Fiction

I need a drink.

I just told my bestfriend for 7 years that he's no longer even a friend because the truth is he hasn't been behaving like one for the longest time.

Anyway, I haven't written fiction in a while. Here goes:

Nina went out alone that night, she was dressed in her nines as she would on days she went man hunting. Sometimes she went with girlfriends with like-minded agendas.

That day she wore a little black labeless dress that exentuated her tiny frame and her back, a fair, blank canvas that would excite any tattoo artist. She wore her make up like a mask to hide a facade behind a sad sad smile.

Tito was the piano player at the bar that night. It had been a quiet Monday, like the many mondays that have preceeded that particular quiet Monday.

He spots Nina at the bar. Alone. Drinking hard and fast. He steps up and says hello. He's never seen her before. She was pretty. He would never forget a face like that.

He offers to buy her a drink.

"I work here, I get a discount," he said smiling.

To his surprise she accepts graciously.

By the time they got to Nina's 5th drink for the night, they were laughing the night away like college kids.

Nina lets him put his hand on her naked back. It was warm and cushioned her against the hard cold bar stool. She liked the way he made little circles against it with his long slender fingers. It was a nice touch.

She liked how he inched closer. It wasn't long before she was in his arms and he was planting little kisses on her neck, her fair shoulders.

"Do you dance?" he whispered in her ear.

She nodded, "If you can lead, I'll follow," and he twirled her around to a jazz number.

Holding her close, taking in the scent of her hair and perfume.After the song, Nina declared she needed a smoke. He followed faithfully.

The alley was dark, she smoked and he didn't. He stood behind her, as she rested herself on him. He fingered the outlines of her garter belt against her thighs before he would decide to venture up her skirt.

It was so dark that he didn't see her take out the shiny knife in her purse.

The first time she stabbed him in the stomach he was stunned. He could feel her pulling the corrugated knife out of his guts. His tears welled up naturally and blurred his vision. He stumbled and tried to blink them away. She tried to stab him again, this time it was a deep gash slightly missing his pancrease. His line of vision, got dimmer.

With every cut she felt a rush of excitement and exhilaration. By the time she stabbed him the forth, fifth and many many times after, Tito was already dead. And a bloody mess.

The night didn't have to end that way. If he was easy, they would have fucked, and like a good girl the next morning, she would have left never to see him again.

Nina rationalised her deed. Tito was just too perfect, with men like him. It was better that they didn't exist.

Tito the piano player died of multiple lacerations that night. His face, untouched, perfect in every way. His body dumped by the dumpster by a beautiful girl he had never even shared a passionate kiss with.