No pressure at my neck.
Just the look on his face,
One I've seen too many times,
And the angle of his arm.
I look down, and what I see barely registers.
A glint of silver,
The sudden flicker of knowledge,
The feeling of trust as I don't think.
I only act. One flick and I prove the blade at my collar isn't sharp,
At the risk of my tongue.
But I knew it wouldn't be.
The look, half unsurprised half annoyed, on his face is perfect,
Caught in the street light,
And I can't help but smile. All the times there's been a blade to my neck,
Always wielded by a friend,
The times it's drawn blood, the times it hasn't...
I don't even flinch any more.
And as I walk, happily pinning him, I can't help but note There's only one difference between then and now.
I know my knife carrier won't hurt me in the now.
And it brightens my step a little more.