The Kiss
November, 2017
Click.
​
Click.
"What was it that you always used to say?"
Click.
​
Click.
His hands were shaking, soaked in a sheen of sweat, shining in the anemic light of the flickering lamp overhead. There was too much empty air between his trembling fingers and the gun in his splintered desk, too much dead space to risk leaving his corner. He cursed and felt the boiling bubbles of hot rage and shame fill his belly uselessly, until they burst up, up, up and his lunch was splattered on the slick surface of his leather shoes.
Click.
Click.
Click.
She stopped pacing and her head swiveled on that slender neck, slim shoulders shifting and settling in one smooth motion, as though she had all night. The delicate fur robe sank from the crooks of her elbow and pooled into a plush heap on the floor. One dainty fingertip curled into the stiff heel of a red pump and slipped it from her foot. Her stockings whispered along the floor and she slid her arms around his, smoothed those nails against and---with a cheery smile---beneath his skin.
"Oh. Yes. I remember."
Her lips grazed his neck and for a moment he wondered if his corpse would bear the stain of her red lips. What a silly thought.
"A kiss never killed anyone," she murmured along the goose flesh beneath his ear and too many teeth sank into the flimsy flesh.
There was never even time to scream. Such a pity.