There was blood on my pillow. "Oh, snap." i said. so last night wasn't really a dream, then. i actually did it. oh, well, that changes things entirely, then, doesn't it? He's really... crap."i held it... i-i did it." i said to no one in particular. i looked at my palm. it was still wet and sticky with blood. Not my blood. Honestly, did you really... no. his blood. I turn over, and with a jolt, realize the knife is sitting on my bedside table. my stomach heaved. i swung my legs out of bed and grabbed the knife, shuddering as the handle slips in the blood on my skin. i drop it down the garbage chute and go and wash my hands. as his blood rinses down the drain, i see a long, jagged cut down my palm, obviosly from him. a little reminder of last night. of him. of the knife. and of all the knife implied.