The hot poker sent a shockwave of pain and pleasure deep in his core. He'd never felt anything so agonizing, yet thrilling. Warm liquid fell from his mouth, and he began to cough. That still didn't help the choking and the agony. "I-I'm s-so sorry." The girl--his girl--whispered. She held him close to her, apologizing silently and hysterically in his ear. He stared into her tearful blue orbs with his brilliant hazel ones, and admired her red hair that shone beautifully in the pale moonlight of that night. The moon was full. In fact, it was a blue moon.
He found it ironic that she was killing him, rather than vice-versa. He was the crazy psychopath thirsty for murder. He was the insane and morbid one. Yet, she had shocked him again. She was the most unpredictable person he'd ever met in his entire life. That's why he liked her. Or, liked her as much as a psycho could've.
What he felt towards her wasn't love. It was obsession and powerful urges to destroy her fragile body and mentality, and take away her innocence, something which he had done uneasily and successfully. But, their 'love-making' was anticlimatic, something he'd expected. The one thing that his mind was deprived of was sexual attraction. Rape wasn't as fun as those molesters put it to be. What really was climatic, though, was the way she screamed when his hand contracted with the side of her face. Climatic was the abuse. He needed to abuse her. It was all in the games they played.
"It's okay darling. Remember what I said to you?" He asked hoarsely. He unfolded the pocket knife that he had skillfully hidden in the palm of his hand that day and stabbed as hard as he possibly could in her back. The effect was immediate. She began to choke, and started falling on top of him. They both landed in a pool of their intermixed blood together, she gasping for air and he casually stroking her hair.
"We're going to die together."