All my life people have called me gifted. Extraordinary. Blessed. I had all these dreams to become something. Someone. No one ever said I couldn't. No one ever said Killer.

See you soon (but not soon enough).

It's unclear who moves first. We're in each other's arms, lips locked, melded, hotly fused. Our hands drag over each other, reacquainting, remembering, almost as if we're both verifying the other one is real flesh and blood.

I respond, thoughts dropping away, like pebbles plopping one by one in water, sinking down, down into dark oblivion.

Ironic, huh? To keep that part of me alive, I have to be close to that which kills it.

What good is safety if you're dead inside?

I am what everyone always thought. A killer.