fucked with a knife

[FADE IN]

[Int. Bedroom. Nighttime.]

She is laying on the bed, her hair spread around her, in a corset, ripped at the seams, fraying around her. It is tied so tight that the skin on her chest is pooling at the top and her breathing is shallow. She has a long black skirt, pooling with fabric, covering her legs, but hanging off of her feet, which are dangling off the bed, a pair of worn heels are rocking back and forth as she moves her ankles. Her chest moves up and down rhythmically, quickly, as the flash of car headlights runs continuously over the walls. She is making music to herself, a tuneless melody, half-whistling, half-humming, while her eyes examine on the ceiling and her fingers twirl around the sheets beneath her.

The door opens, and man walks in. He has a cigarette in his mouth and he is holding a newspaper underneath his arm. The man looks at her and smiles. She looks at him back, blank.

SHE
Tell me something that will change my mind.

HE
I can't change your mind. You're stubborn.

SHE
Try.

She looks to the ceiling again, licking her lips. Her breathing is still shallow, and it's making a little noise when she inhales and exhales. It's soft, and the lack of air is making her cheeks rosy. He looks at her like she's a painting, trying to recognize the artist by the strokes of the brush on her skin. It was him all along, but he couldn't tell his own work.

He moves a portion of her skirt and sits on the edge of the bed. Her hand slides to his lower back, underneath his shirt, and taps the rhythm of the song she is humming onto his skin. He watches her feet swaying back and forth, the shoes swinging.
SHE
One thing, please. Just say one thing. 

HE
Who did this to you?

SHE
I think it was the artist.

HE

Ah…

She stops humming and rolls to one side. The lights are shining behind her, so her silhouette is mostly all you can see. As her legs close together, she winces, biting her lip before she speaks.
SHE
Do you like your head?

HE
It's skin on bone on brain. It's exactly like everybody else's. Nothing exceptional. Nothing mundane.

SHE
I'd like you to see yourself through my eyes. I think you'd probably fall in love too.

HE
I don't believe in love.

SHE
I should've liked to know you when you did.

HE
I dreamt that I met God last night. He told me something about the trees in the North, and the way that the nighttime sky watches you less than the daytime one. That's why people sin in the dark.

SHE
Will you lay?

HE
I'd rather not. 

SHE

I'm assuming you won't take me to God either. 

HE

Most likely.

SHE
He doesn't even remember my name now, probably. He's too busy getting lost in your stained glass eyes.  

She takes her hand from his skin and pulls him down by the fabric of his shirt. He lays still and she slides her fingers into his palm, pushing until his hand gives in and holds hers back. She doesn't smile. He does not look at her. They are silent.

SHE
I should probably go.

HE
It's too late for you too be walking around and it's too dark for me to be trying to figure out how to solve the details of your faces.

SHE
I've only got one face.

HE
Not right now. I've never seen this face on you before.

SHE
Kiss me.

He sits up slowly, pushing off of the bed so that he is facing her completely. His cigarette has gone out now, but it still is hanging from his lips. She watches him as he shifts until he is hovering over top of her, their faces close, her shallow breath blowing onto his lips. Her eyes begin to well and his lips charm up into a smile.

He begins to kiss her, starting at her bare shoulders and then her chest, down her corset, down her torso, to her hips; he hooks his fingers under her skirt and pulls it down, showing the garter belt underneath, all black lace, hooked onto her stockings. He pulls the skirt down more and a glint of light sparks off the inside of her thighs. Lowering his face, he withdraws, with his teeth, a cold, bloody knife, that is tucked into her stocking, immediately opposite an open wound made from when she rolled over.

He takes the knife from between his teeth and, starting at the top, cuts the corset all the way down the front. It falls open. Her skin has red marks from the pressed ribbing. He sits on his knees and examines her as she begins to hum again, sliding her hands up and down his arm, staring at the ceiling.
HE
You can't have my knife.

She takes the knife from his hand and holds it above her head.

SHE
Trade me for it.

HE
(smiling)
Fine.
(pausing)
I'll change your mind.

She holds the knife out to him.

SHE
Try me.

He takes the knife and tosses it off the bed, propped up on his knees, he pulls his cigarette case from his breast pocket, and takes one out. He lights it with a match, igniting it off the bottom of her dangling stiletto. She watches him slowly. He looks at her.

HE
Stay.

SHE
Alright.


[FADE TO BLACK]