Posted: April 16, 2013 by jennroig in English, Fiction, Women don't Cry
Tags: , , ,


He draws something over her thigh with the ice of his drink. She doesn’t feel it.

In a corner of the crowded bar, they have the VIP spot. He has her sitting on his lap. He kisses her back, near her right shoulder, just over the cleavage.  She doesn’t feel it.

She doesn’t feel his touch nor listen to all the noise around them. Her mind just got silent. Only her eyes are stuck on a giant flat screen where the boxing referee is finishing the countdown for the boxer lying on the floor, covered by blood. She can only repeat infinitely the words he just said to her ear, “Would you like me to kill him?” She blinks and breathes, and suddenly sees herself in the mirror that covers the wall. She’s sitting on his lap, in the VIP corner of a crowded bar. She turns to him.

– Pardon me?

He smiles at her. He´s so relaxed, his chest is so deep and he knows so well how to touch a woman… He is as fucking confident as could only be someone with a conviction of a very deep power. He kisses her, and then repeats.

– Would you like me to kill him?

He sees her bewilderment. Actually, she knows many things about him. She had to learn it when the agency informed her that he was the best client and had picked her. She is aware that he owns significant amount of shares of the top 500 companies, he manages his corporations despite he could have someone, anyone, doing it for him and he busts his ass working.tumblr_m6eaadM4GV1qaxnilo1_500 She also knows he is a sports fan and likes to buy sports clubs. But she didn’t know that he would be asking this question to her about a boxer that just lost a fight in another continent. And she knows she’s just one more among so many others. Now she is seeing his smile, now she is feeling under her skirt his hand sliding through his inner thigh. His warm hand… She feels… She is now afraid, so she smiles back at him and listens.

– That guy either can go to a hospital where doctors won’t let him die but he won’t walk again for sure. Or we could slow everything down, the ambulance… and… that’s it. What would you have me doing?

She looks back at the flat screen, where the referee has just finished the countdown and goes to the winner to raise his hand. The frame doesn’t show the fallen man but she still can see him, face down on the ground. She holds the urge to vomit and lays back to lay on him.

– Would you really kill him for me?


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