Page 10 of Protected By Razor

I caught him looking on day two.

I’m in the kitchen, up on my toes reaching for a mug on the top shelf, my top riding up. When I turn around, his eyes are on the bare strip of skin above my waistband, and they don’t move fast enough.

I see him see it. I see him decide not to look away the second he should have. And then a beat later he does, but the beat was there.

I take my mug down and make my tea, and my hands are trembling so badly I slop water onto the counter.

Nothing is happening. That’s what I keep telling myself. He’s here because Kate asked him to be here. He’s here because someone’s threatening me. He’s here because he’s a good man doing his sister a favour, and the looking means nothing because it’s been ten years of him making a point of not looking and nothing has changed and I am thirty seconds from walking into the living room and asking him to leave before I embarrass myself by doing something I can’t take back.

I don’t. Obviously. I never do.

Greg knocks on the second evening.

I hear it from the bathroom — three quick, one slow — and I freeze with my toothbrush halfway to my mouth. Shoulders up. Stomach tight. Already rehearsing the smile.

I rinse fast and come out into the living room. Razor is on the couch. He hasn’t moved, but he’s watching the door.

“It’s my landlord,” I say quietly. “I’ll handle it.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me.

I open the door six inches. Not more.

“Hey, Greg.”

“Hey, Darcie!” He’s all teeth, holding nothing — no clipboard, no tools, no excuse, but he’s about to make one up. “Just thought I’d swing by, see if everything’s okay with the radiator? I know it was making that noise??—”

“It’s fine, Greg, thanks. I’d let you know if it wasn’t.”

“You sure? Because I can pop in and??—”

“Honestly. All good.”

I’m smiling. My voice is light. I am performing for him exactly the way I have always performed for him.

He opens his mouth to say something else, and his eyes flick past me into the apartment and catch on Razor.

I watch him do the math. I watch his smile go thin.

“Right. Yeah. I’ll?— let you get on with your evening.”

“Thanks, Greg.”

I close the door. Lock it. Lean against the wood for half a second longer than I should and pull myself together.

When I turn round, Razor’s looking at me.

“How long has he been doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Knocking on your door for nothing.”

I lift one shoulder. “Since I moved in. He’s harmless enough…mostly?.”

“Has he been inside before? When you didn’t want him to be.”

“Yeah, he creeps me out. But he’s also my landlord, so I have to be nice.”