Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

But I reach my hand through the water, inviting her in
instead.
She stops, seeing me, and turns back around. Her eyes
light up, and there’s almost no waiting. She takes my hand and
steps in.
The water splashes, and she sucks in a breath as the cold
water hits her. She giggles as she comes to sit down next to me.
“Wow, this is cool,” she says, looking around at the space,
the shade of the bowl over us and the water spilling around.
I notice her white ballet slippers in the water as she hugs
her knees to her chest, and everything on her is so small.
“What happened to your hand?”
I look at it, turning it over and rinsing off the blood in the
water and wiping it on my jacket.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
I still don’t speak. But yeah, it hurts a little.
“My dad taught me something cool. Wanna see?”
Her voice is so…relaxed. Like she doesn’t know how awful
things can be.
“It’ll help get rid of the pain,” she informs me. “Let me
show you.”
She takes my hand, and I try to pull it back for a second,
but then I stop and let her have it.
She holds it up in front of her. “Ready?”
Ready for what?
She finds the cut on the inside of my index finger, toward
the knuckle, but puts her teeth on the other side of the finger,
pressing down enough to stretch the skin but not break it.
Her eyes meet mine, and that’s how she stays for several
seconds, increasing the pressure just a little.
It doesn’t hurt, though. Not at all. It actually feels kind of
good, because the annoying sting of the cut is suddenly gone.
Just gone. Like a kill switch.