He was poison. The kind that seeped into your veins and pumped with your blood. The moment he breathed the same air as you, you were infected. The kind that killed you slowly until the moment it decided it was your time and then it happened all at once. Every time, every time you could hand me the antidote and I would refuse it. Cause I secretly thrived to have his poison rushing through my body. If I was infected it meant he was close, meant he was there. How long could I survive this? How long would it take for him to kill me? After all, the moment we locked eyes I had one foot in the grave.