Late Night Blues

Fiction

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My husband sucked on a bottle of red wine and stretched his legs on the sofa. “Come here,” I said. “Come here, Jim.”

He passed out. I walked to our balcony and pretended to tend to the plants. The glass door on the other balcony to our left was slightly open and I tried to peek through the gap but I could see very little.

“I know what you’ve been up to,” said Jhoanna, our neighbor.

“I didn’t do anything,” said Kevin, her husband.

“I’ll cut your dick off,” she said, “I swear I’ll cut your dick off and shove it down that slut’s throat.”

“The neighbors will hear us.”

“The neighbors should hear us, Kevin.”

“They’ll hear us if you keep your voice up.”

Something crashed into something and broke. I pulled out a pack of Blues and slid a stick out. I pinched the mint inside the filter until it cracked. I lit the cigarette with a match, took a deep drag, and kept it in.

“I’ll kill you in your sleep!” she said.

“You won’t do anything,” said Kevin. “The neighbors will hear us.”

“I swear I’ll cut your dick off.”

I heard a thunderous, fleshy smack followed by Jhoanna’s wailing. I blew smoke from my nostrils.