“The knife belongs to me.” I glare at him and stand up. “I’ve spilt my own blood on this knife. It’s mine.”

He looks at me with a mix of confusion, terror, surprise, and more confusion in his bright blue eyes. He reaches his hand to it and I grip his hand, stopping him from even brushing the knife with his fingertips. His face turns pale and I think I might’ve broken his fingers.

Good. He deserves it.

“It’s my knife!” He yells, obviously extremely angry. Still confused though.

I roll my eyes. “Bitch you stabbed me, it belongs to me now.”

“How are you not dead?!”

“Uhh… that is a good question.”