“Yes.-“ she replied, giggling like a shy schoolgirl, caging in her chest a laughter she would vomit at any minute. She had to be as immaculate and laundered as she was expected to. Yet, it was inevitable. Three Hundred Thousand dollars. That unsanitary amount of money was enough for her to sign the contract. Play the stupid doll, lure, annihilate. When did she ever get into this business? She didn’t know, or at least, couldn’t remember. Cocaine had created that whitish mist that blurred her mind at times.
That morning was colder than most, the sky was tainted half gray, half lavender as it spat snowflakes at the submissive road, resembling a massive cloud of germs spinning within the wind and impregnating themselves on whatever they crashed against. Beth stepped in the clothes shop which at that time was only inhabited by its employees.
“Good morning young lady, may I help you?” A voice pierced her ears.
“Yes please, I’m looking for a nightdress, preferably purple” Her German accent contrasted with the whole place and a distant murmur sprouted from the group of leisurely employees on the opposite side of the shop. As the girl handled her a dress that seemed most appropriate, her heels tapped against the burnished fake wooden floor towards the changing room and she locked herself in it. She tried to imagine the man she’d have to kill that night: tall, short, fat, thin, handsome, feces? Who knows. The only thing she did know was that he was the one who stole the girl away from whom was going to pay her, he couldn’t be that bad. The velvety outfit matched perfectly with the purplish-brown belladonna that would poison the subject. She could see him lying on the linoleum, drugged and poisoned, she could feel Three Hundred Thousand dollars in her pocket, she could sense the white powder cramming through her nostrils until her mind vanished into thin air.
Beth briskly glimpsed at her watch: she had to be ready in exactly one hour and a half. Half an hour later, her lips were glossy, luscious and fleshy as a raspberry, her emerald eyes gleamed under thick layers of black crusty mascara and her feathery hair leaned down her shoulders in an unbending manner. She picked a wide kitchen knife and glanced at her reflection on the blade. Gorgeous.
“Spiel mit mir, futile trash”. She could hear herself pronounce every word with a disturbing politeness that hid all sorts of rage. Her hand caressed the scalpel which was held to her thigh by an strategically lustful garter. The instrument glided up her skin and darted directly into the male subject, lacerating every single layer of tissue, letting gore gush out like a stream of hate, of a ferrous tasting revenge. She forgot about the belladonna, about the money, about kokain, about everything. How could he? It was not the first time she gave demise to a human being, but this was indeed the first time she actually enjoyed it. His full lips, his angular features so familiar to her were now the object of her hatred, she loathed him, to the point where loving him seemed a scornful illusion of time. If she had had an iron maiden in which to let him agonize she would have. Alas, she could only comfort herself by dragging him to a bathtub and taking the life that was left in him by stomping his head against the antiseptic marble and filling his lungs with boiling water. And wait. She didn’t expect anyone to come for him, he was worthless. She heard her giggle echoing against the inimical glossy white walls of the bathroom, in the company of a corpse that had betrayed her deepest feelings. A three hundred thousand dollar revenge seemed fair. Her thoughts were promptly interrupted by an impatient knocking. Behind the door, the white visage of a blonde woman awaited for the cadaver to get up and fancifully welcome her visit.
“He’s not home, darling”
The blonde seemed puzzled and upset. Beth could hear her steps fading in the distance and proceeded to clean the mess. She sprayed the body with some room deodorant she found near the tub and immediately put it into fire.
