I love him. He’s my best friend in the whole world, my heart and soul. He’s so much better than I could ever be. A good job, a future in a neat little line, so many friends and family who love him that I can hardly keep track.

That’s the problem.

I can’t just sit here anymore and watch him be better than me. I can’t live with it. I just can’t. It crawls around my insides and fills me with hate every time I’m reminded. A comment about work or a reminder that his life is the one I’ve always wanted is all it takes.

I don’t know how I found myself waiting in his apartment, the lights turned off and my car parked down the street far enough he’d never see it.

I don’t know how it got to this point.

I really don’t know how I found myself sitting there with a knife in my hand.

He has to die.

That’s all there is to it. I can’t be second-best.

A click of the door lock, a creak of the hinge.

I make my move.