I woke up to a searing, white-hot pain in the middle of my chest. I only knew consciousness for a second or two, as I realized the searing pain was due to a butcher knife that had been plunged into my heart. For the first time in my life (which was apparently over), the knife was literal and not metaphorical. I panicked and reached up, trying to pull the knife out or grab the arm which was crushing this knife into me. To my astonishment, my hands went right through the knife like it wasn’t even there. I tried to wrap my hands around the throat of the person stabbing me. My hands went right through the throat as well. In that instant, I saw the face of my attacker. I was mortified to realize my killer was YOU, my lover. Or the man I thought was my lover, and apparently had been until…30 seconds ago.
I saw your face, contorted in anger, and your eyes, black with hate. How did that happen? When we went to bed, you were warm, happy, and flirtatious. We had a great evening, which ended with me in your bed. Or you in mine, to be more precise.
I stopped flailing and trying to grab things. I realized the white-hot, searing pain was gone. Apparently this is what death feels like. How was I still aware if I was now dead? There was no “white light” and no black shadows chasing me–there was or nothing at all. What the hell was I supposed to do now?
You got off of me. I realized you had been sitting on me, holding my arms down while you brutally murdered me. As you rose away from me, I felt an irresistible pull, and could not help myself from following you. I watched you wash off the knife, peel off your bloody clothes, and shower. How can you be so calm after what you just did? What do you plan to do now?
Most importantly, how do you think you can ever feel safe, since I am apparently connected to you? I may not be able to touch anything or be seen, but I will find out how. I will find a way. And when I do, I will do whatever is necessary to sever this link. You may end up just like me. In the meantime, I will follow you home.