I know that he'll come back soon, but I'm not afraid anymore. After all, it's just me, isn't it? And who am I to be afraid of myself? I know what will happen, because it happens every time. He'll give me a few minutes to stretch my legs, act intimidated, and beg for mercy. He knows I don't care anymore, and I deep down inside that bothers him. He knows I would do anything to have him tear out my heart and leave me for dead. But because he knows, he won't do it. No, it's not compassion, and no, it definitely isn't mercy. It's a cat toying with a fear-stricken mouse, letting the small creature feel safe, but having the upper hand all the while.
I could put an end to it if I wanted to. I could easily plunge that golden blade straight through my chest, and sink slowly before him, trying to avoid bleeding on his shoes. I wonder if he would even care, if he would try to stop me. He used to care, but what use is it to dwell on the past? I could end it all any time I wanted to, but I won't. That's the one thing he'll never be able to comprehend; why I don't slice my veins open in an effort to escape. No matter how bad it gets, I still have one thing to look forward to for the rest of an eternity.
The moment he comes back.