the sound of charlotte

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hi guys this is my first story so no haters please

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

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