Heart to Heart

My eyes were wide open as I was escorted up nine flights of modern, polished stairs. The heavy smell of scented roses wafted around from their vases, placed on every windowsill. Blinds were hung up at every window, swaying slightly from the breeze coming through it, it didn't feel very homely.

The long flights of stairs reminded me of a holiday I once went on with my mother, I was only eight years of age, and every night, after a day on the beach, we were welcomed coldly by them. The stone could shatter bones and the cold could make a grown man quake in his boots. The small apartment that greeted us there was dark and miserable. I can still remember, to this day 13 years on, the revolting smell of damp and the bloodstained carpet.

My reminiscing was interrupted by being stopped by a glass door. A cold pair of hands found their way onto my shoulders, and then down into one of the coat pockets, pulling out what looked like a credit card. Razor held it between two fingers, as he would do with one of his cigarettes, and lifted it towards the door, showing it. A small red light came out of the door-frame and scanned the card, I took a step back, amazed by this. A few short movements later, the red light shut itself off and a faint hushing noise followed it. The door had unlocked.

I was guided through the door into a small, cloakroom? The room had a black tiled floor and white walls. Boots were lined up in pairs along each wall and coats were hung up on individual pegs, but, just like the stairs, it was cold. Everything in there was very neat and tidy, but something caught my eye on one of the walls, nearest another door. It was a photograph in a glass frame, of a young boy leaning on the side of a car. I was intrigued by this picture.

"Razor?" I asked, flicking my shoes off into a neat pile, next to a pair of his boots. He hopped over, trying to untie one of his boots with one hand, in order to look up at the photograph at the same time. This made me laugh inside.

"Me." he said before placing one knee on the floor in order to balance himself while he untied the troublesome boot. I was shell shocked, that was Razor! He looked so... Scrawny. His jet black hair was smothered in grease, and he was in a brown pair of slacks, also covered in grease. He was leaning, arms crossed, against a...a..

"Havoc V8" he smiled, leaning onto the wall next to the picture. I still couldn't get over it, he looked so different, so... free of worries.

"V8, bloody hell." I laughed. They were rare these days, only the richest of the rich had one, they weren't driven, far too special for that. In the photograph, Razor was standing next to a very tall man, wearing a pair of black slacks and a tight fitting white top, holding a trophy.

"When was this taken?" I asked, leaning closer to the picture that intrigued me so, paying attention to every bit of scenery.

"About, 10 years ago." he said, stroking his goatee. I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it again when Razor moved, and began unlocking the next door. I quickly took off his coat and hung it up on an empty peg, then following him through the door.

Inside was amazing. I was greeted by a warm, cream shag-pile carpet and white painted walls. There was a black marble fireplace to the left and a large cornered sofa positioned facing a whole wall made out of glass.. I walked in further, completely dazed by it all. I would never of thought Razor would of lived like this. On the right of the room, was a door leading to a very Art-Deco kitchen, complete with breakfast bar. I couldn't get over how spotless everything was, I was expecting to walk in, and see clothes all over the floor and tossed across red leather sofa's. I was expecting dark coloured blinds drawn up against the window, blocking the light and ash trays scattered everywhere. But no, it was immaculate. Razor just stood in the doorway, watching me.

"Not what you expected?" he asked, allowing his thick accent to roll off his tongue.

"Not at all..." I replied. Staring in complete awe at the apartment. His bathroom was tiled completely with alternating green and white tiles, and a large jacuzzi bath was positioned under the window. He may be a famous racer, but god did he have taste!

"Take a seat" Razor said, gesturing towards the black corner sofa. I perched on the edge, not wanting to damage anything. It all looked so expensive, and I was so clumsy, I was afraid to touch. There was a glass coffee table positioned in front of the window, or wall? I didn't know what to refer to it as. Even on this gloomy day, the light flooding in from it was incredible, I can't imagine how bright it could be on a sunny day. The coffee table was covered in sketches, and drawing of cars an tracks, and there in the centre of them all, was the one I drew, the night we first met in the Bloody Hook. I then remembered Mizo's job offer...

My thoughts were derailed as I heard a smash from the kitchen. I ran in to find Razor clenching his shoulder and 2 mugs smashed across the floor. I immediately ran over to him and put my arm around his shoulder in order to try and stabilize him. He was bent over, breathing deeply, groaning in pain. He fell onto his knees, and I followed, my arm still around his shoulder.

"Razor...?" I asked, feeling very worried, I placed my hand onto his bare chest. His eyes were closed, and there was a stream of blood running down his chest, weaving its way around his toned muscles and onto the floor. I couldn't hold it in any more, I placed my head onto his shoulder closest to me and began to cry. I felt Razor's arm move, and find its way onto my waist, pulling me closer to him.

"Stop that... I'm fine." He said, in a low, hushed voice. He opened his eyes and moved his head, so it was touching mine.

"No your not..." I croaked. Looking down at his bleeding wound, seeping from the bandages. I ran my finger along them before attempting to help him up.

He managed to stand, leaning onto me. We struggled back into the living room and he fell, quite dramatically, onto the sofa, dragging me with him. During the fall our feet tangled and it ended up, me laying on my back, with the bleeding Razor laying on top of me. It was quite a... difficult... situation. I shut my eyes, I could feel my face heating up, and most probably turning a violent shade of red. I forced myself to open my eyes, only to see Razor's locked onto mine. He smiled, and... leaned in, and kissed my nose. I couldn't help but let out a girlish giggle and slap my hand over my eyes to try and hide the embarrassment. He slowly sat up, allowing me to breathe. I also sat up slightly, leaning on my elbows. Razor had decided he was going to stay put, sitting on me, straddling me. He looked at me with a glint of mischief in his eye... I sat upright, as far as I could go, with Razor straddling me, and wrapped my arms around him, resting my head on his chest.

"We should get you cleaned up..." I said, looking up at Razors wandering eyes.

"I'd much rather stay here, like this." He laughed, wrapping his arms around me, and squeezing me tight.

"Tuff..." I said, attempting to shove him off me. Of course he rebelled, and it turned into.. a kind of... play-fight. A few pain-filled, giggle covered moments later, we rolled off the sofa onto the floor. I heard Razor's head smack down and I landed on top of him. So there we were, Razor laying on his back, pinned down, by me straddling him. I crossed my arms and looked down at him with a smug look on my face.

"I win." I said.

"Well I'm not exactly at my full strength, am I?" I shook my head and got off him. He stood up and we walked back into the kitchen. Thank god his dizzy spell had ended.

I stood in the kitchen, admiring the wide array of smashed ceramics across the floor. I began to pick up the larger pieces, putting them into my hand, and then onto the black marble work-surface. Razor had decided he was going to sit at the breakfast bar and watch my every move, it disturbed me slightly. I put the larger pieces into the bin, and began sweeping up the smaller ones, putting them into the bin also. Just a few, short moments later, it was clean again. Back to its spotless condition.

I looked over at the now wincing Razor. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. It was all my fault in the first place. If I hadn't... I stopped my thoughts there, if I carried on thinking like this, I would end up in a black bag, in a million pieces...

"Razor...? Where are the bandages?" I asked, looking around the kitchen for some sort of medical box or bag.

"Under my bed..." he said, looking up, drawing his eyes from the fixed position he had, had them. Bedroom... I thought, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. I had no idea where it would be, until I saw a small, hidden-away set of stairs in the far corner, behind the TV.

"The stairs" came a shout from the kitchen. I just laughed. Obviously! There was nowhere else it could be.

I walked slowly up the narrow stairs, being careful not to trip, but, being me, I did. I tripped up the last step and fell onto wooden flooring. Ouch... Pushing myself up and looked around the room. Just like the rest of the apartment, it was very modern. In the corner, there was a built-in black wardrobe. The bed was quite low to the ground, but by the looks of it, far bigger than the largest bed I had ever seen. The covers were made out of a velvety red material, and embroidered onto the corner of the quilt cover, and the pillow cases was "Razor". I thought that was quite sweet... The colour scheme, as with the rest of the apartment, was red, black and white. The walls were white, completing the trio of colours. I remembered why I was up there, and stopped admiring the décor. I walked over to the black leather, sleigh bed, and got onto my knees. The rug underneath them was some sort of fur, it was so soft... This diverted my mind for a moment, before I dived underneath the bed, in search of a medical box. I was flat on my stomach, and laying in front of me, was a blue box, with a single piece of bandage handing from the closed seal. Got-cha... I thought as I reached for the box.

I froze, as a pair of hands clasped onto my waist, and span me onto my back, narrowly missing my head on the slats of the bed. The hands re-adjusted their grip, I grabbed the box and was pulled from under the bed. Standing, one leg either side of me, was Razor, hands still on my waist.

"Taking your time...?" he asked, letting go, and helping me up.

"Maybe..." I said, putting the box onto the bed. "You scared the life out of me..." He just laughed, and sat onto the bed, I could see that the lights had been turned off downstairs.. Well it was 11:20... I thought. I sat onto the bed next to him and opened the box, it was riddled with bandages, clips and plasters, cream and sterilising wipes. I moved the box to the side and shuffled up, so I was closer to Razor, and began untying the tight knot in which held the bandage over the painful wound. The bandage soon came free, I carefully unwrapped it from around Razors chest, revealing the blood-covered wound. He winced as the final piece of bandage came free from the wound, I placed it, with the bloodstain, onto the floor, our of the way and reached for the blue box. I rummages around it looking for a long enough bandage to go around Razors broad chest a few times, I found one, right at the bottom, along with a small tube. I picked it up, written along the side was "Healing cream." This made me laugh. I couldn't help but be patronising.

"A'www. Does Razor want some Magic Cream?" I said, holding up the tube. He looked at me, in the most, unamused way possible, which, of course, made it worse. I curled up into a ball and laughed... and laughed, when I finally stopped, my guts hurt, only to look up and see he was still pulling the same face, which set me off again. It was a full 10 minuets before I settled down an began to wrap the clean, 'Magic Cream' covered bandage onto Razor's bare chest and bullet wound. It was slowly getting better... apparently. I tied a knot and sat back to admire my handy work. It looked okay to me. Razor nodded in agreement, and lay down. He looked shattered...

He invited me to lay next to him, so I did. A few moments passed, just laying there. He was already changed, and dozing off...

"Blyade... If you go in the wardrobe..." he began, sleepily. "You'll find a white racing shirt, just put that on..." he said, before turning onto his side. I did so, inside the organised wardrobe, was a white racing shirt, just as he said. I picked it up and walked into the en-suite. After getting changed, I placed my clothes on the floor, by the wardrobe, and lay back onto the bed. His shirt was nice and soft, and smelt of some sort of washing powder, it was really nice. Random I know... I thought to myself. Razor turned back onto his back, just like me, and raised his hands into the air, and clapped, twice. Now he's either gone mad or... The lights dimmed.

"Wow!" I said, turning on my side, to face him.

"Easily amused..." he said, with a slight cheer in his voice. Something ha cheered him up all of a sudden. He stretched out his arm, and I moved closer, resting my head on his chest and my hand on his stomach. It was...cosy...

"Razor?" I asked, as I always did.

"Yeah?" He replied, tilting his head onto mine.

"Who was that other man, in that photograph?" I asked, looking up at him, from his chest.

"Ah, the young man in the black slacks, standing next to me? Well, his name was Bayne McKlewsen. Champion of Kras City at the time..." He said, before trailing off into thought.

"Was?" I moved closer t him, until my body was brushing up against his. He put his arm around me, and continued.

"He died in the race after that very photograph, his homing missiles jammed and caused his vehicle to explode, taking him with it." There was just silence for a moment, I didn't know what to say. "He trained me from a young age. Started off with a weekend job, cleaning his vehicles every Saturday. It then progressed to tuning them up and fixing them. After a few years, when I was old enough in his eyes, he began to teach me how to drive. I started off in small city cars, then slowly got onto the less deadly combat racers. Within a matter of months I was driving my first Road Blade with the man. What a teacher he was. One day, when I was out on the track, he had a phone-call. He was the one who broke the news about my parents death."

"Razor... I'm so sorry... " I said, butting in. He simply squeezed me, and then carried on.

"They were both shot dead, at our home in West Kras, by the Mozè gang. All over the fact they would not join him. I remember, as clear as day, being pulled from the track into Bayne's private locker room, and being told. I remember falling onto my knees, crying out, unable to control my emotions. He got onto his knees next to me, and held me. From that day on, I swore an allegiance to Mizo, clinging onto every hope that one day I will get Mozè back for what he did. But now, I fear that, that will never happen, since, Mizo, just like his brother long before, is going the same way. I have no hope left." This made a lump appear in my throat. From the outside, you couldn't see that Razor had been through all of this, he just seemed to be a stereotypical thug from Kras, hired to race. I hugged him tightly, and he did so back. Maybe that's how he got so...fine tuned.

"Lets go to sleep" he said, pulling the covers over us. I turned over, onto my other side. After getting comfortable, Razor snuggled up behind me, placing his arm around my waist, holding me close, and the other above my head. I felt safe, and secure. My mind wondered as I lay there. I must ring Lauren and Alleisha in the morning, to let them know I am okay... But should I tell Jak...? Razor's rhythmic breathing echoed around the room, it was therapeutic, making my eyelids heavy.

"You should get some sleep, Blyade. A hell of a lot is going to happen tomorrow..."

I snuggled into his arm, and within minuets, we were both sound asleep.