“Then… it begins,” he said, reaching into his backpack.

“What begins?” I asked, my eyes not leaving him even to blink.

“Our story…” he answered, then he turned around with speed, reached for my throat and held a knife strong against my cheek.

The initial wave of adrenaline spiked through my body and fell short very fast. The calmness that washes over me in life or death situations has always frightened me a little but I think that’s typical of someone with a broken fight or flight response. I won’t say this turns me on, but it’s very hard to surprise me, and there’s nothing I doubt more than the humanity of human beings.

“I guess we’re starting off strong, huh?” I remarked with a smirk.

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” he said, pressing the cold pocketknife deeper into the hollows of my paper thin skin, “no one told you girls aren’t funny?”

I wonder if his mom’s at home watching game shows and bragging to their neighbor about her great son and all the accomplishments he’s lied about achieving.

“Do these girls normally put on comedy specials before or after you threaten them with knives?” I asked rhetorically, then quick kicked him in the shin as hard as I could.

The knife fell to the ground and slid across the room.

We turned to looked at each other, making eye contact for only a moment, and then moved towards the knife. I tripped over his shoulder but my fingers, sliced by the blade, touched the knife before he could.

He grabbed my ankles and flipped me over onto my backside, climbing on top.

“You can fight it but I’m still gonna kill you,” he said, holding my wrists to the ground above me.

“Go fuck yourself,” I said, spitting into his face, “you should really take a shower some time.”

Add him to the list of people I’ll prank call when I get famous or win the lottery.