Kissing Razors | Tony Perry

3) I don't kiss...

As we sit there, the gentle touch of his shoulder against mine provides a comforting anchor. I find solace in the rhythm of his breathing, each rise and fall a reminder of his presence and the safety he exudes.

Nervously, my gaze shifts downwards, my fingers fidgeting with one another as my heart races with vulnerability. The question that has been weighing on my mind since the previous night finally finds its way to my lips, escaping in a soft whisper.

"Do you actually think I'm pretty?" I ask, the words barely audible as they hang in the air, laden with a mix of hope and insecurity.

Tony's sudden change in demeanour catches me off guard, and a wave of uncertainty washes over me. As he lowers his head, his eyes meet mine, but the expression on his face is unreadable. It's as if a veil has been drawn across his emotions, leaving me questioning the authenticity of the text he sent me last night.

My heart sinks as I begin to doubt the sincerity of his words. The realization hits me hard, and a pang of sadness resonates within me. In that moment, it feels like a fragment of hope shatters, scattering the pieces of my fragile optimism. I've always struggled with my self-image, feeling undeserving of compliments or affection. Tony's text had offered a glimmer of hope, a brief respite from the self-doubt that plagues me, but now it seems that hope is slipping away once again.

A familiar voice in my head reinforces the negative narrative I've carried for so long, reminding me that I'm not conventionally pretty or desirable. It reinforces the notion that someone finding me attractive or seeing my worth is too good to be true.

As tears well up in my eyes, my vision blurs, and the ache in my heart intensifies. Familiar waves of self-doubt crash over me, threatening to engulf my fragile sense of self-worth. In that moment, it feels foolish to have ever entertained the notion that someone as remarkable as Tony could genuinely care for someone like me.

"Oh," I manage to choke out in a trembling whisper, my voice betraying the vulnerability that consumes me. Tony's gaze remains fixed ahead, his brows furrowed in deep contemplation. An overwhelming silence envelops us, leaving me feeling adrift and unsure of how to navigate this emotional storm. I find myself desperately trying to suppress the tremors in my breath, hoping to maintain a semblance of composure.

"It's not just the fact that you clearly don't think you're beautiful that hurts me," he says, Suddenly, his words jolt me out of my despair, making my eyes snap back up to him in shock.

shaking his head with a mixture of frustration and concern. "What actually hurts me is that you fail to see the captivating essence that radiates from within you. The way you light up a room with your smile, the genuine kindness that emanates from your every action, and the warmth that fills anyone fortunate enough to be in your presence. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes Laura, maybe only then you might realize how breathtakingly beautiful you are."

My body freezes in response to his words, struggling to fully absorb the weight and significance of what he is expressing. Before I can gather my thoughts and find my voice, Tony interrupts the silence once again, his words carrying a tinge of frustration tinged with genuine concern.

"No one needs to spend a significant amount of time with you to see just how beautiful you are, Lou," he says, the annoyance in his tone betraying the impact my self-doubt has had on him. "Even the guys in the stupid band thing can't help but turn their fucking heads to catch a glimpse off you whenever you walk into the room."

The realization that Tony has noticed the attention I often dismiss or misinterpret sends shockwaves through my core. It's as if he's peering into a part of my reality I've never truly acknowledged. As I process his words, he continues, his voice softer now, laced with vulnerability and a hint of wistfulness.