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Two Bad Groomsmen_An MFM Menage Romance

Page 27

by Sierra Sparks


  “Are you two…a thing?” I ask, sipping curiously.

  “B? And me? No way. She’s just the closest thing I have to a friend out here. She’s more into Holland than any of the guys. Why would you think that?”

  “You really don’t see it?” I ask.

  “See what?” he incredulously points out.

  “Ha–ha…nothing…”

  More silence as equal to the number of sips taken follows.

  “Eric Blair was a man of metal, Waryn. I hope you know that.”

  “I know.” My eyes are on the swirly straw.

  “I thought he bloody hated me for everything that happened…but it doesn’t make sense…none of it does.”

  His eyes and mind are far in thought, and my curiosity is piqued.

  “What doesn’t make sense?” I ask with a twinge in my voice.

  “No…nothing.”

  “I am no fan of this awkward silence that marches bands between us, just so you know. Only two hours or so of us meeting and here we are, acting like strangers like we have nothing in common. But Eric is something we can actually talk about instead of sipping and reminiscing like grade school kids. You’re the one who wanted to talk Tatum. So talk.”

  Outbursts are really not my thing. But it was getting really frustrating to even think about this moment. A shuffle of the deck is what we all need some times, if not severally.

  “Okay Waryn. You’re right, and I’m sorry.” He pushes his glass away from him, leaving a wet trail of cold and dense moisture on the wood. A coaster right about now would have been nice. “Let me start over. My name is Tatum Driggs, a former pro wrestler and now a tattoo artist, and I am the man that hurt your brother Eric till he killed himself.”

  “Okay…and I am Waryn Blair, the sister to the late Eric Blair and the one who took care of him until he died.” I sip some more. “See…not a bad start, right?”

  “No, not really.”

  “You might think Eric harbored hate for you. Maybe you’ve been thinking that ever since the night of the fight.”

  “He did, didn’t he? He never accepted my calls or emails or even wanting to see me. And then I heard of what had happened….”

  His arms lay on the table heavily, a burden offloading, a secret never spoken before.

  “He didn’t.” I say, laying a hand on his hairy and rough elbow.

  “What?” he turns.

  “He never hated you for anything. Eric only hated himself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I make my glass join company with his, and breathe it all out.

  “Ever since that night, he had a…thing…in his eyes that was never there before. It never left till that night when I found him in the tub.” Will is nothing compared to the effort I put in holding my tears at bay. “He only spoke once in a while, nodding and smiling insincerely when we talked. He always had a thing stocked in full in his heart since the day the doctors gave him the news.”

  “I heard…” he starts, and quiets down. I’m not yet done.

  “Everyone heard. He was embarrassed to even call himself Eric Blair anymore. There was shame in who he was as a person, and all because of a simple script. When they told him about the paralysis, it took a lot of useless therapy and loads of crappy meds, but he finally accepted that he would never walk again and took it all to heart.”

  A heavy body floating on the water, bubbles frothing at the sides and his wheelchair on the floor. That is the image I keep seeing when I think about him. Even now, with the man that aided in…

  His eyes are full of comfort, and his arm around my shoulder. Tatum pulls me into his chest and I let it all go, sobbing quietly. How can I deny such at a time when no man could do the same? Right now, all I can feel is the burning layer of pain through my eyes and nose, and the constant warmth that is in his chest, his beating heart, his musky breath and the all–round smell of a man that takes physical exercise seriously.

  Am I this messed up?

  Thoughts of him having me right here on the table ripping my clothes apart one after the other as he eats every living part of me and ravages on my skin like his personal wet toy flash through my mind, down my neck and through to my knees. It tingles. It moistens.

  “Umm…Tatum…I should go.”

  Pulling away from the sea after a quick dive…that’s what this is. Like a big warm blanket that is there for you in the eve of winter. My hands find a napkin in my small black clutch purse, and I try my best to wipe the salty truth modestly and quietly as I can.

  “But…Waryn, we’re not yet done.”

  “Yes, we are. I need to leave.”

  “I’m not letting you see the back of that door until you agree on one thing.”

  My feet are already steady on the floor, and my knees strong enough to run. My instinct wants me to run. But…Tatum…

  “Join me for dinner tonight. My shift ends at 3.”

  There is a devil in all our smiles. This devil is quite the master manipulator, and convinces the angel that rests on our shoulders to fall silent and let the deed pass. It might have been the uneasy times I had the oddest of sexual encounters with guys back in my younger days, or when they made fun of me for being a fatty. Either way, the way he smiles at me is enough to weaken any celestial being to its knees. And in an odd way, I actually want to see him again.

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 3 - Waryn

  The robe hangs by the bathroom wall in graceful fashion. The cotton swabs by the left of the dressing table purr lightly at the slight breeze sweeping through the open window in my room at the Snazzy Motel. The walls, a tad browning at the corners and lifting to one single crack at the front of the wooden television set’s blank screen grow smaller and smaller with each piece of clothing I wear. The shower, a cold one, was neat on my skin, and gave me a few minutes to myself to think.

  In a few hours, I will be back at Sinful Scars to see Tatum Driggs once more. The moment I woke up today, I remember a steel resolve and a silent stare at the envelopes in my possession. It would have been a quick and painless acquaintance, but Eric must have seen it fit not to be so. I wonder why…

  The procession was slow and colorful in black. His pallbearers lifted the heavy coffin high above their heads, confirming to the heavens of a contract finally sealed. It wasn’t dreary the way we had pictured that day as kids. The clouds were few and the sun hidden in a scary misty fog behind them.

  In the name of the Father…

  There were no parents to hold my hand or lend me their shoulder to mourn. His only friends, Mark and Barry, his two classmates from way back in college where Eric had dropped out, gave comfort that came off as weird and slightly cold. I could count the handful of people present with no hard feelings. After all, the one person I needed there was Sarah Thomason.

  Ashes to ashes…Astra to Astra…

  A commonality I shared with Eric was the stars. We loved those constellations so far and so much that we had actually named each and every one of his scars as one or the other. Orion’s belt was quite painful when he got it in a fight once, and he never let me forget how forged it all seemed into his bones.

  You shall go forth and rest in peace our son.

  The wooden bed gingerly left the surface and melted into the ground. Eric was buried and we forgot. Two shadows stood over his grave after the priest and his ‘friends’ left to water their throats and feed their drums. Sarah’s hand was in mine the whole time. Then came the lawyer. I never liked suits after that.

  He left under me Eric’s last will and testament. A letter and a sworn oath; the letter was one I could not open, and the oath was that all his assets as well as those that belonged to my parents, all of it, to be transferred to my name.

  Eric made sure my life was as comfortable as he could possibly provide. But this loss, this envy, this pain…no money in the world is worth this.

  A truck honks its horn out at the long and unwinding road outside. The jeans fit perfectly through my hips, a
nd I laugh a little on seeing the stretchmark at the end of my inner thigh, a quick memory haunting my stead…

  It was middle school, and I was having lunch. Bespectacled and enjoying a verse out of MLK’s “I have a Dream” speech while listening to Queen, I was by the corner steps that led to the janitor’s closet. It was fun reading something far away from the bullies, both teachers and students, who came by and kicked me in my lower belly and accused me of my obesity.

  They made it feel like a crime worse than murder, the way they spat at me on the ground.

  Eric only came after; when the damage was done. He tried to teach me how to defend myself of course, but in retrospect I see his eyes now as I saw them then; filled with distaste at his fat sister who couldn’t raise her fists up even to save her own life.

  Another horn blows me back to now. I should really get going. No point in getting late.

  *

  It’s a bit cooler in the evening as I take the rented Chevy down the clean and litter–free street. My window is down and I get the occasional catcalls and whistles. They make me smile, these guys. If I had chosen not to exercise and strictly water down my weight this would be a totally different scene. I park right outside the neon lights and push past the door into the cool and ink–filled air that is Tatum’s digs.

  The tiny bell at the top dings, and I join in breathing the air that all the customers share. It’s quite the flurry of activity now, with redheads and stoners waiting in line to get some of Philadelphia’s finest ink on their skins. I see pinheads and quiet types, ready to lose their virginity to doing something stupid for a sorority. I see twin brothers in arms, tired from war, or some game of paintball, milling around the seats and browsing through the mixed and matched covers lined with tattoo designs. The buzzing in the back is fleeting and unending. It reminds me of the wound I have on my shoulder. A man walks out of the corner by the curtain that shields the inked from the bland, slightly taller than I am and well built from a curious case of the gym, eyes beaming, smile fresh, demeanor calm and chilled, and wiping his hands off with a wet cloth. He walks through the chairs and clients and waves at me from a foot away.

  “Hello there.”

  “Hi.” I swipe back.

  “You must be Waryn?” His face takes a slight cock to the side, hoping his assumption is not wrong.

  “And if I am?” I jokingly put.

  “Ha–ha, I’m sorry. The name’s Nix. Tatum mentioned you exactly as I see before me, and asked me to keep an eye out for when you came in. I’ve been checking for the past few hours. Don’t worry; it wasn’t any trouble at all. The exercise is good too.” We shake hands. Both his arms are beautifully colored with 3D tattoos of the Milky Way on the one arm and a wolf howling in a forest on the other.

  “Those are friggin’ awesome Nix.”

  “Thanks! I did them myself. Please come with me to the back…I’m sure you know the joint by now.” The way he seems settled and easy to talk to gives me a sense of peace with the place, despite the slight whimpers that cascade these walls. I like Nix already. It makes sense why B, back at the bar–cum–strip club liked him too.

  He pushes back the curtain, giving to view three guys hunched over different clients in chairs and beds. The needles are on and piercing. The ink is warm and the tensions are high. I see two guys and an older lady, maybe a soccer mom by the way her hair is tied up, clenching their teeth as art works wonders on them. Tatum sticks out like a sore thumb.

  “Waryn, hi…thank you for coming.” He’s pauses a bit to wipe off the residual ink and bits of blood off the soccer mom’s left arm. The lady in white and a shade of pink on her trousers smiles at the relief. “We’ve got a little bit more to go Mrs. Koal, and then we’ll be done okay?” She nods at him and smiles wearily. I wonder what would make a middle–aged mom get a tattoo. Then I see the faces of a child and dog from this distance. The answer is clear.

  “Maybe I’ll wait outside?” I quip. A dick of a customer walks in behind me. I turn quick and capture his face. He’s a dick, of course, for I could notice his hand just slightly grazes the close of my ass. “No, no need for that. Hey, how about some quick intros? I know you’ve already met Nix. He’s the cool guy with the trying accent.” Nix scoffs and smiles my way as he fixes gloves on his hands and points the new client to his seat. “That guy over there with the queer eye and the scar by his cheek, that’s Damon. Cool guy, but don’t let him catch you having a beer alone.” The gray–bearded man at the corner with one of the two guys chuckles and nods my way too. He almost looks like an aging man, with secrets and stories I would not want to hear alone in the dark. Yet, I can feel a quiet in him, understandable and mysterious.

  “And that guy you see administering some serious lack of empathy on skin, and enough cement on his face to solidify and close any deal, that’s Holland.” He’s the one with the Scooby Doo t-shirt making flag lines on his client’s chest. His hair is lined up and crew cut to make him look like a washed up Mackelmore, but his smile and landed edge give him the ace-in-the-hole disguise.

  “Nice to meet you guys, and clients as well. I’m Waryn,” I manage to say. They nod back. They look like quite the team here. Judging by how many clients are outside on such a hot day, Sinful Scars must be quite popular.

  “Hey cutey–pie,” starts the client that just came in. “Do you like lollipops?” I take my time to size him up nice and quick to know what I’m up against. The bulge in his biceps and the thin aquiline brows on his face are not a chance for a fair fight.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I asked,” he licks his lips, “if you like lollipops.”

  “What does that have to do with–?”

  “Coz you look like a girl who likes lollipops, and I am wondering if I could share some with you. They’re in my pocket right here.” He squeezes over the leather seat and shows me his bulging pocket.

  At least it’s not his crotch. Oh wait…

  “I’m uh…sorry…I can’t…”

  “What?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Really? Why? Is it coz you don’t know me? Coz bitch we can–”

  “ENOUGH!”

  Tatum is up on his feet and crunched up in what I can only define as asinine anger. To be fair, I am mad, but the uproar he just caused after the b-word got used on me, lessened mine in waves. Now I really want to see what will happen.

  “Kid, get out.” He’s facing him. Nix is by his seat. Holland’s needle is in the air, still buzzing. Damon is still working, unfazed.

  “Did you just call me kid, old man? You ain’t my dad you sick fuck.”

  “Too bad for him he has you for a son. Now I won’t say this again. Get. Out.”

  “I would listen to him if I were you,” drawls a quiet but authoritative voice from the back. Nix and Holland direct their gaze to Damon, the unfazed man in the heat of an argument. It is then I realize I’m in the middle of the confrontation. I walk over, carefully, to Tatum’s side.

  “Fine. Fuck your shop! Bull’s was my first choice anyway.”

  “Really? Bull’s? Man…bad taste and equally bad sense of humor. Nix, if you would do the honors?” chuckles Tatum. The guy is definitely out of his comfort zone the way Nix huddles him up. In comparison, Nix is twice the size of him.

  Nix gives him room by his crotch and the young man stumbles out puffing his liver all over the place. It’s kinda funny to think how disoriented the customers are, with the juggle between pain on the inside and intensity on the outside. Tatum walks by my side and grabs me softly by the arm. His hands are surprisingly soft for a burly man. We walk to the aisle between the waiting room and the pain room.

  “Waryn, let me start by apologizing for that client’s behavior. It was wrong for me not to step in and do something about his attitude.”

  “It’s alright Tatum. It’s partially my fault too for letting him get in my head.”

  “Ha–ha…lollipops though…that’s a new line.”

  “I know rig
ht? Kids these days…”

  We settle for laughing an awkward laugh to ease into the question of the night.

  “Lemme finish up please? I’ll be done in a few minutes with Mrs. Koal. I know a great place we can grab a bite and have a good time.”

  My raised eyebrow bores into his last part’s answer. “Of course I meant it in a gentlemanly kind of way Waryn.”

  “Ha–ha…I know. Just making things light. Say hi to your friends for me. I’ll be in the waiting room.”

  Tatum waltzes past the silver curtain and disappears from view. The twins stare at me for a while, and I retaliate. The guy that walked out must have been quite loud to solicit this much attention. Sunlight’s getting pretty low, and being in Philly has been quite the ride. Weirdoes and new acquaintances all making life go round…I already love it here.

  *

  “I think I forgot my manners back at the shop. You look lovely tonight.”

  It’s cold and chilly now. The lights on the streets are blindingly bright and filling with a gush of security. I had my extra red coat in the back of the car, and with him all dashed up and ready to take me for a night out in his smooth ride, I feel like a dragon.

  “Thank you Tatum. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

  The waft of pine and rubbing alcohol lifts off his skin. The pair of pants, brown and the crossed shirt, blue, are like a disguise. He even has glasses on, giving him the third–grade teacher from the army look. His arm and mine tangle and meld. It’s only polite.

  “About the other time…” I start. I feel I went a little overboard with my emotions with him back then.

  “Hey, Waryn, it’s okay. You were right in every way to get all that off of your chest. Besides…it felt good to talk about Eric. It hasn’t been the same ever since that day.”

  He stares up ahead and signals a truck driver by his wrist. A honk is returned in equal spirit.

  “I should have attended the funeral. I should have been there to say I’m sorry. But…I didn’t know how to.”

  “Tatum?” I ask, holding his body back to let a really epic Honda pass. “I think this night will go so much better if we don’t make it emotionally taxing, if you know what I mean.”

 

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