• You said something to me once. You don’t remember your words, but I do. They were sharp. They were cruel, almost. It was when you were drunk. Who knew that 5 bottles would have you so intoxicated? In any case, you told me, “You know what your problem is? You’re weak. There are all sorts of things that you want, and you complain about not having them, but you’ve never had the nerve to actually try to get them. You have desires, but you never try to fulfill them. You just complain about how there’s nothing you can do, and then if anyone tells you anything different, you break down and portray them as the villain. You need to make an effort to get what you want. You need to do what you want, and act on impulse once in a while. Loosen up!”

    I’m not sure what the intent behind your words was. For all I know, you could have said all of that just to get to the last line that might have been an attempt to get in my pants. It failed, if that was the case. I couldn’t respond, amazed at how coherent you were as a drunk.

    In any case, those words hit my heart because they seemed to be true. Looking back, they were, without a doubt. But I’ve corrected my errors. I give in to impulse once in a while.

    But you clearly know that by now.

    That one day, the day that you told me I had changed, I had to nod in agreement. I had made myself stronger. No more was the weak little girl who had no clue what to do. But that wasn’t enough. You still said I was weak. I walked away that day, and became even stronger. Not physically, that’s for sure, but emotionally. I acted even more on impulse, and it got me far.

    Perhaps I went too far when I acted on this impulse. I feel slight regret, but it’s a little late. It’s your fault, really. You were still saying I was weak. Did you not see that I had become someone who was independent and tried my best? Apparently you couldn’t.

    Now you can.

    I suppose I could blame you for deciding to start a conversation with that topic in the kitchen. Not that you ever saw the possibility that weak little me could possibly snap. I guess you didn’t realize that letting me stand by the knives was a bad idea. I guess you didn’t realize how tantalizing the handles would look, and how my hands would just want to grab those handles. I guess you also didn’t realize that I was strong enough to use it. Rage provides a great amount of power.

    I do wish that we could have been friends for longer before it came to this. I do feel regret at the memory of using that knife to kill you. But at least you know for sure. You felt my strength. You cannot deny that I was strong. After all, it was you who felt the pain of it.

    I do not regret pulling the shirt off your back, nor do I regret leaving the three words carved into your back. I don’t regret leaving your already cold body on the tile floor of your kitchen. I don’t regret it one bit, despite my hands being bound together behind my back, despite the siren’s wailing and the cold looks the police officers are giving me. In fact, the thought of you and those three words makes me smile. You surely get the message.

    “Who’s strong now?”