Clean cut
(Translated from the Catalan/Valencian by the author)
Some nights don’t end in bed — they end further down. This is a taste — or a warning — from a larger project where desire bleeds into violence. It’s not a story for everyone. But relax: the world is already full of people without taste.
1.
The night hadn’t been special. Joan’s friends had left a little before the club closed. Some went off to find a dealer still awake. Others, too drunk or tired from dancing — and with steady partners — headed home. He was used to being stuck between both worlds. He had never tried cocaine, and didn’t plan to. But he had no girlfriend, and in the final hours of the night, it’s easier to find someone who hasn’t been lucky and just wants a quick fuck. Joan wasn’t looking for anyone in particular. Just someone.
Lights on. Shouts of “One last song!” doomed to fail. Half a pack of Pueblo in his pocket. He stepped outside for his final cigarette of the night.
The girl walked up to ask for a light. And what a girl. Long hair, calves tightened by heels, a red dress that left nothing left to the imagination. Perfect tits. And her ass — judging by the waist — probably matched.
She didn’t excite him at first. She intimidated him. Around her, groups of men stared sideways, while groups of women cursed her under their breath. Joan gave her a light and thought it might be a good time to start a conversation.
He was a cultured man. Enough to talk shallowly about many things, deeply about a few, and precisely nothing about sports. Not that it mattered.
— Got a light?
— Sure.
She didn’t let him hold the flame to her cigarette. Took the lighter, lit it herself, handed it back.
— Wanna fuck?
4:20 a.m. Maybe subtlety is overrated.
— Sure.
2.
A few quick drags and an Uber ride with their tongues dancing, and they were at her place. Nothing fancy. A small studio in València’s old quarter. Clean little kitchen-living room, spotless. No TV or computer in sight. A nearly empty shelf with a single book — the lack of books in a woman’s apartment was clearly a red flag, but tonight, exceptions could be made. The book’s cover was old, worn out from too many reads or just time. He didn’t catch the title.
The bedroom matched the style: sparse, clean. The bed was a Japanese-style futon. No nightstand. A toiletry bag on the floor next to the pillow. Too empty. Maybe just a fuck-pad?
— You moved in recently?
— Make yourself comfortable — she smiled, lascivious. Joan dropped onto the bed. It too smelled new. She continued:
— Take your clothes off.
Joan obeyed. This time, too aroused to feel intimidated. She took off her panties, got on her knees, and started blowing him. When she’d had enough, she opened the toiletry bag. Took out a condom and slid it on. Climbed on top of him and slid him inside.
Her movements weren’t like anything Joan had experienced before. He figured he was lucky he’d been drinking — sober, he’d have come already. He watched her closely. The way her breasts moved inside the dress. The way she stretched her neck and closed her eyes. How she slowly pulled him toward an orgasm deeper than any he’d ever known.
She moaned. He tried to hold back.
— I’m gonna come.
She pulled him out, removed the condom, and slid him back in raw. Joan closed his eyes — there was no turning back now. She kept moving, same rhythm, hand reaching into the toiletry bag.
— Yes. Come. Come inside me.
Her hips sped up.
— I’m almost there…
— Look at me.
Joan opened his eyes and stared into hers. Drenched in lust, sex, and purpose — two eyes so blue they were almost gray. So gray they seemed feline. Only when she moved her hand did he see the small box cutter. Too late. As her hips bucked and his final spasm hit, so did the cut. His semen left him at the exact moment his blood did — her blade slicing his neck, clean and precise.
The warm, sticky fluids on her skin triggered her orgasm.
Joan’s death rattle prolonged it.
Satisfied, she stood and hummed a tune — his oxygen-starved neurons barely recognized it as some old Lent-time Alleluia — as she walked toward the shower.
