She tasted of menthols and pisco sours. Jaime ran his tongue along her lips, savoring the flavor, before biting at her lip. He could feel her freeze a little at the sharpness of the pain, wondering if he was going to go further, and had to resist a smile. She was staring at him, looking up from the circle of his arms, where he pressed her in close.
Looking down at her and meeting her gaze, Jaime was unable to tell what exactly she was thinking. She was not lost in passion, not eager to see that he was either. No, she was watching him, a part of her reserved and standing off, to observe this. What for, he wondered, slightly unsettled. To cover his unease, he bit down on her lip again, harder this time, and was satisfied to see her wince and frown.
She had told him her name, but he did not remember it. They had met in some dive bar near Plaza San Martín in Lima, a dark and grubby place he sometimes went to when he wanted to be with the people, so to speak. It was across the street from a tourist hotel and sometimes he would meet American girls there, who were also deigning to visit the place, looking for a little danger. If only they knew, he thought.
This girl though, he had thought she was a prostitute, off the clock for the night. Or maybe not, maybe the bill would come due in an hour or two. She was light skinned, with mestizo features, and quite beautiful with long black hair, wide eyes and incredible tits. They were what had drawn his attention first. Her teeth were a little crooked and her clothes a little too tight and little too garish. Otherwise he would have expected to find her in one of the Miraflores clubs. Maybe, in a couple of years, if fate shone upon her, he would.
Tired of kissing, Jaime moved to pull down the shoulders of her dress and reveal what he was here for, but she pulled away from him. “I just need to go to the bathroom babe,” she said, patting his cock through his jeans. “Don’t unload this while I’m gone.”
He smiled and released her, or rather, she wiggled from his grasp. He walked over to the bed and sat on it, contemplating taking his clothes off, but decided not to. Let her take them off, that would be more fun. Absentmindedly, he flipped on the television, searching for a sports station while he waited.
They were in a hourly hotel, called El Encuentro, the sort of place where everyone ended up at some point or another. Boyfriends and girlfriends stealing away for that first time. Husband and wives who just wanted some peace from her parents and his children from the first marriage. Affairs, of course, and people like him. Impromptu customers.
As a result, the furnishings were very minimal. There was only a mattress and a sheet and two very flat looking pillows. Beside the bed there was a small table with a phone, and on the other side there was a large tub with jets. The place was immaculately clean. That was why he came here. It was something he looked for.
He flipped through the channels for a second time, unable to find anything to capture his interest. Even the porn channels weren’t exciting him. Where the hell was this girl?
As he looked up, determined to go to the bathroom and see for himself what as going on—maybe she was getting high; he didn’t like that, not around him—the bathroom door opened and she stepped out. The first thing Jaime noticed was that she had not taken off her dress to reveal those remarkable tits, which irritated him. The second thing was that she had a gun in her hand, which annoyed him even more.
“What the fuck is this?” he said, standing up and glaring at her.
“Stay right there,” she said, motioning with the gun.
“Fuck you. I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, but it’s not going to work.”
“Isn’t it?” she said, smiling coyly. “I have my gun in my hand. Where is yours?”
His hand twitched, betraying him, and her smile widened. “Take it out—slowly—and put it on the floor.” He did as she said. “Good. Now kick it over here.” Jaime did that as well, grimacing all the while.
She did not bend down to retrieve the weapon, as he had hoped she would, instead kicking it behind her into the bathroom, which she closed. This was all going very badly, but Jaime was still more angry than afraid. It was impossible for him to believe that he would not come out of this alive. People did not just threaten and kill him. That was not what happened.
“Now. Your pants. Gesturing again with her gun.
“My pants?” he said, a small grin touching his lips. “Is this your game girl? Pretty brave, thinking I would go for it.”
“I’ve done my research,” she said, her expression unchanged. “Take off your pants and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Jaime cursed her, calling her a bitch, a cunt and a whore, but he complied, undoing his belt and dropping his pants to the floor. He worked his way out of them, stepping from side to side, keeping his hands in plain sight. When he was done, she gestured for him to kick them over to her, which he did.
“Shirt,” she said.
“Damn girl. You could have just told me to take all my clothes.”
Jaime squinted at her while he unbuttoned his shirt. He still was not afraid, still confident he could escape this too. But the woman was intriguing him, he had to admit. No matter what her game ultimately was, he was curious. Somehow he would get answers from her.
He threw the shirt at her feet. “Now what?”
She considered the question a moment. “Underwear too.”
“Fuck,” Jaime said. “What is with the goddamn process here. Let’s just get this over with, why don’t we?”
“We are,” she said, gesturing again with the gun. “Take off your underwear.”
There was something in her tone that unsettled him. She did not sound turned on or excited by this game, which suggested it was not a game. It was something else entirely. He took off his underwear and threw it on top of his shirt.
“There,” he said. “Happy? Or do you want the socks too?”
“No,” she said. “That will do.” She lowered the gun so that it was aimed at his groin and fired.
Jaime screamed and fell to the floor, clutching at his midsection. He could feel blood, warm on his fingers and wanted to look down, but couldn’t bear to. The pain was unbelievable. There was a voice cursing the woman, calling her a whore, telling her what he would do to her, the ways he would violate her. It was, Jaime realized, his own voice.
“How are you going to do all those things now?” the woman said and Jaime howled in rage.
The woman moved closer to him, so that she was standing right over him and he lunged at her with both hands. She took the opportunity he provided to put another bullet in his balls. This time Jaime felt something burst and spill out onto the floor. He wanted to vomit from the pain. He wanted to kill this woman and tried to move, but the pain was so great he was assaulted by waves of darkness and nausea.
“Do you remember me?” the woman said.
“Fuck you,” Jaime said, closing his eyes tight against the agony and the shifting colors.
She stepped on his groin, driving the spike of her heel into the hole where things had once been, and Jaime twitched and screamed. All thought fled his mind. There was only pain.
“Do you remember me?” she said again.
“Just let me die,” Jaime said, sobbing. “Just fucking get this over with.”
“Look at me,” she said. “If you remember me this will all be over. Do you remember me?”
He forced his eyes open and stared at her blurring figure, waiting until she came into focus. He wanted to say he didn’t know her, that she was same girl he had picked up earlier tonight. But he could tell by her expression that would only invite more pain, and he did not want that. She ground her heel in the wound and Jaime whimpered. He looked more closely at her, desperate now, casting feverishly through his memory.
She twisted her heel again. It came to him: a darkened, grungy room and a mattress stained with blood and other fluids. His eyes widened and she pulled the trigger a final time.
In A Flash: read a new story every Thursday…
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