Sketch

by Laramie Briscoe

  “Whatever it takes for me not to lose my mind is necessary,” I tell her with a tone that is much rougher than I’ve ever used with her. “Please, do us both a favor. Get your shit, and get out.”

  “You’ve changed, Devin.”

  Back to the real name again.

  “I had to. When your heart is ripped from your chest and torn into a million pieces, you’ve kinda gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

  The look on her face tells me that maybe I’ve not been the only one hurting, but I don’t allow myself to respond.

  Chapter Three

  SKETCH

  I keep my distance as I follow her into the house. There’s a huge part of me that wants to be able to witness her reaction to the changes I’ve made. It’s shock value, I tell myself. Her response will fulfill a part of me that’s been empty since she left. That’s another thing I tell myself all the time.

  We get to the door and she stops, stepping aside. “I doubt my key still works.”

  It’s said with a little self-deprecation, but I can tell she truly wonders.

  “Your key still works,” I admit. “You could have come to do this while I wasn’t here if you had wanted to.”

  Pushing the door open, I motion for her to step inside. I watch as she immediately goes for the living room. It was always her haven. Flipping on the light, I prepare myself for the onslaught I know this woman is going to rain down on me. If she’s anything like the girl I married, I’m about to get my balls handed to me.

  “Sketch, what the fuck did you do?”

  The anger and hurt is there, in her voice. It makes me feel good, and I know it shouldn’t, but I want her to hurt as badly as I did when she walked away from me. We never talked about it—hell, this is the first time we’ve seen each other. It’s past time we had this conversation.

  “Got rid of that goddamn fucking cheery yellow.”

  “I loved that yellow,” she argues, piercing me with an accusing glance, her blue eyes sparkling with anger.

  “I know,” I admit as I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest.

  Her interest doesn’t escape me. There was always one thing Nina loved, and that was the ink on my arms. When we were in high school and I spent all my time drawing, it was her who had suggested I become a tattoo artist. It was her who had done the research, who’d worked hard so that I could apprentice and we had food to eat. Back then, it had been us against the world. Somewhere along the line, we’d become two individuals who were no longer part of a cohesive unit.

  “Every time I looked at those yellow walls, Nina, they made me think of a time when we were happy with each other. I couldn’t take it.” I let my bravado fall down, but not completely.

  “This hasn’t been easy for me either, Sketch.” She licks her lips and goes to stand at the wall opposite me, folding her own arms over her chest. “I’ve rethought the decision a million times.”

  “Could have fooled me. You seemed pretty damn sure when you left.”

  She growls in frustration, kicking her head back against the wall. “Stop saying that!”

  “It’s not a lie,” I remind her. “You did leave.”

  “I did.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Only because you made me.”

  What? Now I’m wondering if she’s on drugs. I, in no way, told this woman I wanted her to leave. “I made you?”

  “The long days at the shop while I waited on you to finish someone’s piece, the long nights you spent at the shop leaving me here, the countless long weekends we were supposed to have when something came up. You never wanted to spend time with me, Sketch. Never.”

  “Nothing you’ve said to me has ever been further from the truth. If you weren’t such a spoiled brat, you’d see that,” I tell her, pushing against the wall as I launch myself at her. “Nothing has ever been good enough for you. Why do you think I was killing myself? To make things better for us, and where did that get me? Standing in my driveway like a dumbass as you drove away.”

  She shrinks back from me as I approach her. Scared of me is something she’s never been.

  “Scared?” I taunt.

  “Pissed.” she answers in a clipped tone. “I have never been a brat.”

  This shit flies all over me. When we first got married, she hadn’t been a brat, but she’d slowly evolved, and I knew that. “The hell you aren’t. I bought you the car you’re driving out there. You bitched because it didn’t have a sunroof. I bought this house. You bitched because it didn’t have a basement and that it was only two bedrooms, because when we had that kid we always talked about, you wouldn’t be able to have your craft room anymore.” I tick the items off on my fingers. “But that’s the big stuff. Should we go into the everyday, nit-picky shit you’ve stuck me with?”

  “Stop,” she begs, her bottom lip trembling.

  This is her MO, and I’m not stopping. “I can’t make it to your aunt’s birthday because I have a client who booked with me five months in advance. We’re doing a memorial piece for his seven-year-old son who died of cancer. This is the only time he can come in, and the first chance I’ve been able to fit him in. Your aunt decided two days before that she wanted to have the birthday party. Somehow, me not being able to go turned into my fault. Never mind the fact that my client had worked up the nerve for a year to make the appointment, he’d saved for even longer, and I’d stayed at the shop late every night the week before to draw the perfect piece.”

  I stop to take a breath because shit’s getting serious and it’s getting personal, but maybe it needs to. “You know why I do that, Nina? Because that means something to me. I want the person who comes in broken because they have gone through the worst thing that life throws at them to leave with a huge smile on their face because I’ve made a difference. That feels good to me. They appreciate me, unlike you.”

  “That’s not true, Sketch.” She swallows roughly.

  “Could have fucking fooled me.”

  This is enough for one night. I can’t take anymore. “Like I said earlier, get your shit and leave. I’ll be in the shower. Lock the door on your way out.”

  I don’t wait around to see what she does. All I know is I have to get away from her before I say a million things I’m going to regret later.

  Chapter Four

  SKETCH

  I’m sitting in my office, head bent over the sketchbook on my desk, drawing away. When I’m angry, hurt, sad, depressed, even happy, this is my go-to. I want to get as much work done as possible. It’s one of the pitfalls of being an artistic fuck. When I work, I work.

  “Hey, boss.”

  A voice interrupts me. Trix is the only female artist we have here, and I’m not gonna lie, we get some dudes here because of her. She’s Kat Von D without the stick up her ass or the pretentious air that makes her seem like she’s better than everyone else. Not to mention, she’s damn good at her job, can hang with the boys when we go out for beer and wings, and looking at her you can tell she’s a lady when she needs to be, a freak when she wants to be.

  “Yeah.” I glance up, giving her my full attention. And full attention she gets. Today she wears a shirt that shows off her cleavage and ends right before the waistband of her jeans. She’s put her hands up on the door frame, and it gives me a view of her taut stomach. I remind myself though; I’m still wearing a wedding ring. Literally. I haven’t been able to take it off yet.

  “I’m scheduled to come in tomorrow,” she started.

  “Yeah, at noon.” I let her know that I remember the schedule, considering I made the fucking thing.

  She shoots me an impatient look. “Is it okay if I’m a few minutes late?”

  Trix pulls this shit on the regular. I’m almost used to it. Almost. “What’s happening tomorrow? You going out tonight?”

  Her cheeks turn a deep red. “There’s a male revue tonight. I’m heading out with some of my friends. It’ll be a late night.” She hooks her finger in the belt loop on her jeans. “You can come hang out
with us since you’re a party of one now—ya know, be our bodyguard or our boy toy, whatever works.”

  There’s a part of me that wants to take her up on her offer. I have been nothing but faithful to Nina, no matter what’s gone on in our lives, no matter how many women have thrown themselves at me. I haven’t ever touched anyone but her since we started dating. That’s not to say I haven’t wanted to. Women walk into the shop all the time, flashing their tits, you name it. If they think they can either get a deal on a tat or get with an artist, they do whatever they can. Bitches are crazy sometimes.

  Then there’s the part of me that wants to get to the bottom of whatever is going on with Nina and me. I got the divorce papers two weeks ago, and they’re sitting in the bottom of a drawer in my desk. I don’t want to sign them, not yet. I still have questions I damn well want answers to.

  “Thanks for the offer, Trix, but somebody is gonna have to be on time tomorrow if you’re gonna be late,” I point out.

  “You’re the owner,” she pouts.

  Almost hesitantly, she takes a step into my office, and I can see her better. She’s done herself up today. Her skin is porn star porcelain, her lips are suck-my-dick red, and her eyelashes are impossibly long. I’ll never understand how women do this to themselves. One more thing I’ll never get.

  My eyes find a picture on my desk, one I haven’t been able to put away. It’s a picture of Nina from last year when we finally had one of those long weekends I promised her. We made a trip to the mountains, and she’s standing in front of a waterfall we found on a hike we took. She’s grinning at me, a flirty look in her eye, and she’s wearing my hoodie. It’s engulfing her, I can’t make out one distinct part of her body, that’s how loose it is, but she’s never looked sexier to me. She’s not made up, she’s not naked, and she’s staring at me with seduction on her mind. She’s looking at me like she loves me. I rack my brain trying to remember if this was the last time she gave me that look. The week after we came back, my art was featured in a national magazine, and the shop exploded. Right now, memories are fucking painful.

  “I am the boss,” I agree. “Which means I have to make sure the shop opens on time and that there are artists here for walk-ins. You go have a good time with your single squad tonight, but be no later than one,” I warn her, eyebrow raised. That’s my serious look. When I raise my eyebrow, they all know I’m fucking done.

  “Fine,” she huffs, turning on her heel.

  I watch as she leaves, noticing the way the jeans hug the curve of her ass. I’m either an idiot, or I truly am a glutton for punishment.

  *

  Did you get the divorce papers?

  I look at my phone and run my fingers along the keyboard on the screen. Telling Nina that I do, in fact, have them will lead to a discussion I’m not ready for right now. It’s not weakness to want answers, I tell myself. It’s wanting the person you perceive as the quitter to admit that nothing was wrong in the first place.

  It doesn’t make sense, and I know that, but I’m the one stuck here in this house I bought, with memories all around me, wondering what the fuck I did wrong. How did making sure my wife had the best things and making sure she was taken care of turn me into the bad guy?

  Taking a drink of my beer, I decide I’ve let her wait long enough. It’s time to answer.

  Nope. Are you sure you sent them?

  Toying with her is becoming my favorite past time, but at least when I toy with her; she has a reason to be angry. She has a reason to be pissed at me, and it gives me a sense of satisfaction. I can’t explain it, but I admit it anyway.

  My lawyer did. Devin, if you’re lying to me…

  I grin, imagining the anger on her face, the glint in her eye, and the flush covering her face and neck. Nothing is more gorgeous than a pissed off Nina.

  I’ll check at the shop tomorrow. Make sure that nobody got them and just forgot to give them to me.

  I wait longer than I expect to for her to respond.

  If you’re lying to me Devin, I’ll cut your dick off.

  Being an asshole comes easier to me these days than it ever has, and I enjoy our banter.

  Doubt it, sweetheart. It made you scream and beg for it. Chances are more likely that you’re missing it.

  I purposely shut my phone off and lean back against the couch, taking another sip of my beer. She may think she’s got me by the balls, but she has another thing coming. I’m in it to win it.

  Chapter Five

  SKETCH

  I wait until halfway through the day before I send a message to Nina.

  Nobody has the papers; don’t know what to tell you.

  Grinning like a fool, I get up and walk towards the front. Today I want a fight, because I want answers. I’ve always been the kind of guy who gets what he wants—except with her. With her, I gave her everything I thought she wanted, everything she deserved. There was nothing I wouldn’t give her. That’s why I spent night and day here, building this place from the ground up.

  “We have a walk-in,” Jackie tells me as I come out of the back room. “Woman who’s hot if I’m being honest.”

  I think about it for a nanosecond. If Nina’s pissed, she’ll come here instead of getting into an argument over text. Arguments over text aren’t her deal. She’s the type who would much rather look someone in the eye as she cuts them down.

  “You want her?” Jackie asks, tapping her foot. “If not, she’s either going to have to come back or wait over an hour for Trix to finish.”

  It’s a Tuesday night, our slowest night, so it’s only the two of us here. I clap my hands, decision made. “I got her.”

  “I already got all her info. We’re ready as soon as she picks out a tat,” Jackie tells me as she turns and heads back.

  Jackie is the best counter girl I’ve ever had. When she graduates and decides to leave me, I’m fucked. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth and grab my fitted black hat. My hair has gotten longer in the front, basically because I haven’t had time to go get it cut, and now when I bend over, it gets in my eyes. Pushing the locks back with my hand, I put the hat on, bill facing backwards. It’s time to get to work.

  *

  As soon I enter the main floor, I can see the girl Jackie was talking about. A little on the tall side, wearing tight jeans, a tighter shirt, and long red hair. My dick takes notice, but I still can’t go there. Things are unresolved with Nina, and as fucked up as it is, I won’t cheat on her.

  “Hey, I’m Sketch.” I walk towards her, offering her my hand.

  She does this eye thing that I’ve learned females do when they want to appear innocent but they really aren’t. I’m hip to this game.

  “Janelle.” She smiles at me.

  This is a business transaction, plain and simple. “So what are you thinking?” I ask, tearing my gaze from hers. She’s one of those man-eaters, and I’m staying the fuck away. Wouldn’t touch that shit with a ten-foot pole—or an eight-inch dick.

  “I just got a divorce,” she tells me, twisting a long lock of hair around her finger, turning those eyes up towards me again. “I’m thinking a butterfly, because I’m breaking out of my cocoon.”

  Fuck me. This shit always happens to me. I always get the women who are finding themselves. Ten bucks says she wants it on her back, right in the middle.

  “Alright,” I tell her, nodding, trying to keep the judgment out of my voice and off my face. “Where are you thinking about getting it, and what size?”

  She turns, presenting her back to me and tilting her ass up. Shit. I watch as she lifts the edge of her T-shirt up and points to her lower back. I owe myself ten bucks.

  “Right here, so when I look in the mirror, I can see it,” she smiles.

  Or if some guy is fucking you from behind he’s got a focus point, I want to say, but I don’t. Instead I give her a smile of my own. “Is this the one you want?” I ask, as I point to the book that’s sitting in front of her on the counter.

  “Yes!”

&n
bsp; “Let me go get gloved up and ready.” I give her another smile.

  When I turn and see Trix gazing my way, I mouth fuck me. She laughs, because she understands and gets it. These little jobs do help pay the bills, but they aren’t what I love to do. Custom work is my bread and butter, and it’s what feeds my soul. This is tedious, but I try to give it my time and the same attention as a custom piece.

  I walk into the back to grab some more color and pull my phone out of my pocket when it vibrates against my leg.

  Devin, this doesn’t have to be this hard, but I’m not arguing with you over text. If you want to be an ass, you can be an ass to me in person. I get off work in an hour, expect me.

  I do. In fact, I can’t wait. I know it will only infuriate her more that I don’t answer. She can see that I’ve read it, and I know she’ll sit there and stew. By the time she gets to the shop, she will be breathing fire, and her nostrils will be flaring.

  Grabbing everything I need, I make my way back to the main floor. “C’mon, Janelle, go ahead and follow me.”

  I bring her back to my station and start setting up. Her eyes are burning a hole into my back, and I can almost hear them moving around my area.

  “Is that your wife?” she asks, gazing at one of the pictures I’ve kept up of Nina.

  I took a lot down, especially in the very beginning when my anger was at a slow boil, and every time I looked at it, I was reminded of the hurt I felt watching her drive away. Now, it doesn’t hurt so much to look at her from the happier times. What does hurt is knowing that at some point I’m going to have to sign those papers. But I refuse to do that until I have the answers to my questions.

  “It is.” I hope my tone tells her I don’t want to talk about this, but she presses on.

  “You wear a ring; you have a picture of her in your station. You must love her a lot.” Her voice is wistful.

  This is what I’ve always wanted Nina to see. That no matter how busy I’ve been, no matter how many hours I’ve spent here, she’s never too far from my mind. Everything I’ve done is for her. For us. I give Janelle a self-deprecating grin. “I do, but like you, I’m going through a divorce.”