She leaned back in the computer chair, rubbing her shoulder, which felt sore and taxed from the tedious, rewarding process of computer coloring. She was somewhat new at the art, but proud of her skills at it never the less. The razor blade sat nearby, just out of reach of her cat, where it couldn't be mistakenly got at or played with. She keeps hearing faint sobs coming from it, which makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, but she can't bring herself to get rid of it, more often she wants to somehow comfort the thing, but how exactly does one comfort a small very sharp strip of metal?
The thought makes her remember college, and the time she'd accidently put her hand in a drawer with an open shaving razor. She can't see the scars on her fingers but she can still remember pulling her hand out bright red with blood from cuts she hadn't even FELT. She shudders at the thought. That had always creeped her out, thank god she hadn't needed stitches but there hadn't been a bandaid on the entire dorm floor. How insane.
"I wish I knew what you were crying about...." She sighs, frowning with frustration at her own failure to really -know- as she stood up, pushing the chair away from the desk. "I'm going to go make a cup of coffee...I'll be right back......." he trails off and continues, slapping herself lightly in the forehead as an Tortise Point Hymalaian followed after her with wide, startled blue eyes. "To have MORE skintilating conversations with a razorblade that sobs and a cat that thinks she's a carnie ride, complete with barfing. You know you didn't HAVE to hairball all over my pants. How the hell did you get ALL of them anyway? Do you know what it's like to go through half a day at work without realizing there's hairball on your butt?"
