Chapter 23
RAZOR
I’m not even sure why I asked Sunday to meet me.
When Blade started questioning my intentions, for some reason I only wanted her.
Not to reassure her. I’m the selfish prick who is doing this for his own reasons.
When she’s not with me, I’m wondering who she’s talking to, which proves I’m one big giant red flag walking.
I worry about her when she’s not under me, or my watchful eye, and I suppose it’s because I’ve never cared for a woman like I do Sunday.
The trouble is, she can never know because this is as good as it gets.
I could never ask her to stay with me. To be my old lady, or just my girl, even.
To move in with her, set up home together because she deserves better.
I can’t risk becoming him. It will never happen, and that is why I walk alone in the shadow of my brother because it’s the safest place for everyone involved.
Her gentle knock on my door rights my world, and as I open it, I note the trouble in her eyes and take a deep breath, prepared to slay her demons in one swift punch if I must.
As it turns out, that demon is me.
“You okay, darlin’?”
I raise my eyes, and she nods, attempting to conceal what’s troubling her.
I say nothing as she wanders into the room, her mood off, and as she drops down on the couch, her smile is weaker than usual.
Something shifts inside me, and I don’t like it, and I drop down beside her and take her hand.
“What’s bothering you?”
She says nothing, just hangs her head, and I hate the thought that flickers through my mind that she’s calling time on us.
“Razor.” She takes a deep breath, and I prepare myself for the worst. As she turns, her expression is full of sadness, her smile barely there.
“Am I your whore?”
I wasn’t expecting that, and I blink a few times before I shake my head.
“Of course not. Why do you ask?”
“Are you sure about that, because I kind of think I am?”
“Has anyone put this idea into your head?”
My tone is even, measured, but inside I’m ransacking the place as I prepare to go into battle on her behalf.
“No, it’s just, well, life here falls into two categories in my understanding.
There are the old ladies, the couples, and then there are the whores.
There doesn’t seem to be an in between and to my knowledge, nobody is exclusive outside of marriage, so it’s a simple assumption. I must be your whore.”
I hate that she even considers that’s what she is to me, but she’s right to a point. There is nothing between the two categories, and I blow out a breath.
“You’re not a whore, Sunday.”
“Not in the usual sense, but labels stick here and, well, I don’t appear to be one or the other.”
I hate how sad she is and that I’m the one responsible and I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her in close beside me. I stroke her face as I attempt to reassure her, but words don’t come easy to me; they never have.
“I can’t answer your question, not the way you want me to.”
I must be honest, no matter how it may backfire on me.
“I’m not a man who conforms. I never have, and I like what we have and don’t want anyone else.
When I met you, Sunday, I discovered I’m a one-woman man.
Your man. I’m also a selfish prick who won’t adjust his life to accommodate that.
I like it how it is. You and me, nobody else.
Just hanging out, appreciating one another and fucking until we can’t breathe. ”
“I see.”
Her sigh is almost inaudible, but sadness rolls off her like waves on a stony beach. There’s a distance growing between us, and I’m helpless in this situation.
She takes a deep breath and forces brightness into her voice. “Well, that’s great to know, but if it’s okay with you, I would rather be alone right now.”
She makes to stand, and I pull her back, panic rising inside me that I’m ill-equipped to deal with.
“You’re leaving?”
I hate how needy I am, and she nods. “I think it’s for the best.”
“I don’t want you to.”
I’m struggling here, and she shrugs. “I just need some space, Razor. But if I’m honest, I don’t want to go either, but I must protect my heart around you and a little distance may help with that.”
“But I’ll see you later.”
Why is my heart crashing out right now?
“If you’re in the bar, sure.”
She turns, saying over her shoulder, “Have a nice afternoon, honey.”
I watch her leave. I have no words to make her stay. Not the ones she wants to hear, anyway.
As the door clicks softly behind her, I stare at it for the longest time, wondering how I can make this right.
I don’t want Sunday to have space from me. I want her beside me or, preferably, under me.
But I’m not the man to promise something he can’t deliver. I think too much of her to give her what she wants. I will never be the man my father was, even if I end up alone.
I hate how empty I am inside, and my fists curl beside me, and I thump the couch in an effort to let my frustration out.
Short of tearing my condo apart, I do the next best thing and change into shorts.
Pounding the trail for a couple of hours will release some of this pent-up energy while I attempt to reason with myself that I did the right thing. For Sunday, anyway.