The Princess and the Thief - Part 2

(Read Part 1 here)

One summer night when the thief saw the princess leave for one of her parties, he entered her house through a window that he opened with the tools of his trade. 

As he stepped into her room, he knowingly tripped an infra-red sensor that the princess had installed to prevent the theft of her heart. Unlike other stupid princesses who had their hearts stolen with an alarming regularity, our princess was a fucking genius who had her Plan B already in place. 

Unfortunately, the thief knew about this. 

As the computer connected to the infra-red sensor sent an SMS to her phone, it instantly started to show a live feed through the cameras installed in various nooks and crannies of her house. The thief, passed calmly in front of the cameras and made his way to the sink under which the box containing the heart was kept. He freed the box from the sink's grasp and opened it. The pale red heart inside beat with a steady rhythm in the box. 

A smile crawled up to the thief's face and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He put his hand in the box and picked up the heart. It started to beat harder in his hand. He heard the sound of a door opening from the house and without turning around he knew that the princess had reached. He turned around and there she was, with a shotgun in her hand, pointed at him. 

"Put my heart back in the box."

The thief nodded and slowly moved his hand to put the fast beating heart back in the box. The shotgun never wavered. 

The heart touched the bottom of the box and the thief released it from his fingers. He let the lid of the box drop slowly and in the moment it snapped shut, in the sound of the click, many things happened at once. 

The thief threw a small knife, which was concealed in his glove, at the princess. The princess pulled the trigger, but the shotgun shell went haywire and in that second, the thief was on her. 

His lips pressed to hers. 

The kiss, deeper than oceans, popped her ears and set steam rising from her skin. 

They laid on the floor, the shotgun and the heart forgotten, their lips joined, their fingers intertwined, hungry mouths feeding on each other. 

They resurfaced to breathe and she took her first close look at him. 

She took him. 

Later, as they both leaned out of her window, looking at the moon, sharing one cigarette, she slit his throat with the knife he had thrown at her. She pushed his convulsing body out of the window where it smacked into the pavement with a dull thud. 

This was her Plan C. Besides, she didn't want to get any blood on the curtains.

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