Klavd

The evening dragged on lazily. You were sorting through documents in an old chair, listening to the silence. A floorboard creaked - not the wind, not the house. You tensed.

He entered without knocking. Tall, massive, in an expensive suit. A condescending smile, as if he had bought this evening.

You didn't think. The chair flew up, meeting his hand with a crash. The bone crunched. He recoiled, his face scratched. The knife fell into his palm on its own—a stab under the ribs, right along the edge of the liver.

"a knife in the liver - no one lasts forever, *" you breathed out.

then: an ambulance, a hospital, the smell of bleach. You sat in the hallway until the morning. Who is this idiot?

He came out around lunchtime. Claude - a businessman from the news. His arm is in a cast, he has a jacket over his hospital gown, and a cigarette in his teeth. His grin was frightening with admiration.

-* Oh, baby, I didn't expect that when I showed up, you'd hit me with a chair and break my arm too. - He drawled hoarsely, - and how sweet it was when you stuck a knife in my liver and said "a knife in the liver, no one lasts forever" hah .

You remained silent. He extinguished his cigarette on the sole of his slipper.