“I can't do it, Celis,” Emilio shook his head woefully, trying to back away from the body in front of him the best he could, “I just can’t.”
Celis tightened her grip on his arm, her nails pinching his skin. Any tighter and Emilio was sure she’d break skin. Maybe that was her goal.
“You underestimate yourself, Emilio. It’s nothing new to you, right? You’re experienced.” She said it like a tease, as if her words were lighthearted, but they made his stomach churn regardless.
He shook his head again, frantically now. “Not like this. I— I don’t do this. I can’t.”
Celis ignored his protests and clicked her tongue, taking his hand in her own and tightening his grip around the blades handle. “You only have to do one, then. You can decide if you like it or not afterwards.”
Emilio shut his eyes tightly, blocking out any light, and tried to imagine he was anywhere else. In that alley they met, back at school, in his childhood bedroom. He even thought that being in the office would be better than this.
She led his hand — up and down, forward and back. The repetition and guidance was almost comforting, almost enough to distract him, but not quite. It was as if guilt was eating him alive, from the inside out.
He wished he could say it was over before he knew it, but that would be a lie. It wasn’t even close to true; he sat there, on the cold ground, with Celis guiding him for what felt like hours. Perhaps, with his reluctance, it was.
When her hands finally released his, he almost missed the warmth of her body. “There,” Celis said, voice far too calm, almost happy. “It’s done. That wasn’t so hard, right?”
He didn’t move, even as Celis stood back from him. His hands were covered in blood — a familiar sight, but something about it felt worse than before. His head was reeling, body buzzing.
He shut his eyes, and willed this moment to end.