I was still the prey, waiting for her to attack as I sat on my bed unblinking, holding a candle in one hand and a knife in the other. I was ready.
But I wasn't, not really. I'd never really be ready for my poisonous, murderous ex girlfriend to arrive and attempt slitting my throat. I could never be ready, not even as I saw a figure climbing through my window and reacted far too slowly, throwing my knife at it.
It slammed into the window, shattering the glass and continuing to fall down, down, down into the yard below. When she emerged, she had some scratches on her- from the knife or from the broken glass, I didn't know, nor did I care- but she was still armed with her knife. And I felt very, very aware of how unarmed I was.
She took her elbow and pressed it against my throat, pinning me to my bed. I struggled, but it had no effect. I couldn't even scream; she was cutting off my air supply, and I couldn't make more than choked, incoherent whispers.
I could still smell the rose perfume, attacking my nostrils. Her golden hair fell into my face as she pressed the knife lightly against my skin. I tried to scream again, and failed. Pain ripped against my throat as she drew the blade across in one swift motion. Something damp and sticky collected on my neck, on the sheets beside me. The blood poured so quickly... I was so tired... the roses smelled so sweet...
I'm sorry, she whispered. I love you. And maybe I believed her. Maybe I didn't. Maybe I wasn't alive or alert enough to really form an opinion. But she pressed her lips against mine as she lay a rose on my chest, and I tasted roses.
Roses, I mumbled against her lips, delirious, and I repeated it over and over as the life seeped from me. Roses.