Welcome once again, sixers! One more snippet from my manuscript Badger: A Strange Tale of Love, Sex, and Vigilante Justice, and we'll move on to something else next week. This is from the same scene as last week's six, a couple pages onward. (If it's your first visit, the heroine is a recovering Vicodin addict and the anti-hero is a vigilante cyclist with a grab-bag of psychological disorders.)
I sat cross-legged on the bed, leaving a few inches between our thighs.
In the dim light of my reading lamp, I could make out a tidy ribbon of raised lines along the outside of his left arm, like he was the most OCD, perfectionist self-mutilator in the world. Clean and uniform, an inch wide and as perfectly parallel as corduroy. As though he’d held a comb to his skin and drawn a razor between the teeth. It made me feel close to him, this proof that he, like me, sometimes did stupid shit to himself in the privacy of some lonely room, somewhere. It reminded me of my art, the obsessive strokes of my X-Acto blade cleaving paper, and the calm it brought me to get lost in the slices, the ritual, the repetition.
If you want to check out the other Badger excerpts, you can do so by clicking here.
Thanks for reading! Now head here to check out all the other Six Sentence Sunday excerpts this week!