Permanent Ink

by Avon Gale

  “Why?”

  I scoffed. The pen made a series of rapid clicks as I jabbed at the button in irritation. “Really? It should be obvious by now.”

  “We had a fight. So what?” Blue sounded annoyed.

  The clicking got faster. Had Jericho been in the room, he would’ve called me on the habit, but he’d left to run an errand half an hour ago. “Don’t be stupid. I’m beyond fucking tired of you talking shit about the tattooing every time we hang out. If I wanted lectures, I’d get them from Landon.”

  “So you’re mad at me and that’s it? Now you’re gonna ice me out?”

  I tossed the pen across the desk. “No. Fuck, man, that’s not what I’m saying. I just needed some space.”

  “And you’ve had it.” Strain filled Blue’s voice, the words tight and thin. “Dude, I miss you. Let’s work on that big piece tonight. I’ve got the gear.”

  Gear meaning harnesses, carabiners, and the various climbing equipment we planned to use to rappel down the side of the building when we hit that heaven spot. Quality materials didn’t come cheap, and I wasn’t crazy or dumb enough to try to jerry-rig something meant to keep me from breaking my neck.

  “Tonight?” The idea sent a little thrill through me. It’d been a while since we’d last written together. I might be switching paths, but graffiti still flowed in my bloodstream. It wasn’t easy to let go of that life, and part of me didn’t want to. Not entirely. “I dunno, man. I have plans already.”

  “So cancel them. This is important. We promised we’d do this together, and we finally have everything we need. The weather will be perfect too. Cold but clear.”

  “Hmm.” He had me there. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my Netflix-and-chill sessions with Jericho. As quickly as it’d started, it’d become our thing—me, him, some takeout, a movie (or a hockey game), and trying to get each other off as many times as possible. I didn’t need much else to make me happy. But the idea of finally doing this with Blue, it tempted me. “What about everything else?” I asked. “We’d said we wouldn’t talk about the tattoos, but you keep bringing it up constantly. I’m tired of hearing you bitch.”

  “I won’t say a single word about it tonight. I swear. Come on, dude.” Blue’s smile was audible in his voice. He knew he was winning.

  “Fine,” I said. But it was grudging. “Where do you want to meet?”

  We went over the finer details, and I hung up a few minutes later. When I spun my chair around, I nearly jumped out of my skin to see Jericho lounging against the doorframe. He’d obviously overheard some of the conversation, and he looked less than pleased.

  “I thought you were at the DMV.” He’d mentioned something about renewing a sticker for his truck.

  Jericho made an annoyed sound. “The line was ridiculous. I’ll have to go on my day off.”

  “Oh.” I toyed with one of the several black-and-white silicone bracelets stacked around my left wrist, my right knee bouncing in place under Jericho’s hard stare.

  “Who was that on the phone?” he asked, stepping into the room.

  I tried for a casual shrug. “Blue. We’re meeting up tonight. We can do the movie tomorrow, yeah?”

  Jericho’s frown deepened. “Are you sure it’s wise, going out with him?”

  Like fur on a dog’s back, my hackles rose. “What do you mean?”

  Jericho moved to lean against the tattoo chair. “Only that I know you’ve been fighting lately. And, well . . .”

  “Well, what?” I couldn’t keep the irritation from my tone. “Are you afraid I can’t hang out with him without getting into trouble?”

  Jericho put up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, don’t be pissed at me. It’s just . . . you’ve been doing so well the last month or so. You’re on the right track now. I don’t want you to derail your progress. That’s all.”

  I got to my feet, unwilling to have this conversation with Jericho looking down at me. “I’m a grown-ass man. I can make my own decisions.” I tossed my hair out of my eyes to glare at him. “I know you don’t think much of the graffiti, but I’m not about to quit because you don’t approve. Besides, Blue needs me right now.”

  Jericho hesitated, before speaking slowly. “It’s not that I disapprove of the graffiti—”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “All right, fine. Maybe I think you should spend your time doing something more productive. Maybe I think you shouldn’t risk another run-in with the cops with everything your father’s done to help you, and maybe—”

  “So you admit you want me to stop?” I interrupted. “You want me to cut ties with Blue and that life.”

  “I want you to be smart, Poe. If he’s going to drag down your progress, then yes, maybe you do need to consider whether or not he’s a true friend to you.”

  “You don’t know him,” I said, my brows drawing together. “Don’t talk like you do.”

  Jericho swept an arm out in an aggravated motion. “Yeah, sure, I don’t know him personally. But I was that punk kid back in the day, and I know how easy it would’ve been for me to slip back into that life, especially if I had a friend encouraging me to do so.”

  I moved closer to Jericho, invading his personal space and jabbing a finger against his chest. “Listen to me carefully, okay?” I pitched my voice low so that no one passing by could overhear us. “Don’t get this twisted.” I gestured between us. “I might like it when you order me around in bed, but that’s as far as my daddy kink goes. You get no say in who I hang out with or what I do. I get enough disapproval about the graffiti from my father. I don’t need it from you too.” I stepped back, and I couldn’t keep the betrayal from my voice when I added, “I thought you understood what it meant to me. I wouldn’t be who I am without it.”

  Jericho caught my wrist. “Poe—”

  I twisted from his grasp. “No. Look, I’m taking the rest of the day off. I’ll call Alyssa to reschedule. I need to clear my head.” I sidestepped around him and left the room, ignoring his call for me to stop.

  The very last thing I needed was yet another person trying to control me. Landon. Blue. Jericho. Why couldn’t anyone just let me fucking be?

  Tattooing might be my true calling, but that didn’t mean I had to cut all ties with my previous life or with my crew or with Blue.

  At heart, I was still Raven. I always would be. Jericho needed to accept that before it led to an argument that might drive us apart for good.

  Hours later, when the night was still and mostly silent, Blue and I stood on the rooftop of an old brick building at the edge of downtown St. Louis. We’d climbed the exterior fire escape ladder to get to the top, and my back already ached from the extra weight in our bags. Next to this building was a much smaller one, which left the side of the taller building exposed—all that bare brick just waiting for us to leave our mark.

  Of course, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded, not for what we wanted to accomplish. Hence, the rappelling gear. Although now that I stared down at the shorter building’s roof, I kind of wished we’d taken the time to, oh, I don’t know, actually practice using the equipment. It was a long way to fall, and the list of things that could go wrong was even longer. That was what made this place a heaven spot—the level of risk and difficulty.

  No one had hit it yet because you couldn’t stand on the other building’s roof and paint from there. For one thing, there was a gap between the buildings—wide enough to be annoying but not to accommodate a handy ladder. For another, a greenhouse ran the entire length of the shorter building. A greenhouse made entirely of old, fragile glass that would never support one of us, let alone two. And if we somehow managed to bypass both those things to throw up some writing at our height level, it still wouldn’t be considered a heaven spot piece. If you weren’t literally risking life and limb, it didn’t count.

  Blue set his bag down and started digging through the supplies while I dubiously peered over the edge of the building. Like me, he wore a Craftsman headlamp around his f
orehead to see what the hell he was doing.

  “I don’t know about this,” I said. “We’re gonna get ourselves killed.”

  Blue didn’t bother glancing up at me. “If it was easy, this place would’ve been hit a long time ago.” He pulled out a contraption made of polyester straps. A chest harness. “If this was a skyscraper, there’d be window washer anchor points. We don’t have that, so maybe we can put slings around a couple of those chimney stacks. They’re tall enough there shouldn’t be any risk of the slings slipping off.”

  I eyed the stacks he referred to in trepidation as icy coils of dread unfurled in my stomach. “Uh-huh.”

  There could be no mistaking the doubt in my voice. Blue’s chin jerked up, the light from his headlamp half blinding me and rendering his expression unreadable. “We’ll be fine, dude. I know what I’m doing. I’ve read some articles and watched a bunch of videos on YouTube.”

  I snorted. “Forgive me if I don’t find that very comforting. Any random person can start a YouTube channel and claim to be an expert.”

  Blue dropped the harness and stood. His long, wavy hair was up in a messy bun, and as usual, tendrils had come free and hung loose around his angular face. With his height, killer bone structure, and full, plush mouth, I sometimes considered suggesting he find a modeling agency, maybe put a portfolio together to see if he could land a contract. He had that look about him: a wildness, an allure that was hard to pinpoint, fierce yet far from common. I could picture him on the pages of magazines. But he’d never, ever go for it. Not in a thousand years.

  “Are we gonna do this, Poe?” Blue asked after a pause.

  “I don’t know.” Frustrated, I scraped the sole of my boot on the tar-covered rooftop. Clouds of condensation puffed out with every word I spoke. “You could do something else, you know? Something different. It could still be art, but—”

  “I told you I wouldn’t talk about the tattoos. I have no interest in that. None.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not suggesting tattooing. I’m not saying you need to quit the graffiti either. Maybe you can find a way to work it into something you can sell for a commission. Then you can quit waiting tables and still do something you really love.”

  I heard his low scoff in spite of the brisk wind, which blew so intensely up here it made the idea of rappelling off the roof even more reckless. “I’m not like you, Poe. My art belongs out here in the streets, where it started, not in some boujee, overpriced gallery.”

  “Do you realize how pretentious you sound right now? ‘My art belongs out here on the streets.’” I snorted. “Look, you hate sharing that apartment. Why not find something that’ll let you afford a place of your own?”

  Despite being unable to see Blue’s eyes clearly, I knew he was rolling them. “Do you realize how boring you are now? All you worry about is making money.”

  I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “Yeah, because I owe my father hundreds of dollars, and I feel kind of bad about him having to constantly bail my ass out of trouble.”

  “Dude, artists have been banned, censored, or arrested throughout history. Art is meant to challenge the status quo.”

  I looked heavenward, to the darkened sky and barely visible stars. “I don’t know how I’ve put up with listening to you say this kind of bullshit all these years.”

  “You used to agree.” Blue’s words were edged with bitterness.

  I reached up to yank the headlamp off. “See, that’s the thing. I do agree—to a point. But in the past, I mostly went along with whatever you said because you’re my friend and I didn’t want to disappoint you. I know how strongly you feel about all of this.” I dropped the headlamp onto my backpack. “I wish you’d be happy for me. Instead, you keep criticizing this thing I’ve grown to love, and you keep trying to make me feel like some sellout asshole because I actually want to make a living with my art.”

  Blue watched me in silence, but I could feel his anger rising along with mine.

  “I love doing street art,” I told him. “It’s fun, and I don’t intend on giving it up for good. But things have changed. I’ve changed.” I sighed, holding up a hand to keep the wind from blowing my hair into my eyes. “Maybe it’d be different if I hadn’t landed myself in handcuffs a couple of times, but I can’t just keep messing around indefinitely. Jericho showed me how to channel my skills into something I can build a career on.”

  “He’s brainwashed you,” Blue said scornfully. “That’s what he’s done.”

  I took a step toward him, my hands fisting at my sides. “Watch your mouth. You don’t know him.” It didn’t escape me that I’d said the same exact thing to Jericho about Blue earlier. “We’re together now. It’s not just about the apprenticeship anymore.”

  “‘Together’? What the hell are you saying?”

  “What do you think?” I waved a hand. “Together, as in screwing. As in boyfriends.”

  Blue stiffened, disbelief radiating from his sinewy body. “You’re fucking that guy? Isn’t he, like, your father’s age?”

  “He’s forty. And to be more precise, he’s fucking me.”

  Blue made a disgusted sound. “So it’s all about the sex, then. I should’ve guessed. He’s got you dick-whipped.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Whatever.” Blue dropped into a crouch and started rummaging through the bag with stilted, jerky movements. “I’m not talking about this anymore. Come put this harness on.”

  I sighed. “Have you been listening? I don’t want to do this.”

  Blue swore and shoved the bag away so hard half the contents spilled out. “Fuck! I paid for all this shit because we said we’d do this together. Do you trust me or not?”

  “I don’t think you’d intentionally hurt me.” I said the words as carefully as I could. I didn’t think Blue would ever try to hurt me on purpose. But I could definitely be hurt or worse if something went wrong tonight, and I didn’t want to take the risk. I couldn’t do that to my dad. I couldn’t do it to Jericho. And I couldn’t do it to myself, not when I was finally on what felt like my true path.

  Jericho was right. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I should’ve been snuggled up in bed with him instead of arguing with Blue and freezing my ass off on some random rooftop. And in no way should I be letting Blue try to talk me into doing something I might regret for the rest of my life. God. Where the fuck was my head?

  “Sorry, Blue. I’m out.” I reached down to grab my bag. “And don’t you dare try to do this on your own, okay? No matter how pissed you are at me. We’ll do another spot sometime. A safer one. I don’t want everyone to know our names because we died doing something stupid. Be smart. Return this crap, get your money back, and think about what I’ve said.” I turned to go back to the fire escape.

  “If you leave now, we’re done,” Blue called from behind me.

  I looked over my shoulder. His face was still shadowed thanks to the headlamp, but he was holding himself so tightly I worried he might break. “That’s not what I want. I still want you in my life. I still want to collaborate with you. I just wish you’d try to understand where I’m coming from.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t.” Blue gave me his back. “Go. You’ve been good at walking out on me lately.”

  I hesitated, racking my brain for what to say. I didn’t want to hurt Blue. I didn’t want to leave with both of us so furious, but the right words, whatever they were, eluded me. It was like they lay in fragments in my head, pieces from different puzzles that I couldn’t quite fit together. I didn’t dare approach Blue either. Every line of his tense body screamed for me to stay the hell away.

  I understood his anger, and partly, I couldn’t fault him for it. In his shoes, I’d probably be mad at me too. I only wanted him to have an open mind and look at the situation from my point of view, but he refused to listen. There’d be no getting through to him, not now. He’d thrown up his walls. I knew from experience they were Kevlar strong and nearly impenetrable when he didn’t wa
nt to let someone in.

  I hated to end the night on this shitty-ass note—really hated it—but I had no choice but to let him cool off. He’d calm down, and then we could talk again.

  We’d work things out. We always did.

  Jericho

  I felt like shit after that conversation with Poe, both out of frustration and the slightest bit of remorse. I hadn’t been lying to Landon when I’d said I had no intention of being Poe’s father, and I certainly hadn’t meant my words to come across that way. I would have said the same fucking thing to Callum, if he’d been planning to go out vandalizing buildings with some no-good punk. Age had nothing to do with it. Or so I’d thought.

  This was an unpleasant reminder that there was a seventeen-year age gap between me and Poe. Maybe I was trying a bit too hard to pretend there wasn’t. Maybe I shouldn’t be dating a twenty-three-year-old if I couldn’t handle him, well, acting his age.

  Part of me wished I could call Landon and meet him at the bar for a beer—he’d been there for me when things ended with Callum, though it’d been on good terms. But there was no way I could do that, given who I was dating, so I’d have to find another way to clear my head. I left the shop after closing and went for a long ride up 367 and toward Alton, then up the river road toward Elsah. It was a nice drive and the feel of the machine under me, the roar of the wind, helped me clear my head somewhat.

  Poe was right, I had no say over who he hung out with and how he spent his time. But if he thought I was going to keep my opinion to myself when I had one, well, this wasn’t going to work between us. I was also his boss and his mentor, and it was my responsibility to make sure he was doing what he needed to do to complete his requirements for his license. Going out all night and potentially getting involved in a dangerous activity? That was technically illegal? Yeah, that was stupid, and I wasn’t going to apologize for saying so.

  I didn’t want to run Poe’s life—far from it, the very idea was fucking exhausting. But I did want him to consider where I was coming from, at the very least.