by Elyse, Drew
Funny how I was glad about that.
Still, she’d needed some time to adjust to the feeling of the needle before striking up a conversation.
“He’s good. Seemed to settle in easy.”
“Good.” That one word was said with a hint of relief that said she really meant it. Even though he was off her and the shelter’s hands, she still worried. “It’s like that for some. If they like the human, they’re all set. Some have a harder time with the change.”
“The only thing he has a hard time with is waiting for me to wake up and get breakfast out,” I said as I paused to wipe the spot I was working on clear of the excess ink.
She laughed. “Yeah, he was the same way with us. Always sitting at the front of the cage, ready to go first thing when the staff came in.”
I waited until she finished speaking to start again, knowing the next part would hurt as I moved right over the scar itself. She winced, and her face stayed tight even as I moved back to the undamaged skin again.
“You said you didn’t have any pets now, but did you ever?” I prompted.
“No. The only pet I ever had growing up was one of those goldfish you win at a fair. He lasted about two months, which was still pretty good for one of those guys and the terrible time they have getting bounced around in a kid’s hand after they’re won. I don’t know if they still do that, but it’s really just awful. Give the kids crappy stuffed animals, not living creatures. Jeez.”
She was rambling again. I didn’t know if it was to distract herself, or if it was just how she was even at ease. It was cute, though.
“Anyway, no. Besides Lucky the Goldfish, I never had a pet. It was actually why I started volunteering at the rescue. I’d always wanted a pet, but I had no experience. I didn’t know if I wanted a dog or a cat or a gerbil. I figured I’d go help out there, play with some of them, spend time around them, even deal with cleaning up, and maybe it would help me figure out what I liked. Then, I realized I liked them all and just kind of stuck around. When the previous volunteer supervisor was promoted and suggested I apply for an actual job there, I jumped at the opportunity. Who wouldn’t to do something they love and get paid?”
“I can relate.”
She was lying on her side, resting her head on one bent arm, but she looked down my way. “I can imagine. Did you always have an interest in tattooing?”
Usually, if I was asked something like this, I’d give a non-committal sort of affirmative and move on. With Gwen, I found myself giving a real answer.
“Not really. I always thought tattoos were cool and interesting, but I didn’t have a clue where I’d end up or what kind of job could even be out there for me. It wasn’t until Carson, the guy that opened this place and ran it until he retired a couple years ago, found me and made me his apprentice that I even considered tattooing as a career.”
“Really? Wow. How did you meet Carson then?”
Another question I didn’t answer, until her.
“Honest answer?” I flicked my gaze to her to see her nod, eyes enraptured. “I was pretty into graffiti back then. Still am, actually. But back then it was the real shit done in alleys at night, not the kind I do now and sell. I don’t know how he found my work, probably just stumbled onto it. I have less clue how the hell he found me, but he tracked me down because he liked what he saw.”
“Wow. Seriously? That’s crazy.”
I snorted. “Carson’s a crazy guy. I thought he was fucking with me at first, but he wouldn’t back down. Told me he’d pay me two hundred dollars to come in and just do some drawings. I showed up with a knife in my pocket, half certain I was getting set up for something messed up. But he really just wanted me to draw. When I was done, he gave me a job cleaning this place while he taught me everything he could about tattooing. Even brought in friends of his in the business whose style was more like mine to help train me.”
“That’s…” She thought for a second. “I don’t even know what that is. Incredible. Nuts. I’m not even sure.”
“Everyone here’s got some kind of story like that. Maybe not as much as mine, but the man lives and breathes art, even now that he’s retired. This place, the art being made here, it was his life’s mission. It’s why the shop has the reputation it does.”
“And because he made you all care about it as much as he does,” she guessed.
She was right. All of us thought of this place as more than a job. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t have been here long under Carson or Sketch.
The thought made me look up at the shop, which was how I saw Jess watching us. She didn’t say anything or make faces at me, just kept watching even once I saw her until the bell over the door went, drawing her attention away. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but I was sure I’d hear about it later.
A couple hours later, I was working up the middle of Gwen’s back. We’d taken a few breaks already, which was as good for me as it was for her. It was easy to get the hand too tense from working on long pieces. So far, despite the fact that I knew it was a rough road for her, Gwen’s spirits were still up, and she was chatting most of the time. She talked about movies, books, food, anything that seemed to pop into her head.
“Do you think it’s going well?”
“The tattoo?”
“Mhm.”
I looked over what we had thus far again before I answered. “Yeah. The ink seems to be taking everywhere. Healed is always a little different that fresh, but I’m not seeing anything concerning at all.”
There was a lull before she pointed out, “You haven’t asked.”
“No.”
She was hesitant when she started, “Because you don’t want to know, or—”
“Because it’s no one’s business but yours unless you want it to be.”
Her shoulders released the tension they’d picked up, but she didn’t say anything. Neither did I. What was next was up to her. I did want to know, if I was honest. I wanted to know a lot about her. I didn’t want to make her feel like she was some kind of spectacle just because she had scars, though. I’d tattooed a lot of people who had scars for a lot of reasons—some I knew and others I didn’t. No one had a right to those stories just because there was a visible remnant of them.
“You ever see one of those stories on the news about a car driving into a building?” She didn’t wait for my confirmation. “This is what it looks like to be inside when that happens.”
Fuck.
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
Just a damn kid. I suspected with how healed the scars were but hearing that I was right was jarring all the same.
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t respond to that, but it wasn’t much. Nothing I could say would undo the horror she experienced, the extent of which was broadcast in part right there on her skin.
“My parents were going through a divorce. It was… messy. To say the least.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Dad has always been a drinker. A ‘functional alcoholic’ might be the term for it, though I don’t really buy that name. But he was mostly a ‘drink whiskey and bitch until he fell asleep in the recliner’ type. At least, until he found out about how Mom had cheated on him repeatedly. Then, he was more of a half a bottle with breakfast type.”
I knew that type well. I didn’t say that. This was her story, mine wasn’t part of it.
“They both told their own stories about it. Mom swore it was his drinking that drove her to cheat. Dad said he’d never needed alcohol before she turned into a bitch. I just assume they were both kind of shitty people that made each other worse.
“I don’t know everything. I don’t know if something happened that day that drove him to get so drunk. I don’t know if he was coming to the house to confront her or if it was just instinct to drive there after so many years. Sometimes, I wonder if he meant to do it, hoping to land a blow to her since it looked like she was going to get the house.
“All I know is that it
was around eight-thirty. I was watching TV, avoiding my mom who was on the phone with a friend or one of her boyfriends bitching about Dad. I saw the headlights come through the window, and I thought someone was just pulling in the driveway. But they got closer and the angle was all wrong. I was just turning to run when he hit the wall. That’s the last thing I remember.”
I wanted to stop working. I wanted to wrap her in my arms. I wanted to find that fucker and teach him a lesson. I did none of those. I kept at it, even as I had to clench my teeth, trying to let her have her moment to say what she needed to.
“I was in the hospital for a while, but I don’t remember most of it. I just remember seeing my face for the first time, understanding even then that it wasn’t going away. It was hard learning to accept that, especially as a teenager when looks were so important. Even now it’s hard when people stare or whisper about it. It took a long time for me to realize that just because how I looked had changed so much, that didn’t mean life wouldn’t keep on going. I had to accept that and learn to keep going with it.”
“One season after another,” I supplied, understanding now why she’d asked for this design.
“Exactly. Time never quits, and neither do I.”
So I didn’t quit either. I worked until Gwen had to call it for the day. Bit by bit, stroke by stroke, each one done with care. I was determined to give her something great, something beautiful made from what that day left behind.
From what I’d learned about Gwen thus far, she deserved that and so much more.
Chapter Ten
Gwen
I looked around the cramped studio apartment, trying to keep my face neutral.
“Cleaned and repainted since the last tenant moved out, as always,” the landlord kept up his spiel.
I could see it had been repainted. In fact, I could see by globs of dried paint that gathered at the baseboards that it was repainted every time as promised. No one had bothered to strip down any of that paint over time, though. And, based on the discoloration spots all around, any stains or damage weren’t dealt with before that new coat of white paint was slapped on.
The place was spacious enough. If I got a nice decorative screen, the studio could become more of a one-bedroom in layout. The appliances looked to be on their last leg, as did the laminate counter that was peeling and scratched. The bathroom was just a shower stall, no tub, and it barely had the space to stand at one end and extend my arms out in front of me.
Was this really what I was looking at?
The sad reality was that this had been about the best option I’d come up with so far in the price point I wanted. The fact was, Hoffman was in the middle of a bit of a boom, and rents were going up. My job might be great, but I was one of the lowest-ranked people on the payroll, and the student loans I had, to qualify for it were still coming.
I knew if I cut corners and tightened the purse strings, I could afford more in an apartment, but I’d never been one for that kind of risk. I knew all too well how unpredictable life could be. I didn’t need to have a lease somewhere that meant I wasn’t putting anything into a rainy day fund.
Even if it was starting to feel really, really tempting to make the choice that set me up in a better place.
“So, what do you think?”
I looked at the older man, probably pushing seventy. He didn’t come across like some sleepy slumlord looking to trick people into crappy apartments. He also wasn’t a total creep that would make it difficult to sleep while knowing he had means to access my apartment—which I’d already come across, twice.
Taking another glance around the room, trying to focus on what it would be like once I got furniture in and put some things up on the walls. Maybe I could decorate enough to draw attention away from its flaws.
“I think I might be interested,” I finally replied, trying to keep the resignation out of my voice. I might not be loving my situation, but that was no reason to be rude. “I do have just another couple places lined up to see already before I’d make a final decision, though.” This was true, though I was not hopeful about anything else I’d contacted on.
“Of course. I can’t promise it’ll stay, unfortunately.” He actually sounded apologetic about that, and at least it meant that I’d have a decent guy as a landlord if I moved in here. “Got to rent it to whoever makes the claim first. But you’ve got my info if you decide you want it.”
“Thank you.”
“Still no luck?” Caroline asked with a commiserating look when I walked into the office.
I collapsed into my chair with a groan. “I guess I found something.”
“That… doesn’t sound promising.”
I explained about the studio, finishing with, “I don’t want to be some kind of spoiled brat, looking for some perfect three-bedroom loft overlooking a park. I wasn’t even expecting to find something as nice as Kelly’s. I was just hoping to find something a little better than what I am. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being unrealistic.”
She shook her head. “You aren’t being a brat. It’s not bad to be disappointed. Realistic doesn’t mean not hoping for the best, it’s just accepting less when it’s all there is, which is exactly what you’re doing.”
“I guess.”
“You’ll figure it out. Even if it is that place. You spruced this dungeon up,” she said, flicking an arm out around our office.
She had a point. Our office was plenty sufficient in size for both of us, but it also had only one narrow window into an alley. It was really only an escape route in a fire since it let almost no light in. One wall was made up of those big, hideous cement bricks covered in paint, and every wall had been taupe at one point, but had aged into a dingy, dirty color. Repainting wasn’t in the budget, but we had permission to do so if we paid for it. So, last year around the holidays, our gifts to each other had been chipping in to get paint and supplies. Then, Steve, Caroline, and I, had given the place a facelift. Now, with the light blue walls and a variety of decorations and frames I’d hunted down from secondhand stores showcasing pictures from fundraising events and outings, the place didn’t seem so dark and gloomy.
A little effort was all it had taken to make the difference. I could do it again with that apartment.
“You’re right,” I agreed, no longer feeling off-balance the way being down over the apartment hunt made me. “It’ll work out.”
We each got down to it, handling the day’s tasks and fielding calls. While each of us on staff had our specific titles, we all wore a lot of hats. My official job was to recruit and manage the volunteer staff, but I also got pulled in on helping Caroline arrange fundraising and outreach programs far beyond just making sure she had the bodies she needed to pull them off. I’d also done everything from answering our help line, handling adoptions, and even assisting with rescues when I was needed.
Luckily, that afternoon was all about coordinating with local high schools and the community college for student volunteers, not being out in the trenches rescuing a frightened animal. As rewarding as the latter was, we had people far better trained for that than I was.
“So,” Caroline piped up when we’d both hit a lull and grabbed coffee from the break room for a breather, “tomorrow you go back to finish the tattoo?”
“Mhm.”
“Exciting.”
Was I excited? Yes. I was also dreading sitting through that needle more, and the ache that came after that meant I’d slept on my stomach and made my neck cramp up trying not to suffocate for days afterward. Not to mention the fact that I had to face Park again.
I hadn’t really meant to unload the whole story on him like that. Not that it was something I kept secret, per se. Almost everyone around here knew most of it. It was just that he was still, for all intents and purposes, a stranger to me. I couldn’t imagine it was uncommon, though. People got tattoos for emotional reasons, and I’m sure plenty shared what those were. That didn’t help me feel any less vulnerable, though.
In pa
rt that was because, “He’s really cute.”
Crap. I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but there it was. I’d told Caroline all about the tattoo, even shown her the progress we had so far. I’d shared about telling the sordid story behind my scars. What I hadn’t shared, for reasons I wasn’t entirely sure of, was about Park himself.
Caroline’s head shot up from her phone. “What?”
Well, in for a penny…
“Parker, the artist doing it. He’s really hot and makes me super nervous.”
She leaned forward onto her arms on her desk. “Excuse me, where were these details three freaking weeks ago?”
I didn’t correct her that it had only been two and a half, not three. That wasn’t really the point. “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to keep it secret necessarily. He just makes me feel really awkward and it was hard enough living that once.”
Knowing there was no better way to explain how true that was, I regaled her with the pasties story. By the end, she didn’t bother biting her lip the way Jess did that day. She just burst out laughing.
“Thanks. Real nice,” I grumbled.
“I’m sorry, but that’s fantastic.”
It was absolutely, one hundred percent, not fantastic.
“I mean, come on. What better way to get his attention than to guarantee he was picturing you topless?”
I dropped my head into my hands and groaned.
“Well, making that sound probably would have done the trick, too.” She was still laughing. I raised my head just enough to glare at her. “Lighten up. I’m sure he thought it was cute.”
I remembered that lip tilt. Somehow, I knew even that from Park was a lot. He was very closed off. But even that had come in regards to the tattoo and my excitement over what he’d designed for me, not from me making a fool of myself.
