by Nicole Reed
“Why can’t you visit those places? The world is your oyster. Treat it as such.” He walks over to throw his empty bottle in the trash, returning to stand next to me. He leans on the counter top, resting on his elbows, while waiting for my answer.
“I really don’t have the time to travel,” I say, lying through my teeth. The truth is that I don’t have a real license or passport to be able to travel anywhere, not to mention funds. “I once had this customer tell me she was going to visit Machu Picchu the following week. All I could think about for months is how this tattoo of mine made it there.”
“That is really a sad story,” he says, acting like he’s crying.
I playfully hit his arm. “No, it’s not. It’s supposed to be a happy story of how my art travels to all these different places.”
“That you think you will never get to visit. Is that it?”
“Yes. I mean, no,” I say, pissed that he is misconstruing my words.
“Well, is it a yes or is it a no? I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,” he says, obviously referring to Lewis Carroll’s beloved character and one of my all-time favorites.
I laugh at his attempt at levity, which must work. “And he quotes Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland to me. Are you purposely trying to drive me crazy?” My eyes roll of their own accord.
“Madder than the Hatter,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. He leans up. “Stay and let me cook you dinner tonight. I microwave a mean can of soup.”
An unwilling smile shapes my mouth. “Sorry, I need to get home,” I say, standing. He follows me as I walk toward the front door.
“C’mon. Now that we have all the pleasantries down, such as you know everything about me while I still know very little about you, we can chill like old pals. It gets lonely around here. Boards don’t talk back.”
My lips purse together when he makes the comment about him knowing very little about me. When I reach for the door handle, I turn back to him.
“Keller, you don’t have to talk to me about anything if you don’t want to,” he says, sounding serious. “But I really enjoy spending time with you. I find it generally easy to talk to you. And believe it or not, you may think I’m this outgoing, charming guy, but that’s not always the case.”
“I actually have plans,” I say, not really lying to him. Ginger is getting off early to come by my apartment tonight. Mr. Bartender has to work, and she wants to hear everything about my date.
“Oh,” he says, looking embarrassed.
Ah, he thinks I have a date. “My girlfriend is coming over because her guy is working tonight,” I hurriedly explain.
He smiles at me. “Well that wasn’t awkward or anything,” he says jokingly.
Before I think it through, I open my mouth. “I could take a rain check for tomorrow. If you aren’t too busy.”
“Tomorrow is great. Tomorrow is good,” he says.
He opens the front door for me and I step outside. “Same time?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the doorjamb.
I turn to climb down the stairs.
“Keller?”
“Yes,” I say, glancing back at him.
“You like monopoly?”
What? “Uh, I haven’t played it since I was a kid.”
“Well, bring your game-face tomorrow,” he says, backing into the house before shutting the door.
In the middle of the sidewalk, I die laughing. He is so random. I walk to my car with the cheesiest grin on my face.
The next several weeks fly by in a whirlwind of Vin. I see him almost three or four times a week. Sometimes we meet at the café for coffee before I go into work and other times he takes me out to dinner. What really shocks the hell out of me is that the nut likes to play board games. We have spent hours at the house hanging out, playing his favorites. And that is all we do—hang out.
I have spent many restless nights wondering why he hasn’t even attempted to kiss me. Not even a hug. Not that I want him to. It’s usually just a have-a-good-night buddy tap to my arm. I am trying not to get offended that he sees me like a guy pal, but after years of not allowing people into my life and finally letting one of the male species get a little closer to me, it backfires.
Ginger thinks he’s gay because he hasn’t tried to sleep with me yet, which is great if he is and would be just my luck. But, as I have told her twenty million times, I don’t get that vibe. No, he is most definitely straight. There is an attraction that I felt in the beginning between us, a connectional pull. Sometimes, when I spend time with him, I get this feeling that he is holding back from me, which is ironic, considering how much I am keeping from him. Maybe that is it: he doesn’t feel like he can let go with someone who is so emotionally closed off.
Since we are having an early spring day, he is planning to show me the gardens at the back of the house. I haven’t had a chance to really check them out. I arrive later than our arranged time, making it barely before the sun sets. When I spoke to him on the phone an hour ago, he told me to follow the path around the house and he would meet me there.
When I first arrive, all I notice is how dense and overgrown the shrubbery is by the entrance, but once you clear it, the beauty reveals itself. A small stone path winds its way to an ornate white metal gazebo that sits beside a small pond. Vin is standing inside, waiting for me. I take my time walking down to him, spinning around to enjoy the extraordinary view. The sun setting within this scenery is unimaginably gorgeous. And the weather is almost perfect. It’s still warm enough that even though I need a jacket, I pull the sleeves up a bit.
“Wow, Vin. This is awesome,” I tell him, watching the sun completely disappear from the horizon. The night now surrounds us.
“Wait for it,” he says, bending over to plug something in.
Hundreds of tiny white lights burst into life, twinkling throughout the gazebo. It is absolutely stunning and the magical beauty steals my breath. A tinkle of laughter escapes me at the rareness of the moment, sounding nothing like me. I turn in a complete circle, speechless at the vision before me.
“When I first came out here after meeting you, I would visualize your face when I showed you this place. I knew the artist in you would love it. But never could I have envisioned the transformation that I just witnessed.”
I look warily at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Whatever haunts you, Keller, whatever made you you, completely faded away as if it never happened. You let your guard down to experience life instead of looking at it from a distance. It was beguiling.”
“You don’t know me,” I say, my anger rising within. “You don’t get to make those types of observations about me.” I say, pointing at him, ruining this moment for us both.
He charges toward me, pointing his index finger right back at me. “You’re damn right I do. What do you think has been going on this last month, Keller? You think you get to corner the market on pain? You think I don’t look at all of your tattoos and see that you might not talk about your past, but you plainly put it out there for the world to see. The funny thing is… you never get close enough to anyone for them to figure out that your entire life story is as clear as the pictures tattooed on your body.”
“You don’t have a clue about what you’re saying.”
“I don’t have a clue, huh?” He shakes his head. Before I can move, he grasps my wrist, pulling my jacket sleeve higher up to show my tattoos. “I would bet all the money that I have that there is nothing on your body that doesn’t have some significant meaning to you. You weren’t some wild-child teenager who wanted to piss off mommy or daddy with some tats. No, I would bet that your life story is etched painfully on your skin.”
I stare at him, both of us breathing heavily. I jerk my arm away from him and turn to stumble out of the gazebo.
“You have no idea…” I say, stopping only when he forcefully spins my body around.
“You’re right. I don’t have any idea because you don’t share a go
ddamn thing about yourself. You expect too damn much from me, Keller,” he yells at me.
“I don’t expect any damn thing from you, Vin,” I yell back at him.
“Well you should.” His loud voice echoes in the night sky. “You deserve respect and love and everything your heart desires,” he whispers. “You need to live your life instead of watching it pass you by.”
I am suddenly tired of battling him. I am worn thin from this constant emotional yo-yoing. “Why do you care?”
“Because you’re you,” he simply says.
Before I have time to think about his words, he kisses me. His lips seduce mine as he brushes them softly against my mouth. He nips at my bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. Time seems not to matter to him. His arms surround me, pulling me tightly against him. He trails kisses down my neck, sucking on the right spot so that my knees weaken. When he pulls back, I feel the loss immediately. My moan of protest surprises me the most.
He gives a quick laugh, before devouring my mouth. This kiss I feel with every fiber of my being. Every young woman dreams of experiencing this depth of excitement at least once in her life. His tongue strokes mine, setting fire to every nerve I possess. I feel it from the roots of my hair down to my toes. It is the single most sensual moment of my life.
I push away from him, breaking our physical contact. What are you doing, Keller? Are you crazy? Did you forget who you are? Do you want to get him killed? I shake my head to clear all these questions that I don’t have answers to.
“Keller,” he says, reaching his hand out toward me.
I step back, not wanting him to touch me. My hands flatten out in front of me in warning. “Can we please just be friends?” I beg. I have no clue how to give him what he needs emotionally.
“I thought we already were,” he answers, placing his hands in his jean pockets before turning to walk away from me, up to the house.
“Hey sugar, can you make sure to sterilize Badger’s equipment first?”
“Sure, Diamond,” I say, capping all the ink bottles that the men constantly leave out.
Diamond, better known as Big D to most of the club’s men, is the only tattoo artist at Hard Ink who doesn’t leave an absolute mess every single time she tattoos. All the other ones, who happen to be males, are filthy animals—including their clients. I dread sterilizing their needles because
God knows what type of disease I could pick up just from accidentally sticking myself. I have spent the entire summer cleaning, sterilizing, and picking up lunch every day for the entire shop.
I know more about a tattoo machine than half the artists working here. Diamond taught me how to take one apart to clean and put it back together, and I could do it in my sleep. I have learned all there is to possibly know about the equipment and art. Every day, I continue to watch Diamond with her line work and shading, listening to everything she teaches me.
The entire summer I arrived before Diamond or Badger opened up and stayed until they kicked me out. How was I to know that when Sage sent me in here two months ago, it would be my salvation? All because Diamond showed me the beauty that lies within the art of tattooing. If you respect the magic, appreciate the art, and forge yourself in the blood, a piece of your soul lives on with another. That is what she told me. She also said that when you choose to mark your body to make it count. Each piece should be something that pierces your heart and soul in pain or joy. Either will help you harness the passage of time, reminding you of where you came from and where you should be going.
One late July afternoon, Diamond lovingly inked my angel onto my back. I remember lying there knowing that this was my choice. The entire four hours, I didn’t move an inch. The pain of the needle was like a promise of having my guardian angel residing on me, with me, forever. My mother. When she was finished, she held my hand as I looked into the mirror. I broke down in tears, seeing my angel in beautiful blues and yellow, outlined in bold black. Diamond held me, and right then and there, we bonded.
After seeing my own drawings, she was impressed with my talent and offered me an apprenticeship. She even volunteered to be my first skin. Yesterday, I completed that tattoo—a sexy biker pin-up girl on her leg that I designed just for her. Diamond squealed with delight when I finished, swearing that it was some of the best work she has ever witnessed. I have been on cloud nine since, and for the first time in months I feel alive.
Alive. What really does it mean? I wake up every morning, I eat, I sleep, and do it all again. I thought that this would be it forever. And I knew that I couldn’t survive this life for much longer being alive like this. Tattooing changed it all. It brought a level of realness that my personal life had lacked, a reason to live.
“Fuck,” Sandman says, as Badger tattoos something on his side.
His colorful language catches my attention. It’s only four o’clock and he already has a pint of whiskey, halfway empty, tightly gripped in his hand. I walk closer to see that he is getting a pistol tattooed directly on his ribcage. The handle is lightly shaded with dark lines marking each kill that he has made. I heard him request that little added design. I once dared to ask Diamond what Sandman did for the club. Her answer was that he was the grim-fuckin’-reaper and never to ask that question to anyone else ever again.
“Goddamn, I love this song,” he says, closing his eyes, singing the first line to Enter Sandman by Metallica.
The rock music pours loudly out of the speakers. I start to turn away when I notice him looking directly at me.
“Well, if it isn’t Hell’s little queen herself,” he says over the sound of the machine and music.
I stare back at him, waiting for his next words. Sandman darkly fascinates me. He’s of average height, but built as solid as a bull with his thick barrel chest. Old scars crisscross his bald head and bisect his once handsome face. Now that I am Hold’s girlfriend, he brings me to all the club’s functions. Most of the men are generally nice, especially Sandman. At the last cookout he shared stories of my dad with me. I never knew the fun-loving, happy man who he described. I was enthralled with the tales he told, wanting to know more about this stranger who was evidently my father.
“You did a great job on Big D’s tattoo. I’ve been wanting a sexy biker chick ridin’ my leg. I think I’ll let you tat me up.” He smiles at me.
“I think everyone was impressed with her work,” Badger says, looking up from his shading. “The detailing on the face was right on.”
“Well, draw something up and if I like it, I’ll be your first paying customer,” he says, closing his eyes to hum the music.
I start to turn away, when I hear him call me.
“Little queen, just so you know, I like big tits and ass. Get it right and we’ll do business.”
I smile to myself, because I might have found the possibility of financial freedom.
“Hey, sweetie. Tall, dark, and sexy just walked in to pick you up,” Diamond says, walking into the storeroom in the back.
I have been making a list of the items that she or Badger needs to pick up for the shop. At her words, I take a deep breath. Every night is a struggle for me. I have become a great actress. That night I forgave Hold and put everything to the side, things dramatically changed. Not in the ways that I hoped, though. He still drinks, and I have smelled pot on him a time or two, and he wouldn’t move back home. But who could blame him for that? I have become what I never knew he wanted. His.
He proudly displays me as his girl. He picks me up every morning to bring me to the tattoo shop and returns every night when he finishes at the garage. He eats dinner with Sage and I when he takes me home. Sometimes Ward joins us and, for the first time, that man even looks happy. We sit around the table, my secret hatred for most of them magically concealed. I smile, I laugh, I even talk, but it is all fake. Let them think I am happy.
Sage was pissed at first that he wouldn’t come home to live. I overheard him telling her that it was because of me. He explained that it would look bad to
the kids at school for my boyfriend to be living here and he couldn’t do that to us. She was content with his story after that, happy to at least see him coming around more.
Hold has always been the one person who knew me inside and out. When we were little, he would know something was wrong even before I told him. We always had a special bond, but that night shattered our connection. Suddenly, he is blind to what I am feeling or maybe he couldn’t care less to know. When I smile at him, it’s like he ignores the sadness. When his lips touch mine, he doesn’t feel the confusion that unravels me.
I know my body sings to his—we can’t control the mutual response. I feel the rock hardness when it is pressed up against my stomach. It always prompts a heat that spreads deep inside of me. My body aches for something, but my mind says not with Hold. I know the moment is coming when he will expect more. And soon.
“I could stay later to help out tonight,” I say, acting like I am busy shelving. My heart races with hope. I don’t know how many more times I can sit at the dinner table without losing my mind.
“You know, every night I watch you leave through the doors, sadder than when you came in that morning,” she says, crossing her arms across her ample chest. “And, girlfriend, I can’t imagine why. Any other girl would skip out the door with that good-looking son of a bitch. Now, we’ve had many talks and not one time have you mentioned Hold. You want to talk about him?”
I swallow the extra saliva in my mouth before shaking my head no.
“Sugar, look at me.”
My hands shake with nervousness. I turn slowly to look at Diamond.
“Does he make you do something you don’t want to? You act and look so much older than fifteen. I sometimes forget myself that you’re not an adult. I guess this life makes you grow up faster than most.”
