There was more resistance than she'd imagined.

In movies and shows, it always looked so easy; just a flick of the wrist and it was all over.

Unfortunately, reality is messy. Life is messy. This was no exception.

She'd first been convinced to start carrying a knife by a friend, after they'd talked about the ever-increasing crime rate in their relatively bad neighbourhood. Said friend had flashed it, apparently after some guy started following her home.

The details were fuzzy, and altogether unimportant.

The important part was the consequences.

It was stupid of her to take a blade when she knew she'd be drinking, but she barely felt safe in her home anymore, let alone by herself in the big, bad world. She drank more than intended. To top it all off, she thought it'd be a good idea to decline a ride home from the only person she knew and stay a while longer. After all, who wouldn't stay with such a charming, attractive guy chatting them up?

She wouldn't. Not if she'd had even an inkling of what he'd do when they left.

He was taking her to his place, apparently. She was very much fine with this. Followed him like a lovesick puppy straight into the most remote area of town. By this point it was the early hours of the morning, but alcohol dulled whatever slivers of instinct lay dormant within her. She was giggly, he was funny, he caught her whenever her shoe tripped her up.

His body was warm, and his voice soothing. She let his arms surround her.

But then it was hot. It hurt. He hurt.

All of a sudden she didn't like his touch so much. He was too rough, too forceful.

She resisted when his hand edged her dress up her thigh. He didn't like that.

When had they ended up in an alley?

There was no-one in sight. Zero witnesses as he tore her down, exposed her tainted soul.

No-one knew when he ripped her apart.

When it was over, he left her on the floor of that filthy fucking alley. Stood by the road and lit up a damn cigarette, just listening to her faint sobs.

She knew something he didn't, though. Something he didn't find out until after she found her little handbag, left abandoned in the panic.

That cocky bastard really didn't see a thing coming, really. Maybe he was hoping for a second dose of power, maybe he just wanted to hear her for a moment longer. She didn't know, and she wouldn't wait to find out.

Her blade wasn't visible until she was right behind him, where the light of a streetlamp finally reached them. The metal glimmered; her last hope of vengeance.

She felt every fiber of muscle her blade severed, even down to the finest strands. The knife was embedded in his side. She grit her teeth, trying her best to twist it.

The sounds he made were all too human, but she was detached from his suffering. He had taken everything. She needed this.

Her brain had switched off, to a degree. She was still there, only partially in control. Half her mind was reeling from everything. The other half was running on adrenaline and the most primal of instincts - survival.

It took far longer for him to stop moving than she'd have thought. Even then, she continued to stab his body.

Eventually, she was too tired to continue. Her chest heaved as she breathed, and her arms shook and burned with exertion. Her legs quivered as she got to her feet.

She was soaked in his blood. It smothered her, setting a deep chill in her bones.

She didn't look back as she left the alley.

Her blade lay there, caked with blood and viscera, watching her leave.