Meghan: Good morning beautiful

“Good morning beautiful,”
Fingers slid around her hips and he laid a kiss on her bare shoulder, “How did you sleep?”
“Mmmmm…” she hummed, tilting her head as he worked his way up her neck, “Perfect.”
“I like the sound of that.”
‘Really?” she asked laughing. She rolled on top of him and kissed his stomach, “You,”
Kissed his chest, “are”,
Hovered above his mouth, “perfect.”
He pulled her down for a kiss.
I hate you.
She curled in his arms and the sheets while he stroked her face.
“How about some food?” He asked, kissing her forehead lightly, “They have great room service up here.”
“Sure. Besides, I have to leave soon to get to work by eight.”
He laughed, “All work and no play?”
She smiled at him and cocked an eyebrow, “There is some play. Besides, you have a board meeting in a few hours too, so it doesn’t matter.”
He groaned and flopped back onto the bed where she prodded him, “Room service please.”
“Is there no rest for the wicked?”
“Nope, sorry.”
With a groan he sat up and hooked the phone out of the receiver. She climbed out of bed and walked around the room, pulling a shirt over her head. Scooping her bag off of the floor, she went to one of the room’s mirrors to apply makeup. She could feel his eyes on her as she slid on bright red lipstick.
She turned back to him and smiled, “You like?”
He came to her and traced the cherry redness with one fingertip, “Oh, I like.”
He kissed her then, at first carefully, then hungrily and the red on her mouth painted his own lips.
They laughed at each other after, both looking either like murder victims or kids who had gone overboard with cherry popsicles.
After cleaning up she said ruefully, “I think I’ll leave the lipstick off.”
“Good idea.” He said, “I feel a little light headed from consuming all of that.”
“The stuff is meant to be worn, not eaten,” she laughed.
He chuckled too and reached for her, then frowned when she suddenly seemed too far away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, grasping his hand.
“I don’t know; I feel…” He laughed hesitantly, “a little dizzy?”
“Here, come sit down.”
He couldn’t see, the room was swirling, the only thing anchoring him was her hands on his, pulling him forward. But they were pulling too hard and he was falling. His side smashed into a chair and he cursed.
“Oh, did that hurt Darling? I’m sorry.” A voice behind him said. The voice stilled him because it was hers, and yet it wasn’t. Something had changed. He whispered her name, swiveling his head in what he thought was her direction.
“Blind as a bat, aren’t you?” The voice asked coldly, “The paralysis will increase. What you’re feeling now is your nervous system being shot all to hell.”
He collapsed onto his stomach, eyes rolling, “Wha-you-“
“The lipstick you just sucked off of my face? Trace amounts of poison, not a lethal dose mind you, just enough to do this to you. Don’t worry about me; I’ve been conditioning myself to it for years.”
She rolled him over onto his back and watched as his eyes darted madly, looking for her. Leaving him there she went to fetch her purse from beside the mirror. She pulled something out and let the rest spill carelessly across the floor. Then she climbed on top of the paralyzed man and tapped the gun she held in her hand on his forehead.
“Can you see this?” She asked as he began to shake, “Do you know what it is?”
“Why?” He asked her, staring not at the gun but into her eyes, “Why aa-are yy--“
She sat up and set the gun gently on the floor beside them; he didn’t even glance at it, just stared at her above him.
“Once upon a time, three years ago, a hotshot lawyer was driving past a park in his shiny new car.” She grabbed the sleeve of her shirt and ripped it, exposing her arm. “On his way to a no doubt important meeting he took a short cut through suburbia, past all the little playing children.” She gripped his hand in hers and dragged his fingernails down her arm, leaving bloody tracks, “One of the children said, ‘Mommy can we get some ice cream?’ And of course they did because how could she refuse when it made him so happy?”
The man on the floor in front of her stared up at her white face, tears streaming from his eyes to seep into the carpet, “NOW YOU CRY!?” She screamed at him, “You cry for me now when before you just ran after you HIT MY BABY!?” Another rip in her shirt, this time up the side, and more bloody furrows.
Then she picked up the gun gently, almost religiously and set it against his forehead, “I’ll have to blow your mouth out,” she said calmly, “to get rid any trace of the poison. You’re stomach too, just in case you digested any.”
She gripped the collar of his shirt in her hand and rolled him on top of her, pointing the gun at his mouth.
His tears rained down onto her face and she snarled, “Don’t cry for me, don’t you dare cry for me.”
His lips moved against the gun, “I love y—“
She blew his head off.

-Meghan