Razor Ch. 03

"I will go, but I will tell you one more thing," she said "she loved you and your mother as much as I've ever seen anyone love another person, and as far as I've been able to piece together, Wendy went to your home to try to make peace with all of you, to ask to be allowed to come back home. Something happened that made her go from the happy girl that left our room to the sad girl who decided to jump off that bridge, and I suspect you know what that something is?"

I didn't look up, I just sat there locked in my own memories, with fourteen years of blaming myself for not standing up to my father added on top of it. I wasn't there for that specific confrontation, but I could well imagine the scene, the words, the angry contempt from my father's side. There had been so many fights, all ending in disastrous consequences, the last one I'd been around for leading to Wendy being excluded from the family, because she was unnatural, a child of Satan.

I shook my head and held a hand up to stop her, to ask her to go away, to leave me alone. I heard her steps as she walked out, but before she left my room she stopped.

"I'm sorry," she said with a low voice "I'm sorry for the things I did then that might have sent her to her death. And I'm sorry for causing you pain now. I felt I needed to tell you, to reach some sort of closure. But still, I want you to know that I'm really, really sorry..."

She walked away and I put my head on the table, trying hard to fight back the tears, but as unable to stop them as I was to stop the thoughts and the memories of my sweet baby sister, always loved, never forgotten.

* * * * *

I walked away hoping that my words about "building a stronger foundation after tearing things down" were true, not just for me, but also for William. The sadness I had seen, or perhaps more like felt, hidden pretty deep inside of him had been uncovered. I wasn't surprised that it was connected to his sister, and I wasn't surprised that his feelings were that strong still. My own feelings about Wendy were probably almost as strong, and very complex in their nature. I hadn't seen, hadn't understood that she loved me, not like the sister I considered her to be, but truly love-loved me. And when I did understand it was already too late, she was already gone. I suppose I could thank Wendy for a lot of things: helping me understand my need for other people, making me appreciate the hilariousness of life and, above all, teaching me that life and love is precious. In just a few months she managed to open my eyes and my mind, educating me in ways that no book had ever been able to.

I fled the house and the room we had shared, in desperation, but found that the education that she had started continued when I tried to survive "on the streets". In the strange mix of people that were "the homeless ones" there were all kinds; loving and caring people and hateful and dangerous ones. There were geniuses and mentally challenged, previously rich people grown poor, or poor people grown poorer. There were artists and science professors, religious people and atheists. Of course there were alcoholics and drug addicts amongst them, but not more than your everyday workaholic, porn-, gaming- or food addict in the posher parts of town. They were all so very similar to "normal people", which meant they were all very different from one another, but still very much the same. And of course, in the eyes of "the society" the most important thing they all had in common was the fact that they had no place to call home.

Living on the streets wasn't what you'd call a safe thing to do, but I'd been lucky in that respect...

I suddenly realized I was standing on the sidewalk, by my car, with no memories of even walking out of the building. I shook myself out of my memories; just walking around on the streets was dangerous enough, if you weren't careful.

I sat in the car staring unseeingly in front of me for a short moment. The William chapter of my life was almost at an end. I had told him about his sister, and even if it hadn't really felt like a proper closure, that is what it would have to be, because it wasn't very likely that he'd allow me to continue seeing him, not if I had read his reaction and feelings correctly. Pity about those four last songs and too bad I wouldn't be able to tell him how I felt about him. Actually, I hadn't planned to tell him, but there had always been a small chance that he would figure it out.

Those warm feelings I had just recently discovered, slightly decentered, no way near my heart, had been replaced by an even stranger kind of throbbing pain. Another song proved right, love really did hurt. That shouldn't have come as a surprise really, should it? I had loved Wendy, as a friend, and that had hurt and still did. But I also loved my three very much alive friends, and that mostly brought happiness. Love was still a source of confusion, but in the end I figured it must be worth it, if only for those short moments of joy it brought.

I thought about Sarah and the way she absolutely glowed after finding someone special, and I wished that Susan would just dare open herself up to the possibility of it too. But between working, exercising, sleeping and working some more, I suppose she just didn't have time for any sort of romance. I had seen the few longing looks that she'd thrown Sarah's way lately though, so perhaps there was still hope. Perhaps there was some way I could help guide her? It was at least worth thinking about. And then there was the mystery of Rose to solve too, there was still something about her that kept sending sharp warning signals through my system.

Perhaps my attempts at trying to fix Wendy's problems should have taught me something, but I still wouldn't "let things be", it just wasn't in my nature. I really didn't know if fixing things for my friends was a kind and unselfish thing to do, or if I did it because I needed the stability of happy people around me; perhaps it was a little bit of both?

I had made two decisions fourteen years ago, one was to stay alive and the other one was to grow stronger and smarter, to be able find ways to make the world a better place. And however much of a comic-book-cliché it really was, using my "powers" to do good deeds was still what kept me going. I had made a lot of bad choices along the way, but nothing had ever been able to kill my spirit, and with every experience, good or bad, my conviction only grew stronger.

With a laugh I started the car and said to myself:

"And I'd look damned good in spandex too, but I suppose latex will have to do! Anyone in need of a little SM? Super-Mary to the rescue!"

I drove my car to the posher parts of town again, my laugh changing into a wicked smile, my mind filled with images of a black and red super hero latex suit and a few hours of pleasurable activities. All work and no play wasn't after all really my thing either.