Crimson

The One With The Nice Watch

Maksim was the one with the nice watch. The first time I met him, he exuded class—charming looks and great style. A Patek Philippe watch never looked so nice on someone’s wrist before.

Never in a million years would I have been able to afford a fancy watch like Maksim’s. He could possibly be of noble lineage. Russian royalty, maybe?

I’ve always wondered if royals bled blue. This was the main reason I thought it would be great to make Maksim my second.

He was a shy man, considering his position as managing partner. It took me three days to get my hint across that I’d like to see him outside the law offices of Gottorp & Shield.

He took me out to Chateau Eza on our initial date, and he was the quintessential gentleman. He was a good listener and conversationalist at the same time. And to think gentlemen are a dying breed.

“Your palms tell an interesting story, Olivia. See how the line beneath your middle finger stops in the middle?” I recall him telling me before the main course was served.

I wasn’t even aware my palms were facing him. “Oh yeah? What about the line?” I awkwardly replied, not liking the direction this conversation was headed towards.

“Palm readers believe that shorter lines imply a stunted emotional life. I can tell you’re emotionally distant, but do you think there’s any truth to this?” he asked sheepishly.

“To be honest, Maksim, I think palm reading is a load of bullshit. How can a bunch of lines tell you what or how a person is? Humans are complicated, and good liars. We always have to anticipate the unexpected.”

Sensing the strain in my voice, he decided to change the subject. The rest of dinner revolved around a debate about the Constitution and its pitfalls. There’s no better way to end a date than with thought-provoking political talk.

He stayed over that night, and the weekend after that. Let’s just say classy men also stay classy in bed. By our fourth dinner date, I realized I genuinely enjoyed his company. But my desire for crimson was stronger than my desire for companionship and candlelit dinners.

I took the reins for our fifth dinner date. I had something special planned for us. Maksim deserved more than Jon’s swampy demise, so I decided on an upscale venue for a sophisticated gentleman. I booked us a suite at The Ritz-Carlton.

My phone buzzed.

-Will be 15 minutes late. Law clerk fucked up real bad. Sorry. -

Maksim’s penchant for tardiness just bought me more time to get ready and strategize an exit plan should things not go accordingly.

At exactly 8:45, I heard a knock on the door. I opened it with surgical grade gloves, ready to pounce like a famished panther.

“What the fuck? Livi?” he asked incredulously before I forced the chloroform-soaked gauze onto his nose and mouth.

When he woke up, he found himself tied to the bed with four separate leather straps I got from a nearby BDSM shop. I hope he didn’t think this was kinky foreplay.

“I like you, Maksim. I’ve never met anyone as intelligent as you. You make me feel like a high school kid entering pre-law.” 

“I don’t understand. I thought we had a connection…” he trailed off as he closed his eyes in defeat. He opened his eyes again, and his gaze met the gleaming silver tint of my scalpel and cold steel knives in the corner of the room.

“You can’t do this. They’re going to find out. Do you not know who my father is?” he said as he struggled to loosen the straps around his wrists and ankles.

“I’m sure Mr. Gottorp will miss you, but he’s such a jetsetter. I doubt he’d notice your absence immediately. I’d give it three to four months, actually.” I said with a hint of distaste. I never liked the man. He was a totalitarian who only cared about Gottorp & Shield’s billion-dollar settlements.

“Are you going to kill me? Do it then! What are you waiting for? Do it, I dare you! I bet you don’t have the balls.” he snickered, but I could smell his fear from across the room.

If there’s anything all men are guilty of, it’s believing women do not have the balls to do anything. Men should be surprised at what women are capable of; we happen to have a strong threshold for pain.

Despite my brief fondness for Maksim, I’ve had enough. I got my newly sharpened knife and headed towards him. His eyes widened at the sight of me positioning the knife on top of him, and he tried opening his mouth but nothing but a low moan came out.

“Adieu, Maksim.” I murmured as I kissed his forehead, letting the knife sink deeper into his left chest. For a quick moment, I swear I saw the tiniest hint of dark blue in the pool of gathering blood before it turned crimson. Perhaps royals do bleed blue, after all.

I used a scalpel and serrated knife to carefully break Maksim’s remains into manageable pieces. I stuffed them into vacuum bags wrapped in foam and duct tape to mask the stench, and trolleyed them off to my beat-up Range Rover in the hotel parking lot. I was out of The Ritz by sunrise.

When I got home, I felt something heavy in my coat pocket. I pulled out Maksim’s Patek Philippe and couldn’t help but smile like a giddy child on Christmas day. Some blood got on the watch’s crown, but I didn’t mind. I finally got myself a nice watch.