Page 65 of Razor

Sunday is leaving, there is nothing I can do to stop that from happening because I can’t go back on my vow to my mom and to the kid in me.

It’s better to set Sunday free than lose her another way. She will find someone who makes her happy, someone who isn’t me.

I chug some more whiskey, the edges of the day blurring, my heart erratic, my breathing labored as I struggle to get a grip.

* * *

I must passout because the sunlight burns on my face as I wake to a new day, still fully clothed, my limbs aching, the couch an uncomfortable place to sleep. The banging in my head is my alarm call, and then it all comes rushing back. The pain, the desolation, the anger at myself.

I acted like a jerk last night. I stormed out and Sunday didn’t deserve that.

I should make it up to her, declare feelings. It’s no less than she deserves, but I already know I won’t. I never will, and the saddest thing is, I would rather lose her than ask her to stay. I don’t have that right, and she stands a chance at a better life, away from me and the ghosts that haunt my past.

A shower does little to revive me, and I can’t face the cafeteria today. I’m a sulky bastard and my company is the only thing on offer right now.

Ordinarily, I would seek out my twin, but his mind is settled on someone else right now. It surprised me when I realized the depth of his feelings for Delilah. It was obvious the moment he walked in, holding her hand. My brother never holds anyone’s hand; in my entire life, he never has. That alone told me everything, and I wish I were more like him. Able to let the past go. To move on and be happy. But I accept I never will.

I wish I was hungry;that would tell me my body is operating on manual at least, but I’m sick inside. I lost my appetite because pain has replaced normality.

I can’t face the world, not yet anyway, and resign myself to sulking in my room for the rest of the century.

A gentle knock on the door causes my heart to jerk inside me because I know that sound.

My heart is hammering as I wrench open the door, and I swear my soul relaxes when Sunday smiles nervously at me.

“Razor.”

Her soft use of my name is the sweetest sound, and I pull the door wider, “Come in, darlin’.”

She hesitates and chews on her lip, and I draw on every ounce of strength inside me not to take her in my arms and never let her go.

She edges inside, her eyes lowered, and as she perches on the edge of the couch, her fingers tangle in her lap.

I say nothing; I never do, and as she looks up, it’s as if she stabs me in the heart when I register the hurt brimming in her beautiful eyes.

“You left me.”

The accusation hangs in the air, and I blow out a breath.

“I’m an asshole, Sunday. I never pretended to be anything else.”

It’s awkward as fuck. There is so much I want to say to her. To declare my feelings, to ask her to stay. To be my old lady, forever by my side, but my mom’s voice is loud in my mind, forcing me away from the edge.

‘Promise me you will never be him, Sean. Be better.’

I swallow the lump in my throat and don’t miss the concern in Sunday’s expression.

“Do you want to talk about last night, Razor?”

She is so sad that it hurts me more.

“You’re leaving.”

I state the fucking obvious and she sighs, patting the seat beside her.

I drop onto it at her command, always her command, and she angles her head in my direction, her gaze unwavering.

“I have two weeks. Ryder has arranged a place at beauty college. I am studying theatrical make-up; it’s more than I could have hoped for.”