At first, I would cut myself so deeply that my shirt would be soaked in my own blood. I used to cut myself all the time, until I learned to relax and let the blade guide my hand. A six inch blade, stainless steel, handle made of ivory. They're dangerous as hell, but nothing shaves as close as an old-fashioned straight razor.
After a quick shower, I put the stopper in the drain so I can run Charlotte a bath. Charlotte is still in bed. I head back to the bedroom and lift her out of bed, taking her across the hall and lowering her gently into the tub.
Even now, she is still so beautiful. Pale white skin, hair a cascading waterfall of black curls. Her lips are tattooed blood red, permanent makeup. I turn on the taps again, until the water is high enough to cover her breasts. She never liked being naked around me, never liked it when I looked at her.
I come back to the bedroom to get dressed. Black pants, dark blue blazer, and black knit cap. I hear Charlotte's voice calling from the bathroom. "Leo, honey? Could you pick up some pasta and cottage cheese on your way home? I feel like manicotti tonight."
"You don't need anything," I shout. "We've talked about this before."
"Please, Leo? I haven't had any really good Italian food for so long. Please?"
"Fine, fine. I'll bring you your pasta. Anything to make you happy."
I slip the razor in my pocket and leave for work. I have to creep quietly down the stairs so the landlady doesn't hear me leave. I owe her several months back rent. I get on the subway, and think about Charlotte all the way there. Charlotte and the razor.
I met Charlotte two months ago. My friends had all graduated college and moved away, scattering across the country. I tried not to think about it. I filled every waking moment with work or television or alcohol, but I was still hurting inside. The solitude was a hollow, consuming ache that never went away. But Charlotte saved me from all of that. My sweet savior, my own personal Jesus Christ.
I was walking home from work when I noticed a new store, a small place called "Book 'Em, Danno!" It was one of those coffee bar / bookstore places. I always need something new to read on the subway, so I wandered inside. There was a small stage at the far end of the store, where a teenager with a week-old goatee was strumming on an acoustic guitar and doing his best impression of Bob Dylan.
I found the table farthest away from the stage and sat down. A few minutes later, the waitress came over and smiled. Her smile was alluring but shy, and fireflies danced behind her eyes. Her body had dangerous curves, like a mountain road in the rain. I imagined grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to the floor, having my way with her in front of everyone. The thought came unbidden, forcing its way into my mind. I wondered if she had put it there.
"I'm Charlotte. What can I get you, darling?"
"What do you like?" I asked.
"I usually have a mocha latte... I just love chocolate."
"Unbelievable," I thought. "I just met this woman and she's already flirting with me." Out loud, I said "Sounds great. Bring me one of those." I drank my coffee slowly and watched Charlotte working behind the counter. She used any excuse to talk to me: asking me if I wanted anything else, telling me she needed the table for other customers, telling me they were closing soon and I needed to leave. Finally, she disappeared into a back room. I left the store and waited across the street.
Charlotte came outside an hour later. She was wearing a black leather trench coat and boots with stiletto heels. She looked like a whore. I let her get a block away before I followed. She walked to the subway and I hurried down the steps after her. I stopped to grab a newspaper out of the trash, in case she looked in my direction. She never did, but I got the feeling she knew I was there. She wanted me to follow her home. It turned her on.
