Devilishly Damaged

by Abigail Cole

  Opening the door, I slide into the comfy leather seats and roll my sweaty palms over my knees. Settling beside me with a huff, Dax asks where we are going. I lean forward to type the address of my OB-GYN into the touch screen sat nav while he rubs his forehead in frustration.

  Remaining broodingly quiet for the entire ride, I steal glances at Dax’s unusual appearance. His blonde afro looks springy and soft, his powerful blue eyes standing out from his bronzed skin and his hands look big enough to-

  “My mother is Latino, and my father is Brazilian.” He answers the burning question in my gaze. I blush at being caught out and keep my eyes on the road ahead. The vehicle turns sharply into a car park beside the practice, the tall glass building looming above us. Once stationary, I reach for the handle and notice Dax hasn’t moved.

  “Aren’t you going to come in to keep an eye on me? They offer free chlamydia tests if you want to get checked out while we are here.” Dax’s shocked expression tickles me but I keep my face innocent.

  “I’ll wait out here.” He states. Shrugging, I step out of the car and walk through the rotating doors leading into the open reception area. Waiting in the line patiently to approach the front desk, I peer back to see Dax has got out of the car to lean against it with a cigarette in his fingers. The woman in front of me moves aside so I walk up to the pretty receptionist. Thick rimmed glasses sit on her dainty nose, her hair is pulled into a tight bun with every strand perfectly in place.

  “Excuse me,” I lower my voice, “I believe the man by that orange car outside is following me, so I ducked in here. Do you have a back door I could use?” The receptionist’s brown eyes widen, quickly looking at Dax and back. She nods and tells me how to find the fire exit. As I walk away, I hear her call for guards, so I start to run as soon as I reach the corridor she pointed me towards. Pushing my weight against the door release, I almost fall into the street and continue running while signalling for a taxi to stop.

  A yellow vehicle pulls over long enough to let me slip in before driving off. I give the driver my real destination and text Meg with a giggle telling her I’m on my way. We pull up to a waiting Meg with 5 minutes to spare. I hop out while she pays my fare and we laugh while walking arm in arm into the tattoo studio.

  “Ave!” My artist, Ben, welcomes me into the space. A huge biker kind of guy, with multiple piercings, hundreds of tattoos and a long, thick beard. Lifting his cowboy style hat to bow his head slightly, I return the gesture with a mock curtsey. Leading me straight to the back of the studio, to his designated area in the right corner, Ben slides the dividing curtain closed to block the three of us from public view.

  “How are you keeping?” He asks, not wasting time to start unpeeling a fresh needle from the packaging and prepare the gun.

  “I’m okay, I guess. I’ll feel better in about 9 hours I’d imagine.” Ben chuckles, patting his black leather table for me to get comfortable on. Meg brought me to this studio about a year ago when we had first turned 18, wanting to celebrate being able to get a tattoo by choosing the first one she saw – a shaded feather that lines her spine. While I had been waiting, I was drawn to an art book of Ben’s designs and I was instantly hooked. His incredible talent to treat skin like a canvas and his tattoo gun like a paintbrush made me yearn to turn my body into something I can stand to look at in the mirror, so I had booked myself in before Meg was even finished.

  This will be my third and final session of my backpiece, making it 27 hours in total to finish. I had planned to wait until summer break, but with the freak accident that took my mum’s life, I can’t hold it off any longer. Who knows when our final curtain will fall, and I refuse to be buried with an incomplete image across my back.

  Lifting my sweatshirt and vest over my head, I gather my hair into a high ponytail and lie face down on the table. Meg passes me some air pods, pressing play on my playlist from our shared Spotify account and unhooks my bra for me. The buzzing of the tattoo gun barely penetrates the opening number of Wicked that’s playing into my ears, the first musical of many I will journey through today.

  Without the need of a stencil, Ben picks up on the work he began months ago. I was worried this task would have been too much to ask of him, but he has happily proved me wrong. Aside from Meg, Ben is the only one to have seen and touched the scars that litter my body from my previous life. He had warned me before starting the very first piece on my ribs last year that tattooing over scar tissue will hurt a little more than usual, but he didn’t realise that the emotional pain of having my scars poked and prodded would affect me so much more.

  Breathing deeply, I desperately try to focus on the words Elphaba is belting out rather than the visions that filter into my mind from my damaged skin being touched. The sharp sting of the needle blends into that of a leather belt or the burning of cigarette, my mind tricking my nose into conjuring the singed smell. Bile rises in my throat, shudders raking my body and tears leaking from my eyes.

  Pulling one of the air pods free of my ear, I snap back into reality and realise the tattoo gun has stopped. Meg strokes my face, smoothing a tear away with her thumb.

  “You’re halfway through sweetie. Come have something to eat.” I sit up, holding the front of my bra in place to see we are alone in the cubicle. Meg pulls a can of Pepsi Max out of her bag and hands it to me. “Ben’s popped to Subway; I gave him your usual order.”

  “How bad was I?” I have to ask, still feeling ashamed even though I know Ben is used to my demons by now. He’s never even asked for an explanation as I’m sure most would have, just been happy to help me cover my faults and give me a body I can be proud of.

  “Not bad at all,” she smiles pitifully, failing to cover her lie. I smile back, more thankful with every passing day that Meg is in my life. I wouldn’t have survived with her. After a short while, Ben returns with our subs and we fall into casual conversation easily.

  “How did you ditch the babysitter?” Meg asks, filling Ben in on my new home dynamic with a trace of humour. She would love to be surrounded by hot guys, and she’s welcome to come and distract them from me whenever she likes. Having my privacy invaded in my own type of hell.

  “I took him to the clinic on Collier Street and told the receptionist I thought I was being followed. She pointed the back exit to me while calling security. I’m in so much shit when I get home,” I chuckle. Meg doubles over laughing, and even Ben smiles mischievously.

  “Sounds like you’ve got those boys handled, but if you ever do find yourself in trouble Ave, don’t hesitate to call me.” Ben scribbles his number and address onto a scrap piece of paper and tucks it into the trouser leg pocket of my cargos. I’m speechless by his offer, feeling optimistic that I have more options than I’d previously thought.

  Bundling our leftover wrappers into a ball, Ben throws the rubbish into the bin and pulls his latex gloves back on, gesturing for me to lie down again. Rolling my neck, I resume my horizontal position while accepting the headphone from Meg. The opening track of Dear Evan Hansen causes me to smile, knowing Meg would have planned to play my favourite when I needed it the most.

  The vibrations of the tattoo gun reverberate through my lower back and I suck in a breath, waiting for the images to flood my mind again. However, this time they seem to hover on the edges and blur slightly, seeming to know that I’m on the home stretch to covering them from existence. If I can’t see them, they can’t hurt me – right?

  The sting of an alcoholic spray being wiped across my back signals the end of our session, and I already feel elated without seeing the finished piece. Giving Meg her headphones back, Ben directs me to take a look in the long mirror in the hallway. I’ve never gone out there after a session before, preferring to look in my own room. Steeling myself with new-found confidence, I step through the curtain and turn to see my reflection over my shoulder.

  Breath-taking. That’s the only way to describe it. A fiery red and orange phoenix covers my skin, from my shoulders to my waistband. Flaming
wings shadowed with a yellow glow stretch out from a powerfully bright body, the tail beneath blending into the flames that it is rising from. The realism of the bird’s feathers is visible even from this angle, its sturdy beak open on a screech. “Woah” I breathe.

  “Holy shit,” another tattoo artist catches sight of the piece in the mirror and comes closer to get a better look. A navy-blue cap sits backwards on his dark hair, his ears have large discs in the lobes and thick black tattoos cover his otherwise creamy skin up to his jaw. But it’s the way he’s looking at my body in awe that makes me want to jump his bones. No one has ever looked at me that way.

  More people come over, gasping and complementing me. Ben calls my name, drawing me away from the small crowd to get patched up. My head is reeling that I just stood out in the open in only an unhooked bra. I’m the Phoenix, I have risen from the ashes of an abusive childhood and will lead a life I love – as soon as Wyatt and his douchebag friends leave me alone.

  Dax

  Taking a drag of my last cigarette, I tap my foot and shake my head in frustration. Wyatt has been screaming down the phone at me all fucking day to return his fake sister. It took me hours to shake the tail of the police after those security guards had accused me of hassling pretty blondes. I’d had to sit in a diner for ages, innocently eating a burger so greasy that it dripped onto the plate below until they finally decided I wasn’t a pervert and drove off.

  The tinkling of a bell above the door alerts me to someone leaving the tattoo shop across the street. My gaze lands on a laughing Avery and the mutt she drags around, both of them freezing as they spot me. Avery’s eyes dart around the dark street, only the streetlamps lighting the road, clearly thinking of running.

  “Get in the fucking car,” I order her, thoroughly over this bullshit. I’m a prized basketball player studying biochemistry at one of the most prestigious colleges in the country, not a babysitter to little brats. Finally giving up the chase, Avery kisses her friend goodbye and walks over to slide into the passenger seat of Huxley’s new car. He’s also been blowing up my phone, pissed I’m enjoying his new toy more than he is.

  “How did you find me?” Avery huffs when I drop down behind the wheel and slam the door shut. My chest heaves while I try to control my anger, wishing I could have left her to walk home.

  “It’s a long story,” and an expensive one too. Luckily, my cousin knows a circle of hackers that were able to track Avery’s location via her smartphone, which instantly cost me $2K. “When we get back, you need to tell Wyatt we attended your fucking appointment and then I accompanied you to the cinema with Meg – which is why I had to turn my phone off for the past few hours.”

  “You’re covering for me?” She asks, her eyebrows rising toward her hairline. I laugh darkly, although there’s no humour in it. Pinning her with a look full of menace, I lean into Avery’s personal space and force her to shrink back.

  “No, I’m covering for me. Wyatt told me to keep an eye on you, which is exactly what he will think I did. Got it?” I seethe and she nods quickly. Turning the key in the ignition, I breach the speed limit the entire way back and cause Avery’s knuckles to turn white gripping onto the edge of her seat. She’d better not scratch the leather or Hux might just drown her in the pool.

  Parking in the underground garage, I drag Avery by the arm into the elevator. Composing myself, I lean casually against the side, crossing my ankles. The doors open to reveal Wyatt, fists clenched and a vein throbbing in his temple that I haven’t seen before.

  “Everything okay?” I ask in a relaxed tone, exchanging a fake confused look with Avery who shrugs innocently. We walk into the living room with Wyatt trailing us. A squeal sounds and I turn to see he has a tight fistful of her blonde hair.

  “I’m closer to locking you up than you think. Watch your step Avery, do you hear me?” He growls into her ear and she nods. He releases her and strides away, leaving us alone. A pang of sympathy passes through me as Avery strokes her scalp, but then I remember the run around she gave me today and walk away. Still, hurting females isn’t what I signed up for when we unanimously agreed to join Wyatt here.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I stride through the hallway to the guest room at the end that I’ve claimed. The rounded windows in here give a clear view of the basketball court around the side of the house. I’m itching to get down there and feel the burn of my muscles, but it will have to wait until tomorrow now. Flopping onto the memory foam mattress, I plug my phone cable in to charge and open up the TikTok app to watch a few funny videos before I fall asleep. The next thing I know, it’s 2:30am and I still have my shoes on. Groaning, I kick off the sneakers and saunter into my bathroom to take a piss. Noise from beyond the door on the opposite side intrigues me. Opening it, I see the mounted TV playing Friends re-runs to a sleeping Axel. I didn’t even see him awake today.

  Moving to turn the TV off, I realise that this is the one with all the cheesecakes, so I strip down to my boxers and join Axel in the king size bed. He automatically rolls and throws his leg over me, snuggling his face into my chest. The lines between us all were blurred a long time ago.

  “Where was my invite?” The door bangs open and Garrett squeezes his way between me and Axel on top of the cover. The sun peeking through the curtains is too bright, making me shield my eyes with my arm. Axel shifts and mumbles ‘what the fuck’.

  “You guys missed breakfast, and lunch.” Gare announces too cheerfully. “Don’t worry, I ate your lot for you.”

  “Of course you did,” I groan, my stomach growling on cue. I sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes while Axel strokes my hair like a cat begging for attention. I’ve learnt over the years that his subtle touches actually mean he wants some affection, so I pull him in for a good morning/afternoon hug.

  “This shit gets gayer by the day,” Huxley chimes in from the doorway, although his smirk shows he either wasn’t serious or isn’t bothered. He shuts the door quietly behind himself and perches on the edge of the bed. “I think we need to talk about Wyatt,” he says in a hushed voice in case Wyatt might magically appear at the sound of his own name. Throwing my arm around Axel’s broad shoulders, he nuzzles into me.

  “I’ve never seen him like this,” Gare agrees, sitting upright and seeming serious for once. “I mean, she’s just a girl. A smoking hot girl- “

  “Not to him she isn’t.” Hux interrupts roughly. “She is the epitome of everything he missed out on. And while I think it’s good he faces his issues, we need to keep him from going too far.” The rest of us nod. We have an unwritten rule if the chance arises to punish those who have wronged us, we are all expected to have each other’s backs. However, in this case, I fear Wyatt may be on a warpath to destroying his own soul instead of Avery’s, and it seems to me she isn’t actually the one to blame for the feelings he harbours.

  “He was only asked to make sure she is guarded, which we can do easily while keeping Wyatt at a distance. Let’s agree to take turns watching Avery and stop Wyatt from winding up in a prison cell.” I say, remembering how these guys prevented me from the same fate.

  My father had always been strictly disappointed in me, using his fists to express what his words couldn’t. Assuming I was alone in the locker room long after bombing a basketball game he had come to watch; he’d sought me out unaware that I wasn’t in the mood to take his beatings anymore. I’d let my anger flow freely that night, repaying him for every broken rib and busted lip I’d received over the years. A hand caught my raised fist, bringing me back from the blackened depths of my hatred to find my boys surrounding me, not a slither of judgement in their gazes.

  “Come on, let’s eat and play some ball.” I rise from the bed, dragging Axel with me. Grabbing a pair of his gym shorts for each of us, we pull them on and head for the kitchen. Passing a brooding Wyatt overseeing Avery’s math lesson, I tell him to change and meet us on the court in 10 minutes. A meatball sub and coffee later, I’m stretching on the asphalt surface with an easy s
mile back in place.

  The sun is glorious, warming my bare chest from a cloudless sky. Huxley joins me, placing a tray of bottled waters on the edge of the court as a ball flies over his topknot. Wyatt runs up, bumping Hux’s shoulder with a laugh and charging towards the ball. I dart forward, beating him to it and throwing it into the hoop with ease. Garrett appears from nowhere to scoop the ball up and dribble it around the court. Axel appears, still looking sleepy, his biceps bunching as he scratches his shaved head. It’s hilarious the most badass looking one of us is also the most affectionate.

  “What’s the stakes?” He asks lazily. I block Gare’s attempt to shoot, hugging the ball to my chest as he dives into my side. Unable to shake him off, I chest pass the ball to Hux so I can use my arms to tackle him to the ground with a laugh.

  “First one to five gets to choose what we do tonight.” Wyatt announces. That would be tormenting Avery for Wyatt, a sex fest for Huxley, an all-you-can-way buffet for Garrett, chilling in a weed-induced coma watching movies for me and probably cuddling for Axel. Which means I need to win.

  Striding to the centre of the court with the others, we all clasp shoulders and wish each other luck as we normally would before a match. Hux throws the ball high into the air and we all jump to try to catch it first. Knocking the ball behind me in a tactical move, I duck and pivot to scoop it up, dribbling around the court. Axel advances on me while the others hang back towards the front of the court. I shoot on a jump, the ball bouncing off the wooden backboard and dropping into the hoop to give me my first point.

  We continue to run and tackle each other as the game turns rough, sweeping out legs and throwing elbows. The sun is starting its descent as sweat drips from our bodies, my muscles burning with delicious exercise I’ve missed this past weekend. Garrett is one point from winning and I refuse to watch him devour a whole chicken like it’s his last meal. He gnaws on the bones too which makes my teeth ache merely watching.