My desperate beg for mercy repeats itself through echoes in the empty warehouse.
“I’m about to get exactly what I want.â€? he tells me.
Right there I know bargaining wasn’t going to help me.
The rough teeth of the blade softly touch my neck. He wants me to scream, he wants me to beg some more, but I’m not giving in to him this time. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of hearing me in pain again.
His grip tightens on the hacksaw and he presses it hard against my neck, parallel to my jugular. I hold my breath as he thrusts the blade side to side. I try not to choke on my own blood, but there’s just so much of it. It’s overwhelming. My crisp white Kenneth
Cole button down, is now a crimson red waterfall. All I can do is pray that it’s almost over…