It was just another day. The girl in his bed rolled out of the sheets with messy hair. She gathered her belongings, broken promises to see him again, and left without leaving a lasting impression. Once the door closed they’d never speak, and Cutter wanted it that way. He took a shower to get rid of the memory of her and got dressed in his usual black pants, leather boots, and a clean t-shirt. He stroked black eyeliner under the bottom of his golden eyes then ran a hand through his brown hair, which fell against his face at the worst times, such as having sex - girls loved to tug on his hair as he hovered over them.
The last accessory on Cutter was a watch strapped to his left wrist. Made from black steel, forever ticking, keeping him from wasting time on people who didn’t matter. He smelled good, too. Like a scent on the street when their doors were open, luring customers in to see what it was, tempting them to pay the price to find out.
He pulled a black hoodie over his head. The material gripped his upper body. Cutter had lean muscles, a swimmer's build, and looked like someone’s secret fantasy when standing in front of a mirror. Calculated fingers finished the outfit with a leather belt that would come in handy later.
He left his apartment on the corner of 11th ave, the name and face of the girl from the night before forgotten. There was a small coffee shop around the corner where the baristas knew him. He grabbed his coffee, and just when he was about to leave, spotted a woman sitting at a table by herself. She was reading a book next to a window with a cup of something steaming.
Cutter walked over to the table and sat across from her. His stare was intimidating, though not done on purpose. Those eyes had a way of undressing someone without touching them - entering someone’s soul without permission, and it was clear he wanted to see what was inside of her.
“Hello…” he said, intending to break her away from whatever book she was reading.
