6. The Slap
The Slap
Monday morning sunlight fell through the small window and spread across the spotless kitchen table.
The apartment was completely quiet. Only the coffee machine hissed softly in short bursts.
Nadja moved through the kitchen with quick, light steps.
Today she wore a silk blouse buttoned all the way to the collar and soft fabric trousers.
Her brown hair was neatly pinned up at the nape of her neck.
She was preparing a lunch box for Markus: neatly cut ham sandwiches, a small portion of salad, and a few pieces of peeled fruit.
The familiar faint scent of lavender hung in the living room again.
On the kitchen table stood a steaming cup of coffee beside the neatly packed container.
Through the transparent lid, Markus could see what Nadja had prepared that morning: sandwiches, a few slices of cucumber, a boiled egg, and fruit cut into bite-size pieces.
Markus came out of the bedroom wearing a freshly ironed shirt for the office. His shoulders were straight, the cuffs immaculately clean, the creases in the fabric so sharp that he immediately realized this wasn’t just some shirt he had yanked from a hanger in his usual morning rush.
He looked down at himself, ran a flat hand over his chest, and laughed softly.
“You really went all out with the ironing today,” he said. “Looks like I’m headed to a job interview.”
Nadja stood at the kitchen table and smiled gently at him.
“It suits you better. Makes you look a lot less tired.”
Markus looked up at her. His smile softened. Then his gaze landed on the lunch box beside the coffee.
“What’s that?”
“I made it for you,” Nadja said warmly. “Take it with you for lunch. Then you won’t have to grab something unhealthy somewhere.”
Markus paused. Surprise showed openly on his face, then slowly gave way to genuine, deep emotion. He looked at the lunch box, the coffee, then back down at the smooth shirt on his body.
The deep exhaustion in his face seemed to lift. He walked over to his wife, wrapped his arms around her waist, and gave a low, hoarse laugh.
“Almost like we’re newlyweds again. I’m getting spoiled properly.”
Nadja smiled. She lifted both hands to his neck and straightened the knot of his tie. Her fingers slid down the gray fabric and carefully adjusted it until it sat perfectly over the buttons of his shirt.
“Then leave the house looking decent today,” she said softly. “Don’t wrinkle the shirt before you even make it to the office.”
Markus leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. Nadja closed her eyes for a brief moment.
That moment wasn’t completely false.
The love, the pity, and the sincere desire to give something back to him were entirely real. She truly wanted him to have a better morning. To wear a crisp shirt, drink hot coffee, and take a lunch his wife had prepared for him.
There were simply other things hidden underneath it all. Dirty things she didn’t want to name.
A short while later, Nadja walked her husband to the door. She handed him the lunch box and added:
“Please eat on time, okay? And if you’re going to be late tonight, just text me.”
Markus leaned toward her and pressed a light kiss to her lips. The kiss of a relieved man who firmly believed the worst was over and that peace was slowly returning to his home.
The wooden door opened onto the musty old hallway.
And at that exact moment, Karl Seifert appeared.
The sixty-six-year-old man was shuffling out of the apartment next door. The Kellers’ door was almost closed when it abruptly stopped. Nadja didn’t pull it all the way shut. She deliberately left a narrow gap open.
Her ash-gray eyes silently followed his every movement.
Karl’s face had become a perfect social mask. A false, excessively friendly smile sat on his wrinkled lips.
“Good morning, Mr. Seifert,” Markus greeted him cheerfully.
“Good morning, Mr. Keller,” Karl replied in his hoarse, seemingly friendly voice.
Because Markus was in such a good mood, he lingered for another moment. He sincerely thanked Karl for keeping an eye on Nadja while he had been away. And, of course, for the money the old neighbor had lent them when they were in trouble.
Karl gave a slight nod and answered in a voice that sent an icy shiver down Nadja’s spine.
“Mrs. Keller manages very well on her own. I only… helped her a little.”
To Markus, it sounded like nothing more than polite modesty.
Behind the door, Nadja clenched her teeth in anger. She understood far too well what kind of filthy help he meant.
Karl cast a fleeting glance toward the narrow gap in the door and added:
“With such a caring wife at home, you’re a very lucky man, Mr. Keller.”
Markus laughed, completely unaware of the ugly double meaning underneath.
“I know. I still have to work very hard to deserve her.”
Nadja’s hand tightened around the edge of the door. She wanted nothing more than to step out and slap that hypocritical grin off his face.
But Karl continued playing his filthy role perfectly. He nodded, smiled, and watched Markus walk purposefully toward the stairwell.
Markus’s footsteps grew quieter until they disappeared entirely into the silence of the old building.
Nadja remained motionless, the door still open. Karl’s face changed instantly. The friendly smile simply fell away.
His gaze shifted from Markus’s disappearing back directly to her. One corner of his wrinkled mouth lifted into a lecherous grin. His heavy breathing whistled softly through yellow teeth.
Click.
Nadja closed the door and calmly slid the bolt into place. For a second, she leaned back against the cool wood.
She knew that hungry look far too well. She took a deep breath.
Then she stepped away from the door with determination, walked calmly into the kitchen, and began clearing away Markus’s half-empty coffee cup.
Less than two minutes later, there was a knock. Nadja wasn’t surprised.
She paused, smoothed the hem of her blouse, and walked slowly to the door. She opened it a crack. Karl stood in the doorway.
His dull gray eyes were blind with hunger, his mouth slightly open, and he looked at her with a disgusting confidence unmistakably directed at her.
He didn’t say a word. Neither did Nadja.
She simply looked silently into his eyes for a moment, then stepped back and cleared the way.
Karl came inside. The door fell heavily shut behind him. The moment the bolt clicked into place, he lunged at her.
He still said nothing.
His skinny, sweating body pressed mercilessly against Nadja and shoved her brutally back against the door.
Stale cigarette smoke, the smell of old skin, and his hot breath hit her all at once.
His hands first grabbed hard at her waist, then slid down to her soft hips and squeezed so tightly that the fine silk of her blouse wrinkled beneath his fingers.
Nadja stood rigid. She didn’t return the embrace. But she didn’t push him away either.
She simply stood there with her back flat against the door, her gray eyes staring emptily past his shoulder, as though watching without emotion while something dirty happened to her body.
Karl buried his face in her hair.
He breathed in her scent—at her throat, along the back of her neck, in the hollow of her shoulder where the fresh scent of morning soap still lingered.
His nose dragged roughly and hungrily over her skin like a wild animal that had caught the scent of prey and believed it had an unquestionable right to it.
“I missed you like crazy…” Karl whispered close to her ear, hoarse, wet, and disgustingly filthy. “Your tits… your wet pussy… even that tight little asshole of yours from yesterday.”
Nadja didn’t answer.
One hand hung limp at her side. The other rested against the edge of the door behind her, fingertips touching the cold wood. Her face remained completely calm, almost absent.
Only her throat moved slightly when she swallowed dryly.
Her icy silence didn’t stop Karl. If anything, it fueled his hunger.
His hand grabbed the collar of her silk blouse and yanked it brutally aside. A button tore free and dropped to the wooden floor with a soft click. The fine fabric hung crookedly open, exposing one side of her lace bra and the soft white breast stretched full beneath it.
Karl immediately bent down and pressed his stale-smoke-reeking mouth directly against her flesh through the thin lace.
He didn’t kiss her gently.
He rubbed his face roughly against her breast, sucked wetly through the fabric, bit lightly, and panted as though the mere touch of her body were enough to drive him insane.
His hands kneaded her breasts, squeezing hard, pushing the full flesh upward inside the bra—so crude and greedy that it was almost clumsy.
Nadja flinched involuntarily. She still didn’t say a word. Her eyes remained wide open.
But her breathing betrayed her.
It became shorter, shallower, held deep in her chest as though she were desperately trying to seal off her body from the inside.
Karl noticed. A hoarse, triumphant laugh came from his throat.
Then he opened his mouth and took her nipple, lace and all, between his lips. His warm, wet mouth sucked hard, drawing the bud beneath the fabric rock-hard.
Nadja turned her head aside and clenched her jaw.
The only sounds were the wet smacking of his mouth against the lace, his heavy breathing, and his old hands kneading her breasts as though they already belonged to him.
Her nipple inevitably hardened in his mouth. Her lower belly tightened treacherously. A hot, humiliating, far too familiar wetness began gathering between her thighs.
Karl let one hand slide lower.
His rough fingers moved over her flat stomach, impatiently searching beneath the waistband of her trousers.
His hand pushed deeper and pulled the edge of her panties aside. His fingers immediately touched the warm, wet slit between her legs.
Nadja sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. For a fraction of a second, her entire body went completely rigid.