Page 25 of Razors & Ruin

“I caught you, treacle.” His breath is harsh and too hot in my ear, and he pants like a hound from Hell. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, but there’s something else we have to do first.”

He flips open his waistcoat to reveal a razor, the handle peeking coyly from his inside pocket.

“Remember I said I’d marry you if you only ran enough?” He extracts the razor, revealing its gleaming smile as his other hand firmly holds me to his chest.

“Here’s the thing, love. A marriage can be scrubbed out easily. A judge can do it, or even a man like me; I did it once before, with one swing of my arm. But there’s more than one way to make a mark, don’t you agree?”

My chest won’t expand, and I can’t get enough air. I know what he’s going to do, and it will hurt a lot.

Every time I opened my own skin, the sting was proof I was alive, the blood running hot and thick. He wants it for himself this time, and how can I refuse? Every other time was for him anyway.

“Please be careful,” I say. “Don’t cut too deep, Mr. T. None of this is my fault. I didn’t take Johanna. I didn’t make the monster; I only fed it. Don’t punish me.”

Sweeney takes my shoulders and turns me to face him. He swipes his thumb over the blood running from his bite to my neck.

“I will give you something I can never take back,” he whispers. “Watch.”

I lean against the lamppost, pinioned by fascination as he shrugs off his coat. He unbuttons his cuff and rolls his sleeve, showing me the smooth skin of his forearm. His veins are meaty and thick compared to mine, so vitally alive.

The cutting edge of the razor gouges with artful fineness as he carves. It’s like watching an engraver or artisan; beneath his ministrations, the lines form a word.

NELLIE.

“Mr. T.,” I whisper. “How splendid. How rare!”

“I’ll be dead and rotten before those scars fade, my pet.” He reaches for my hand, the blood running into my palm. “Until then, there’s no return. Now, are you doing yours, or am I?”

I remove my jacket, holding out my arm. “Please.”

He doesn't flinch as he cuts me, but neither do I, and as my cold skin burns, his new name flares red over the faded remains of the old one.

SWEENEY.

“You got one more letter,” I say, my voice shaking in pain. “No fair.”

He catches my weak smile and takes my arm again. “Allow me to redress the balance.”

Beside the last E in my name, perilously close the the artery, he makes an addition: a small heart, spiky and strange, but mine for eternity.

He helps me put my coat on, and we hold hands in the pool of cold light, as though we were indeed in love.

The night belongs only to us; not a soul crosses our path, but it’s not just the late hour and inclement weather.

Our path is unsafe, and no soul should seek it. Blood runs from us, enough to lighten my head, darkening the puddles at our feet.

Sweeney’s gaze, as monolithic as a glacier, suddenly surges, and he bares his teeth again as though some vicious instinct resists the twisted intimacy we’ve found.

His bloodied hand is at my throat, and he pushes me into the lamppost, smashing my head into it. To my surprise, he lets go and points at the dark grass behind me.

“Run, dammit,” he growls. “Fight me for your life, or I swear, I’ll kill you.”

14

Sweeney

Ican’t look at Nellie’s face any more. In the dark, her potential—what she could have been before she gave herself to me—is blurred, undefined.

I can lose myself in her yielding cunt and release the pressure coiled deep in my gut like a snake, but not with her madhouse eyes boring into mine.

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