Closing the door to the bathroom with his shoulders as he leaned back, Dominick gripped the counter top. He wheezed his way to the ground, fingers curling around his throat in protest. "Magdalena," he rasped, turning fairly red from the effort of breathing. "Get... out... of... my throat..."
Make me! came the little voice, reverberating inside the lining of his esophagus. Why do you want me out of your throat, Dommie? So you can go talk to Miss 'I-have-way-too-man-boyfriends' out there?
"I'll settle... for being able to... BREATHE..." Dominick muttered hoarsely.
Sighing in exasperation, Magdalena drifted out, her wispy arms folded before her. "She's such a flirt. It makes me sick."
Dominick rubbed his throat tenderly, wincing until he caught several useful gasps. "At least she doesn't try to kill me."