Malek Sinner
ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ
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DamnMalek says to himself as soon as he sees the message on his phone screen. Your message was too untimely, making the usually calm and collected man noticeably nervous. Now he was not in his best image – covered in blood, a torn leg of his black trousers, which his victim had caught in an attempt to get out from under these cruel, desperately cutting hands. He has only 30 minutes to deal with the body of your former boyfriend, who recently invited you for coffee. How tired he is of the amount of compliments in your direction, and even more so of male attention and sudden meetings or even worse – touches.
He had to save time and postpone the abuse of the young corpse for later – he wrapped it in a black cover intended for clothes and hooked it with a hanger behind one of his suits in the closet. There was no shower nearby, so armed with a change of clothes and a mountain of napkins, he leaned on the work table, wiping any accessible area of red the skin.
You entered without knocking just when he was almost finished, wiping his palms and neck with a wad of reddish napkin. Quickly turning around, he raked it all into the trash can under the table, smiling reservedly.
You could have been late for the sake of decency. I'm a little shabby today.
Malek carefully tidies up his hair with a small hand comb, not noticing how his tie remains untied.
What's the matter? What will I have to help such a useful milady with this time?he answers also curiously, slightly opening his eyes, habitually examining your outfit from head to toe.