Worlds Away

by Alexa Land

  I tossed my backpack in the corner and took off my T-shirt before stepping into the bathroom and carefully peeling off my bandaging. I checked it out in the mirror above the sink, and the tattoo looked good. Strong. Stronger than I felt. Without resembling armor in any literal sense, it still felt like it, especially the way it covered my heart and anchored itself to my arm and shoulder. I found myself wishing every inch of my skin was covered in that same strong, black, interlocking grid. Then nothing could get to me.

  “Of course it could,” I muttered to myself. It was just ink. It couldn’t protect me, no matter how much meaning I assigned to it.

  I washed my hands, then cleaned the new tattoo with antibacterial soap and patted it dry. As I carefully applied a bit of lotion, I stared in the mirror, scrutinizing the pattern on my skin, looking for any sign of Tracy’s name. There was nothing, not a single stray line peeking out from beneath the new ink, and no tell-tale shape as it wove over the word. Yoshi really was a genius. The sharp precision of his lines and the totally symmetrical pattern was another testament to that. He’d actually freehanded a flawless design. Go figure.

  After pulling off my boots, I climbed onto the bed facing the wall and stretched out on my right side, the one without the new ink. It wasn’t even eight p.m., so I didn’t know why I was in bed, aside from the fact that I felt a little lost and was hoping it would be comforting. Instead, it felt lonely and pathetic.

  Why had I thought obliterating a word from my skin would somehow end that chapter of my life? I was glad Tracy’s name no longer marked my flesh, but he was still seared into me at the cellular level. I didn’t love him, not anymore, but as long as memories of him had the power to make me miserable, I wasn’t free of Tracy.

  Against my will, a night from four years earlier started to play in my mind’s eye. I’d been so nervous as I cut across the base, headed to the disused storeroom where Tracy and I usually met. I’d gotten the tattoo three days earlier, but that night would be the first time he saw it.

  I got there before him, same as always. I let myself in with my key, then paced as much as I could in the nine-by-twelve space. It was hot and stuffy as usual, and empty except for a metal folding chair and a bare twin mattress on the cement floor. The mattress was stained with semen and sweat and blood, the latter from our earliest days together, when fucking would tear me open and I’d have to grind my teeth to keep from screaming.

  I was supposed to take my clothes off, lube myself up, and wait on that mattress, so I’d be ready for Tracy when he arrived. We always only had minutes together, and then we left separately to make sure we didn’t raise suspicion. Since Tracy was my commanding officer, he could have been dishonorably discharged for what we were doing. I was sure he feared the shame and humiliation of being outed even more than that, though.

  He was annoyed when he arrived and found me clothed. Tracy was a huge guy, six-foot-six with a muscular build, and he filled that little room. “Please sit down for a minute, okay?” I said, taking his hand and leading him to the chair.

  “We don’t have time for this, Sawyer. I’m expected somewhere in less than twenty minutes.”

  “Please? I have something I need to show you. It’ll only take a minute.”

  He sighed, but finally dropped onto the chair and said, “What is it?”

  I knelt in front of him. I don’t know why I did that. Then I dropped my dog tags inside my green T-shirt and pulled the shirt off. I said softly, “I love you, Tracy. It always seems like you don’t believe me when I tell you that, so…well, this is my way of proving it to you.” I didn’t look at him as I said that. I was afraid to see his reaction.

  He went perfectly still. It was a solid minute before he whispered, “What the fuck did you do?”

  I looked up at him and my heart leapt at the rage in his dark eyes. “I went to that shop in the village, the one that’s friendly to soldiers. I heard they did tattoos in the back. It took some convincing and a lot of cash, but they finally—” He leapt to his feet, grabbed the chair and snapped it in two as a low growl rumbled in his massive chest. His head bumped the bare lightbulb, and as it swung, it cast bizarre shadows and gave the room a nightmarish quality.

  I fell back to get out of his way and held up my hand to shield myself. He had never hit me, but his rage that day was a tangible thing, filling that small space, surrounding me, and I was scared of him. “You fucking idiot,” he growled. “What part of this is a secret don’t you understand? You shower in the barracks. Everyone’s going to see that! Everyone will know!”

  “They won’t! Nobody knows your name is Tracy, you go by your middle name! Even your nametag says D. Garcia. If anybody asks, I’ll say it’s the name of my girl back home. No one will know.”

  “But my full name is all over my military records, Sawyer. Did you ever stop to think of that? My superiors know that’s my name! I thought you understood what it could do to me if this ever got out!”

  “I thought about that, but the higher ups won’t see the tattoo. The only people who see me in the showers are grunts like me, and they don’t have access to your records.”

  He was so mad that he was literally shaking, and he balled his huge hands into fists and turned his back to me. I got to my feet as I whispered, “Please don’t be mad, Tracy. I wanted you to know I belong to you. This proves it. I’m yours, heart and soul. I love you so much, and I didn’t know how else to make you see that.”

  Tracy turned and glared at me. “I’m taking you to the main hospital in Kabul tomorrow. I’ll have to think of some excuse. They have a clinic that can remove tattoos. I had to take that fucking idiot Perkins there last year when he came back from leave with the words ‘fuck you’ and a racial slur tattooed on his forehead. I never imagined I’d have to take you there, too. Fuck Sawyer, how could you be so goddamn stupid?”

  I squared my shoulders and stood at my full height. Tracy was one of the few men on the planet who could make me feel small. I scraped up all my stubbornness and told him, “The tattoo is there for life. No fucking way can you make me remove it.”

  “Are you insane? Didn’t you hear me when I told you what that tattoo could do to me?”

  “It’s not going to come back to bite you! It’s just not! Tracy is a common name, they’ll believe me when I say it belongs to a girl back home. You and I have been together for months, and we’re so careful! Nobody even suspects. I promise you this’ll be okay. I love you so much, Tracy, and I’d never do anything to hurt you! You know that.”

  “Fuck, Sawyer, stop saying you love me! We’re just two men blowing off steam, you know that as well as I do.”

  I shook my head. “That’s bullshit. Deny it all you want, but I feel it, Tracy. I see it in your eyes sometimes, too. Not now, of course, because you’re royally pissed off at me. But I know it’s there. You love me just like I love you.”

  “You’re lying to yourself, seeing what you want to see.”

  “I’m not,” I insisted. “Look me in the eye, Tracy, right in the eye and tell me you don’t love me. I bet you can’t do it.”

  He took a step toward me. A muscle worked in his jaw as he locked eyes with me. His voice was low when he said, “I don’t love you.”

  It felt like a knife in my chest. But I was so stubborn. I shook my head as my heart shattered and said, “You’re lying. I know you’re lying.”

  “Fuck, Sawyer, you refuse to listen!”

  He left the storeroom, letting the door swing shut behind him. I sat on the concrete floor and put my hand over the name on my heart as I studied the blood stains on the filthy mattress. I’d lost my virginity in that little room, lost it to a man I loved with every part of me.

  A man who swore over and over he didn’t love me in return.

  I had a weird thought as I sat there, sweating in that cramped storeroom. In a way, that horrible, stained mattress was Tracy’s and my version of the Picture of Dorian Gray, ugly, dirty, and ruined. The truth of our entire relationship was s
pelled out in cum and blood and sweat, right there on the blue striped ticking. Meanwhile, there was the face we showed the world, indifferent, emotionless, near-strangers. It was such a lie.

  *****

  I sighed and rolled onto my back in my cramped bed in San Francisco, trying to chase away the memories that hovered in the air like spirits. It had taken Tracy weeks to forgive me for the tattoo. Eventually, we began having sex again. Maybe a year after that, we started to become friends. He kept saying he didn’t love me, though.

  “He was lying,” I whispered.

  Not that it mattered.

  But some part of me would have loved to hear him say it, just once. Even though Tracy was firmly in the past and all the feelings I’d ever had for him had been laid to rest, the words still would have meant a lot. They would have been validating somehow, casting a different light on those three years we spent together. Maybe they would have made me feel like something other than a stupid, lovesick kid who let himself get hurt and used by someone who didn’t give a shit.

  Or maybe I really had been stupid, and maybe the words wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference.

  *****

  I was staring at my dingy wall and trying like hell to stop thinking about the past when my phone beeped sometime later. When I saw Alastair had messaged me, I grinned like an idiot. The text said: Hey. What are you up to? Seems I’ve bought a firehouse. Am I daft for undertaking this project with Nana Dombruso? She’s a dear woman, but possibly also a bit of a loose cannon.

  I sat up and wrote: Fortunately, she has you as the voice of reason. It’s a good thing you swooped in and offered to be a part of that project. P.S. You looked ridiculously sexy in that hardhat with dirt all over you.

  He replied with: Oh dear, seems autocorrect got the better of you. Surely you meant to type ‘you looked ridiculous’ and it added in the rest.

  I dialed his number, and when he answered I said, “I mean it. As gorgeous as you are when you’re all proper and buttoned-down, somehow you become utterly irresistible when you’re a bit tousled.”

  He chuckled and said, “Interesting perspective.”

  “So, what are you doing to celebrate your new philanthropic venture?”

  “Wandering around my house in the South Bay and cursing myself for not bringing some groceries with me. I can have a meal delivered, but I have an overwhelming urge for a bowl of cereal. Somehow though, I just can’t find the motivation to run out to the market. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

  “Nah, I’ve been there. Why did you go back to the house, instead of your apartment here in the city?”

  “I have to be on campus for much of tomorrow. I’m a teaching assistant, and the quarter is ending in just a couple weeks. Lots of nervous freshman to talk off the ledge.”

  “I can imagine.”

  He asked, “What were you doing when I messaged you?”

  “Nothing. Literally. I’m in my room, staring at a blank wall. And you thought being too unmotivated to run to the market was bad.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “Who says I was thinking about anything? Maybe I was in a total vegetative state.”

  “Was it Tracy? I’d imagine getting his named covered over stirred up a few memories today.”

  I sighed and admitted, “It did, none of them good.”

  “I know what you need,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “A ride on your motorcycle. I suggest pointing it south and continuing on for about an hour, give or take, depending on traffic.”

  I grinned and asked, “Is this an elaborate scheme to get me to bring you some cereal?”

  “It’s an elaborate scheme to get you to bring me Sawyer. If you happened to stop off for a box of something very American, hoop-shaped and sugary on the way here, I wouldn’t complain.”

  “I can do that.” I was already out of bed and stuffing my feet into my boots.

  “Terrific! I look forward to seeing you, and also your tattoo. Are you pleased with the way it came out?”

  “I love it. It’ll be interesting to hear your take on it, since you don’t strike me as the tattoo type.”

  “While I have no desire to get one of my own, I can certainly admire a tattoo on a gorgeous, sexy body. I have no doubt yours is a thing of beauty.”

  As I opened my closet door to look for a loose-fitting shirt, I asked, “Should I bring anything besides cereal?”

  “You don’t actually have to do that. I was joking.”

  “But you do want some, right?”

  “Yes, but still.”

  “Text me the address, and I’ll see you in about an hour, sugary cereal loops in hand.”

  “You’re fantastic.”

  I grinned and said, “It’s nice that you think so.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Holy shit, how many people live here?”

  I stood back a few feet and gawked at the Mediterranean mini-villa Alastair had bought solely for its proximity to Saithmore University. It looked like a small hotel. That was reinforced by the palm trees and lush, tropical landscaping that framed the white house with its terra cotta tile roof.

  “That number fluctuates between zero and two. Roger prefers to stay in his townhouse next door most of the time. He says there’s such a thing as too much togetherness. And my friend Elijah stays with me on occasion. He was new to dorm life at Saithmore this year, and his roommate was a git. I told him he should just move in here, especially since the place stands empty half the time, but he feels he’s imposing. I need to get him over that.” Alastair stepped back a little and opened the huge, carved wood door as far as it would go. “Do you suppose you’ll be coming inside at some point?”

  I handed him a canvas shopping bag as I crossed the threshold, and he said, “Thank you for the cereal. Three different kinds, each more sugary than the next, fantastic! You’re a prince among men.”

  “Welcome.” The inside of the house was just as breathtaking as the exterior, with high ceilings, lots of potted plants, and a hand-painted tile floor. I carefully slid off my leather jacket, which hadn’t felt all that great against my tattoo, and said as I wandered into the foyer, “I feel like I’m on vacation in the tropics. This is spectacular.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” He looked around and asked, “Where’s your backpack? I hope you brought your stuff so you can spend the night.”

  “I didn’t want to be presumptuous. You could have just been inviting me to hang out for a while.”

  When we reached a massive terra cotta-colored kitchen, Alastair put the shopping bag on the counter and slid his arms around my waist. “If ‘for a while’ means all night, followed by tomorrow morning before I have to go to Saithmore, then yes. In fact, if you’d like, you can come with me and amuse yourself on campus while I’m doing my T.A. gig. Afterwards, I’d like to take you to dinner, then show you one of my very favorite places in all the world. That is, if you don’t already have plans tomorrow.”

  “The next thing on my almost nonexistent schedule is Club Scandal Thursday night, where I’ll be figuring out what the hell burlesque looks like in front of a live audience. Don’t forget, you promised you’d be there as my moral support.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You still need to practice your routine, by the way.” He gave me a wicked little smile.

  “I tried three times while we were in San Diego. Each time, I only made it about ninety seconds into my routine before you jumped me.” I grinned at him.

  “I couldn’t help myself. You’re already the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. Combine that with taking your clothes off seductively and my libido preempts all rational thought.”

  “You should probably wait until after I get off the stage to fuck me on Thursday. Just saying.”

  “Well, if you insist.” When I rolled my left shoulder, Alastair asked, “Everything alright?”

  “Yeah. The leather jacket was just a little heavy on my new tattoo.”

>   He immediately started unbuttoning my black shirt and said, “I’m so sorry, Sawyer. I should have sent a car for you, or come up to the city and gotten you myself. I didn’t think about what your motorcycle jacket would feel like resting against your skin.” He opened the front of my shirt and murmured, “Oh my God.”

  “You hate it, don’t you? I knew it wouldn’t even sort of be your taste. I—” I drew in my breath and forgot what I was saying when Alastair caressed my left nipple with the pad of his thumb.

  “You’re so unbelievably sexy.” He was staring at the pattern on my chest. I hadn’t thought about the way it framed my nipple, but clearly that riveted his attention. “My God, look at you.” He let the shirt drop from my shoulder, and his lips parted as he took in the rest of the ink.

  “Do you like it?”

  “I adore it,” he said. “It’s strong and beautiful, so it suits you to a T.” I grinned embarrassedly, and he asked, “Does it require special care while it’s healing?”

  When I told him what I needed to do for the next few days, he took off my shirt and draped it over the back of a chair, then picked up my hand and said, “I want to help if you’ll let me.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know. Let me do it anyway.”

  He led me to the master bathroom and had me sit on the edge of the tub as he carefully washed my tattoo and patted it dry. Next, he took his time lightly massaging lotion into my skin, and I relaxed under his touch. When I looked up at him, he kissed me tenderly, then said, “Come on, love. Let’s get comfortable, and then I want you to tell me what you were thinking about when I called you. I know it was something troubling, and I want you to get it off your chest.”

  The master bedroom matched the rest of the house with its high ceilings, textured white walls, and distinctly Mediterranean feel. The centerpiece was a huge bed with a rustic, wrought-iron frame and a stack of fluffy, white pillows and blankets. Aside from the bedding, the house was completely different in tone and style from his apartment in San Francisco. I had no idea what Alastair’s personal tastes were, since his surroundings obviously reflected interior designers’ aesthetics, not his.