It's time to go (short story)

You hold her arm in your hands. The blood drips from it as you smile and look at her. See what you made me do. I didn't want it. See what you created. You approach her. The look in her eyes is pure terror, but you don't mind. You're fear itself and nothing could stop you now. You tear her other arm now. She doesn't scream anymore. You notice she fainted during the process. You slap her and she wakes up. As she wakes up, you notice her relief in her face. Like you're the first rain after a long summer. This is before she remembers what you're doing to her and the pain comes back rushing at her senses. You ask her again. See what you're making me do. I have no choice. You really don't. You hold both of her blood dripping arms in front of her. She's about to faint again but you don't let her. You hold like a father would with his newborn. Not with your hands. That would be out of touch. You use hers. You caress her hair before considering ripping it apart. Why are you making me do it. I don't want to. You really don't. You rock back and forth with her. Singing a lullaby of better dreams to come. As to why you did this, no one will ever know but her. Her head falls where it belongs. Close to your chest and your beating heart. You remember a promise whispered a long ago. It's time to go.

It's time to go.