I release her hand and she pulls it away from my throat, taking the knife with her. Her cry echoes around the dark bedroom. She looks terrified as she stares at the blood running down the side of my neck.
It’s only a flesh wound. I wouldn’t even put a bandage on it, but Camila looks positively shell-shocked.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she gasps with disbelief.
“I’m not afraid of death, Camila. I never was.”
She stays limp on top of me, her eyes wide and afraid and drenched in panic. I press myself upright. When I reach for the knife, she doesn’t fight me as I pluck it gently from between her fingers.
I lean to the side and abandon it on the bedside table. When I straighten up again, she’s inches from me, her bright green eyes searching for something that makes sense to her.
“
