“Put that down,” I say, as gently as I can. I take a step toward her. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
She shakes her head, tears welling up, and backs up until she’s pressed flat against the pantry door.
“I’m not going back in there,” she whispers, and the words are razor-sharp.
I glance down the hall. “He’s not going to hurt you.”
“I don’t care!” she shouts, voice cracking again. “You two are insane! You can’t just do this kind of shit!”
I reach for her, slow, hands wide, but she jerks the knife up, the blade trembling so hard I half-expect it to snap.
“I’m serious!” she screams. “I’ll cut your balls off! I’ll cut both of your balls off. I swear, I’ll?—”
There’s a crash from the bedroom. Something big. Maybe the dresser tipping over, maybe just a final, catastrophic loss of self-control. Marnie flinches, her breath hitching. She looks at the knife again, and her eyes flash again with pure fury.
She bolts, out of the kitchen and down the hall, knife still in hand, big tits bouncing as her ass sways. I run after her, wincing every time my heel hits the floor. I’m shirtless, blood dripping onto the waistband of my sweats, and all I can think is: I have lost every last bit of control.
She bursts into the bedroom like an avenging angel, knife held high, hair streaming out behind her. James is standing over the bed, one hand pressed to his ribs, blood streaking his face and chest. He turns at the sound, and for the first time in his life, I see him flinch.
“Stop,” she screams. “Just stop it or I’ll cut your balls off!”
We all freeze, the three of us: Marnie, nude and lush, knife raised; me, bloodied and winded, crouched in the doorway; James, breathing hard, arms up but backing away.
Obviously, I’ve lost complete control of the situation.
The room is a disaster. Broken glass everywhere. The mattress half off the frame. The closet doors ripped off their tracks. Blood smears on the wall and streaks on the carpet. But none of it matters. The only thing that matters is the knife in her hand, and the look in her eyes.
“Put it down, Marnie,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”
She laughs, brittle and wild. “You think I won’t use it? I’m going to dismantle both of you, starting with your dicks! How would you like that, huh?”
James licks his lips, slow, measuring. “You don’t need to, baby girl. We’re done. Okay? Our dicks are safe. Our balls are safe. We’re done.”
He holds up his hands, palms out, and for a second the mask cracks. I see something raw in his face—shame, maybe, or fear.
Marnie’s arm drops a fraction, but she doesn’t lower the knife.
“You two are animals,” she sneers. “You don’t care about anything. You’d kill each other, just to win.”
James wipes blood from his mouth, and shrugs. “Probably.”
I step into the room, careful, every muscle ready to dart if she swings. “You win, Marnie,” I say. “Just put it down. Please.”
She looks at me, and for a second I think she might cry, but then she straightens her back, chin up, knife still aimed square at my chest.
“Not until you both calm the fuck down,” she spits. “Not until you get it through your heads that I am not a prize. Not a fucking thing to be fought over.”
We stare at each other, a triangle of violence, no one moving.
Finally, James lets out a shaky breath, then sits down on the edge of the ruined bed, wincing as he does. He looks smaller, diminished.
“I’m sorry, Marnie,” he says, and he means it. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just when I saw you with him, I lost control.”
I glance at her, then at him, and a wave of shame burns up from my gut. I want to say I’m sorry, too, but it sticks in my throat.
Marnie stands there, trembling, knife still up, but she’s in control now. She’s the only one who is.
We wait. No one talks. The blood from my nose ticks off my chin and onto the carpet, each drop a bright crimson stain.
