It was an unclean kill, a spine-crunchingly majestic twist, and then something warm spilling down my legs, soft fingertips down my back.
Listen, she whispered.
All I could hear was her breath, so steady, so effortless in my ear.
The first time I kissed her, we were out on the porch, gardenias whorling through my nostrils.
She was shaking then.
Now she is so solid, a pillar of disemboweling strength, so stoic – a culling monolith with skin like marble.
I’m letting you go, she said, smiling.
Her teeth were blinding.
I slumped to the floor, the cold ceramic tiles a shock to my naked body, but the fire rolling under my skin was like comfort.
I thought about truffles melting on my tongue.
Goodbye, I thought.
She stood over me, her body moving away like smoke – a malicious spectacle.
She was too clever by far.
And I was her most finely stitched kill, the first of her collection.
Two-Face
