by Magan Vernon
I looked up at Frankie. “I’m not looking to turn into you, old man.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with being me? I gotta good job. Roof over my head. And better ink than the pieces you got when you were living on the east coast.”
“No need to be digging at my ink.” I unbuttoned the pearl snaps on my shirt to reveal the extensive piece on my chest. “This isn't bad.”
“Yeah for your first piece. Now that you’ve started coming to me, I’ve fixed you up. You look legit.”
“Okay, you win, Frankie. You’re the best and you fucking know it.”
He laughed. “Of course I am.”
Frankie sat down on his stool and wheeled over, his eyes trailing to my neck. “We have a piece here on the side where we could mix something in with the flora.”
“It’s not floral. It’s leaves. Badass leaves.”
“Yeah, yeah, pretty boy. You call them whatever helps you sleep at night.” He ran his thumb along the side of my neck before he pulled a spray bottle from the cart and sprayed the disinfectant on me. “Yeah. I think we could do something nice here.”
I closed my eyes. “All right. I trust you as long as you don’t give me a fucking bald eagle.”
He laughed. “No promises, cuz.”
The hum of the needle was like a lullaby. As soon as the needle hit my skin I had to bite my lip to hold back a sigh. The pain that the delicate hum brought was always so freeing. Like I could just escape into that ache and not feel anything else.
I could forget that I didn’t have a job or some random chick I’d just met was living with me. I could escape the real world and go into my own lull. It was that place between dreaming and being wide awake. I think there’s a name for it, but I just called it my own sweet purgatory that I got to escape to every time I went under the needle.
“Okay, Trippy, just finishing up the shading and we’ll be ready to go.”
Frankie’s words barely registered as I slowly opened my eyes to get back to the real world. The humming died down and he swiped a towel on my neck. “Okay. I hope you like it because there’s no going back unless we cover it up with a giant flower to go with these other pussy little leaves.”
I was going to say something witty back but once he held the mirror up to me, all the air was sucked out of my lungs and all I could do was stare at the work on my neck. Flying up ward toward my chin was a swallow, but instead of being traced in black or with the rainbow of colors of the flowers and vines on my neck it was recessed and shaded with white and brown. In a world of color it stood out like it was rising from whatever was holding it and dared to be different.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Frankie.” I stared at the piece. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.
“I know. You can thank me after your new girlfriend sees it. But don’t go getting it sweaty tonight. You two can celebrate tomorrow.” He put the mirror down and coated the tattoo with ointment before taping gauze on it.
“What the hell are you talking about, Frankie? I don’t have a girlfriend.”
He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Really? Then who was the hot little red head you got out of the car with.”
How did he see that?
He laughed. “Big Papa was taking a smoke break, so I went out with him and saw you getting out of the car. I didn’t get much of it, but by the way you looked at her it looked like you were about ready to throw her against the wall and in the best way possible.”
I shook my head, slowly sitting up. “No, it’s not like that. The girl is just down on her luck so I’m helping her out. We’re just friends.”
The words were harder to spit out than I thought. I don’t know why I couldn’t think of her as just a friend or what I thought about the red headed waitress.
“You say whatever you have to say so you can sleep better at night, my friend.”
Chapter 7
By the time I shot the shit with Frankie for awhile and paid for my tattoo, my stomach was grumbling. I forgot what it was like to actually need to eat.
When I was on a bender I would usually just satisfy anything with more pills. More booze. Or whatever was handy. Now that I was used to the three meal structure a day of rehab, I needed some mother fucking pancakes.
The Pancake House was still open so I walked through the front, the bell dinging above me. It may have been open but the place was a freaking ghost town.
Sam walked through a back door and then sighed when she saw me. “Shit, I thought you were a real customer. We’ve been dead all night.”
“So I’m not a real customer now?” I asked, sliding into one of the booths.
“Are you actually going to order something?” She put her hand on her hip.
“Yes. I want some freaking pancakes with pecans.”
She shook her head. “Hey, no need to be demanding.”
Sam tilted her head, her eyes drifting to my neck. “Did you get shot and now you’re demanding food to cover up the hole?”
“What?” I lifted my fingers and ran them across the bandage on my neck, almost forgetting it was there. “Oh. Ha. No. I just got some new ink and didn’t eat dinner.”
“Go to Phoenix?”
I nodded. “Yeah, Frankie’s my favorite.”
She smiled. “I like him too.” She stared off as if her mind was somewhere else before she patted the seat in front of her. “All right, I’ll get that order in for you. Want some coffee too?”
“Jesus, it’s like nine o’clock. Who has coffee that late?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Decaf then?”
I lifted my hands. “Okay. I get it, vices. I’ll take some of your decaf crack.”
She smiled. “Decaf crack and stoner pancakes coming up.”
***
It didn’t take long for her to come back with a carafe of coffee, two mugs and a short stack of pancakes. She set them all in front of me then slid across from me in the booth.
“Did I say you could join me?”
She took the carafe and poured a cup, sliding it toward me then poured herself a cup. “Hey, if you’re going to have coffee you know I can’t resist.”
“Fine, I guess I can share with you.”
“So, how’s your night been? Anything exciting happen over at that tattoo shop?”
I could have told her about Frankie thinking she was my girlfriend or the chick at the front hitting on me, but I decided to leave those out.
“Nope, just another piece of ink to add to the collection. It’s probably also helping my unemployment.”
She took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t think it’s the tattoos that’s holding you back.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? And what do you think it is? My winning personality?”
She shook her head. “No. I think it’s because you really don’t want any of those boring desk jobs and you’re self-sabotaging yourself so you don’t have to take them.”
I blinked. I didn’t even know how to respond to that one. Mostly because she was kind of right. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do, I just knew I didn’t want to sit at one of those boring ass jobs forever with ergonomic keyboards and the only light I saw was from the lamp in my cubicle.
I leaned in, folding my hands on the table. “Okay, Miss assistant, if you’re so smart then what do I really want to do?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not a career counselor. Just a waitress.”
“And did you always want to be a waitress? You said you went to college.”
She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes drifting to the table. “Yeah I went to college. I never said I finished though.”
“Why not?”
She ran her finger over the ring the mug left on the table. “When my mom passed away and things went down with my ex, I just didn’t want to do anything anymore. That included going to work or classes. I lost my job and just didn’t return to school for the next year. Not like anyone seemed to notice. All my friends were my ex’s friends first so they sided wit
h him and my roommate was always at her boyfriend’s place so it was just me. Alone with my thoughts and Hashtag Cat.”
I looked down at my pancakes and started cutting them. Mainly because I needed something to do with my hands. I was used to the sob stories in rehab but Sam’s was different. Sam wasn’t looking for pity or even as a way to heal. She was just trusting me with the information. Talking to me as a friend. I couldn’t remember the last time I could talk to someone so easily.
“Well now you have a cat and an ex-addict roommate in a small apartment. We could always call up MTV and see if they want to make a reality TV show about us.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure your dad would love that one.”
I stopped cutting my pancakes and met her eyes. “I don’t always do what my dad would want me to do. That should be obvious.”
She smiled. “You’re definitely your own person and I like that about you.”
“So you’re saying you like me now?” I shoved a piece of pancake in my mouth, barely even tasting it as I swallowed it down. I didn’t know what answer I wanted from her. If there was something going on between us or if I just wanted someone I could sit around with and eat pancakes. Either way, there was something about her that made me like having her around.
She looked at the empty kitchen behind her and stood up. “Don’t get your hopes up there, Tripp. I’m just saying that I can tolerate you. You’re not as badass as you try to be.”
I put my hand on my heart. “I’m hurt!”
She smirked. “I’m sure you are.”
***
I could have called a cab to get home, but instead something kept me planted in my seat at the diner, waiting for Sam’s shift to be over.
Only one other person had come in since I showed up so she put me to work helping her restock the sugar shakers on the tables. By the time it was closing time everything was almost done and she just had to finish up mopping.
“Man, if you’re going to help me work, I should have you come with me more often.”
“Hey, I do what I can,” I said, watching her mop the last of the cracked linoleum floor.
“This really isn’t helping your badass reputation. Cleaning. Taking in the homeless waitress. Before you know it, you’ll start doing charity work and become a Democrat.”
“You sure know the things to say to make a guy feel wanted.”
Sam put the mop and bucket in a small storage room off of the front counter. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too used to my charming wit. We still have the drive home and I have some major road rage. There are a ton of fucking kids around here that don’t use the cross walk so they may meet my front bumper.”
I laughed. “I won’t judge you too harshly and if it gets too rough I’m sure we can make it look like an accident if we take one of them out.”
She slid her coat on. It was an old green military looking jacket. There was a ton of safety pins and patches on it. I didn’t know if they were for decoration, but by how worn the coat looked, I think they might have been to help keep the jacket together.
“You know, you should really change that out for something warmer. You know Chicago winters are a bitch,” I said, opening the front door for her as we slid out.
She shoved her hands in her pockets. “This is all I got.”
“Are you serious?”
I knew the girl didn’t have much money, hell she wouldn’t be staying with me if she did. But not even a decent coat? I was going to have to remedy that.
“Yeah. Sorry. Does my sense of fashion bother you?”
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
Chapter 8
I’d never exactly shopped for girls clothes before. I lied to Sam and told her I had some errands to run alone and she could have the place to herself.
She was probably going to throw a shit fit when she found out what I was doing, but I couldn’t bear to see the girl walking around and freezing her ass off anymore.
The girls at the store watched me like a fucking hoodlum as soon as I walked in. I should have worn the suit and tie instead of the Misfits hoodie and a worn out pair of jeans, but I didn’t have an interview and figured I could.
It was one of those places that smelled like too much cologne with the shirts already wrinkled and jeans pre-ripped. All the guys were ripped and dressed like they were about to walk onto some preppy beach party while the girls who worked there were all caked with makeup and wore flip flops.
I was definitely out of my element. Usually I had a personal shopper at the stores I bought my suits in or I ordered online. I should have probably done one of those things instead of actually braving the retail world.
“Excuse me, can I help you?”
I turned from where I was staring at a rack of shirts to find a short, blonde standing in front of me. She was wearing a tight, low-cut sweater that made her look like she had something for tits and grinning at me like she was either interested or wondering if I was going to steal something and hoped to catch me.
“Uh, yeah, I’m looking for a coat. A woman’s coat.”
“Okay, right this way and I’ll show you to the coats.” She motioned for me to follow her toward the back, her hips swaying in her low slung jeans. I didn’t know if this was her flirting and she wanted me to bang her against the dressing room wall or if she was just trying to be nice and get a sale.
“So is this for a family member? A girlfriend?” She asked, stopping in front of a small rack of coats.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Not a family member or a girlfriend. I guess you could call her a friend or a co-worker. Just trying to get her something better than the thing she’s wearing.” Shit. I was rambling. I didn’t know how to define what Sam and I were, or what possessed me to buy her a coat, so I just spit something out.
She licked her bottom lip before subtly biting it. “Okay, well how about a size? Or a certain style?”
I picked up one of the coats. It was brown and puffy with a big, fuzzy hood. I thought it would make Sam look like a little Eskimo. But it also definitely looked warm and like she wouldn’t freeze her ass off.
“That’s one of our most popular parkas,” the blonde said.
“Yeah, this looks good. Uh, but I don’t really know her size.”
“Well is she around my size? Smaller? Bigger?” She batted her eyelashes.
I held the coat up to the girl. “I guess maybe your size. Though you may have some bigger assets.” I moved the coat back and couldn’t help it when my eyes drifted to the top of her shirt, where it not-so-subtly dipped.
“I can always get you a gift receipt,” she said, lowering her voice. “In case you need to come back for anything.”
***
I couldn’t exactly remember all the steps from buying the coat to being balls deep in the blonde. Her name was Missy or Krissy or something with a Y. I didn’t remember. I just knew that when I had her pressed against the dressing room wall, I wasn’t really thinking about anything else but my dick.
She bit down on my neck, right where my fresh tattoo was. It stung and I groaned, which Missy or Krissy seemed to think meant I liked it.
“Oh yeah, want it rougher?” She moaned, arching her back against the wall and grinding her hips against me.
I grimaced, holding onto her waist. I didn’t want to hear her speak. I just wanted to fuck and get it over with. I buried my head in her neck and pounded hard into her. Her breathing was ragged and I could feel her clenching around me right before I finally finished.
Fuck. That was more work than I thought.
I pulled away and ripped off the condom, tossing it on the ground before pulling my pants up and buckling my belt.
“That. Was. Awesome,” she said breathlessly, as she buttoned her pants.
“Yeah.” I could barely get the word out. What the fuck had I just done? I’d screwed plenty of randoms, but there was something that felt off about this one, like guilt.
Maybe it was because I knew I had fuck
ed all those women just to feel better about myself.
That was what my psych seemed to think. His theory was that I didn't do relationships because I wanted the constant praise from someone new. Someone to make myself feel better.
I wasn't sure if he was wrong, either. I liked it when a girl screamed my name. When I could make her come with some of my best assets. It made me feel like I was doing something right when everything was fucked up.
Then the girl would leave and I'd go back to feeling empty. Yet I kept doing it over and over.
“Still want to get that coat for your friend?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.
“Yeah. Let’s continue with your great service.” I forced a smile. God that was fucking cheese but she grinned, eating it up.
After we went to the front counter and I paid for the coat, she wrote her number down on the receipt and I shoved it in my pocket.
As if Sam knew what I was doing, my phone rang in my pocket with her familiar ringtone of “Tattoos on this town”.
I didn’t look back as I pulled my phone out and walked out of the store. “Hey, Sam.”
“Hey, yourself. Where are you at?” She asked.
“Just getting out for a bit. You know, getting fresh air.”
“Well, I guess that fresh air doesn’t have Wi-Fi. I sent you a message that your doctor’s office emailed you. He asked if they could move your follow up appointment to three today and I said it was okay.”
I glanced at my phone. 2:45. Shit.
“Tripp? Where are you at? I could pick you up and take you if you need me to.”
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see it. I didn’t need Sam to see me post-fucking and I didn’t want her to see the new coat yet. “Naw, I’m good. I’m not far from there. I’ll walk.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Bye.”
I hung up the phone, letting out a deep breath of air that I didn’t know I was holding in. My heart was racing and I felt like shit.
What the fuck?
I wasn’t dating Sam. We were barely even friends, but for some reason I felt like utter shit.
