James Mandarin

Razor

At times I sit on my bed and think.

I wonder how many cuts, breakdowns, accidents and bad days it will take to end my existence. I wonder how long my body will last until it can take no more, and shuts down.

I can imagine him; me; James, on a footpath, between two dead trees, with slumped shoulders and decaying flesh. I see my body halt and drop to the ground, like a sack of potatoes.

I don't breathe.

I don't move.

My eyes remain closed as the sunsets.

The birds feed on my flesh. The dogs chew my bones, until all that remains is nothing more than my shadow.

I'm dying.

I'm sick.

I'm tired.

I want to close my eyes and sleep. The devil cradles my head, humming a sweet lullaby. Demons dance around my bed, with smiles on their faces. The flames of hell warm my bones.

"Do you love me?" Razor asks. She sits in front of me, holding a book without a title. Her metallic grey hair shines under the room light. She looks at me with black eyes. "Do you love me, James?" I look at her fingernails, painted red, like blood. I open my mouth to reply, but shut it. Razor throws the book at the framed photograph of Chloe and I, taken at a Christmas dinner, four months ago. I flinch as glass shatters and falls onto my carpet, like rain in the middle of winter. I want to get up and fix the photograph, now lying face down on the floor. Razor smiles and pushes me onto the pillow. "Tell me you love me." I keep my mouth shut. "Tell me how much you need me." I don't reply. Her eyes darken and I gasp as her fingernails dig into my neck.

I'm drowning, suffocating. My hands claw at her hands, trying to break free. She laughs. She doesn't let go.

I fall. I crumble. I give in. "I love you," I whisper. "I love you, Razor."

Razor smiles and loosens her grip around my neck. She leans down and kisses my lips. Electric currents zap through my veins as our flesh become one for a moment. "Just remember James," she says as she removes her lips from mine. "I love you more than Chloe will ever love you."