apologise for it. Not to God. Not to myself. Not to the girl screaming inside me. Let her stay in the room upstairs. I am here now. And I am alive.

The smell of their blood was invigorating and it gave me hope that there were still people in this world willing to step up and do what must be done. Will I rise or will I fall? I thought I was rising, but then I fell. I fell so hard that I wanted to die. I looked down and the knife was in my hands. I couldn’t remember how it got there. I look at myself in the mirror and I keep thinking, ‘Who are you?’ I pick up the knife again and I cut deep into my arm, just to feel the release, the switch from emotional pain to physical pain because it’s so much easier to endure.