*** Rated mature for violence ***

Raven's eyes grow wider as I approach him with the knife. It does feel good to see him take me seriously for the first time, but it's not enough. I'm too mad. Madder, in fact, than could be explained by just his behavior. There's something more, something about him that just makes we want to wipe him out and make the world a better place.

"Jamie," he says, backing away, holding his crumpled jeans in front of him. "What are you doing?" His eyes keep darting from my face to the knife and back.

"Enough is enough," I say, and then he sprints past me and out of the room.

I'm readier for this maneuver than I was with his friend a minute earlier. I grab him by the shoulder, but with him wearing nothing but his underwear, my fingers slip off his sweaty skin and he makes it into the corridor, stumbling and nearly falling. I burst out of the room and block his path to the stairs before he can regain his balance.

"Jamie," he says, spreading his hands, palms out. "Calm down. You need to calm down."

If anything, his authoritative manner enrages me even further. I squeeze the knife's handle and approach him, the rush of blood deafening in my ears. He lets out a squeak and stumbles back, then turns around and darts to the bathroom in the end of the corridor.

He tries to shut its door in my face, but I put my boot in the crack. He attempts to push it out with his bare foot, but I give the door a shove so that it opens, sending him flying backwards. He catches the sink for balance and stares at me, panting.

"Jamie," he says, his voice wavering. "Put down the knife."

"Oh yeah?" I say. "More requests?"

"What are you trying to do?" He moves aside to put more distance between us, but in this confined space there's not much options for that. He's trapped, and he knows it.

"You won't stab me," he says. "So just put it down and let's --"

I leap forward and catch him by the neck, and we both go down. He grabs my hand with the knife and tries to claw at my face with his other hand, but I elbow him in the face and then pin him to the floor. Our scuffle is short but fierce, and I end up lying on top of him, holding the knife to his throat.

He stops fighting at once, and just stares at me, not breathing, his mouth agape, his eyes so wide it doesn't seem humanly possible.

"Don't," he manages at last. "P-please. Don’t."

I'm not moving, and neither is he. The sensation of having him at my mercy is intoxicating. A single movement of my hand could end in him gagging on his own blood.

The worst part is that I actually want to do it. I want to see him bleed. I want him to be hurt. The consequences seem irrelevant. It's strange how you can come to hate someone so much in a matter of just a few days.

Where the knife is touching his skin, a thin red line appears. His breath catches, and his body goes completely rigid under mine. I also become aware I have the biggest erection ever. I'm sure he's noticed that, too. This is so fucked up.

"Please," he breathes out. "Jamie? James? Don't. You…you'll go to jail if you do this." His whispers come in short hurried bursts, while I look, enchanted, at the single drop of blood rolling down from under the knife.

"Think of Catherine." That gets my attention, and he seems to notice. "Yes, Catherine. It will break her heart."

"You're breaking her heart every day."

"I won't." He blinks. "I won't, I swear. I'll be good. I'll behave at school. I'll do the fucking dishes."

"Don't swear."

"I won't." His eyes squeeze shut and the first tears roll down the sides of his face into his hair. "Just… don't hurt me. Please?"

He shudders, and I remove the knife a little to prevent him from slicing himself. Then, I roll off him and sit on the floor. He remains on his back, staring at me with horror. That rubs me the wrong way. I've never wanted anyone to look at me like that. Come to think of it, I've never wanted to hurt anyone. I'm not a bad person. I look at the bloodied knife in my hand and force my fingers to open. The knife drops to the floor.

Is this how my father had felt? Is this why he did what he did?

Slowly, Raven pulls himself up into a sitting position and pushes himself away from me with his feet, until his back hits the bathtub. He pauses and shakes his head, as if trying to rearrange his thoughts. Then his face distorts, and he begins to sob in earnest.

"What the f…" he mutters. "You…F... Shi…You've scared me!" he bawls before hiding his face in his hands.

I just sit there, feeling empty. It's all so wrong. I wanted him to respect me, not to be afraid of me. How on earth have I gotten to the point that I have nearly killed him?

I get up to my feet. He looks up with alarm, his eyes red, his cheeks smeared with tears.

"Wash you face," I say. "I'll wait outside. I want to show you something."