Tilda’s eyes open to Jack strangling her.
Her body thrashes in bed.
You’ve done it now, her body says, you picked the one who will kill us.
Tilda scrambles to a sitting position, clutching her neck as she gasps.
Jack sleeps sweetly next to her. Just a dream.
He turns in bed as she pants, an eye opens, peering up at her questioningly. “You, alright?” he mutters.
She wants to smile. She wants to be that girl without a string of abusive boyfriends. “Of course I’m okay,” she wants to say. Instead, she tells Jack the truth.
