Last Violent Call

by Chloe Gong

Roma was better at negotiations anyway, so she preferred it when he did the talking. According to one man whom they didn’t work with anymore, Juliette was “scary” and “too easily prone to making threats.” He hadn’t been wrong, per se, but that still wasn’t very polite.

“I only came outside to get my shirt back. You’ve left me shivering like a sad little ragamuffin.”

Science could tell him that the ground was below his feet and the sky was above his head and the early light of day was upon his back. Roma wouldn’t listen. To him, Juliette was the sun.

Rather unceremoniously, Roma dumped the attacker’s body into a canal. “This is terrible,” he grumbled under his breath, dusting his hands off. “The poor fish.” “The poor fish?” Juliette echoed. “We’re feeding the fish so many good nutrients. This is going to be the best meal they’ve had in years. Delicious human meat.”

He waited for a few seconds before saying, “It was adequate. Good conversation?” “Absolutely,” she replied, at the same time that the receptionist grumbled, “No.”

“Did you kick your husband onto the sofa?” “That’s ridiculous—I would never kick him onto the sofa,” Juliette replied. “If he ever angers me, a better punishment would be for him to continue sleeping next to me, feeling the power of my wrath.”

When he kissed him, it was like breathing a deep gulp of summer air, like the first fall of snow landing crisp and cold on his skin.