“Stop!” I wail. A plaintive, mourning, cry erupts from my throat. The sound digs deep into his skin. I can see it in his face. He doesn’t stop.

“Please,” I break into renewed sobs. He drives the knife deeper into my chest. The noise that I hear can’t possibly come from my body. Because my body is whole and fine. I once pledged my entire body and being to him. I guess he gets to do with it as he likes. The thought causes a delirious laugh to burst out of me, along with a dribble of blood.

“I’m sorry-“ he starts, almost sobbing as much as I am. “I am so sorry.” Suddenly, something warm splashes at my feet. It takes me long then it should to realize that it isn’t mine. It’s his.

A new figure stands at the door way, knife in hand.

“Are you okay?” A rhetorical question, obviously. My liberator rushes to untie me from the chair, careful to avoid the bloody wounds from when I tried to escape. He hoists me onto his shoulder.

“Wait,” the figure slumped on the floor croaks. “I’m not a traitor. I was never on your side.” Without a word, he is hoisted onto the other shoulder of my rescuer. Rescuer of not only me. Rescuer of both of us.