Ink My Heart (Luminescent Juliet, Book Two)

by Jean Haus

  “Mix me a drink, darling?” she asks over her shoulder. Turning back to me, she shakes her head. “When are you going to grow out of the melodrama? You’re almost twenty-one.”

  My father steps past me and mutters, “Perhaps his emergency had to do with three Cs and one B.” He’s referring to my winter semester grades, which he has access to online.

  Irritation shoots down my spine. My hands clench the edge of the bench. They haven’t seen me since Christmas. Though I never come home, I show up unannounced and this is the bullshit they spout? Wrapped in their own little superficial world, they are so clueless, so selfish.

  I’m about to blow. My fingers dig into the marble. Anger swells in my chest until I slowly release my grip, and with it I let go of the need for their attention. My body and mind instantly lighten.

  As usual, I hate admitting it but Romeo is right. I need to grow up. I got dealt a shitty hand when it came to parents. But it’s time for me to step up to the plate of life. First of all, there are people out there like Gabe, whose cards are far shittier. Second, there comes a time when you have to let go, man up, and let your actions speak for you instead of letting the past or your parents or any other bullshit define you. A man needs to define himself.

  My parents are my parents, not the worst, sure as shit not the best, but there’s no fixing them. But there’s a girl who I’m madly in love with. I need to talk to her, be with her, and prove myself to her. Wasting anger or time or emotion on something I can’t change suddenly makes no fucking sense.

  Ice clinks in the kitchen as my father mixes drinks. I slip on my boots, then face my mother as she crosses her arms. “Guess I got homesick for a minute, but I really have to study tomorrow.” I bend and kiss her cheek. “See you in July.” And with a newfound feeling of freedom, I close the heavy front doors on her startled face.

  Chapter 32

  Allie

  It’s almost midnight by the time I get home. Like Todd last weekend, I got burned with a walk-in just before cutoff time at nine. The guy’s eagle took me until almost eleven o’clock to ink. Normally, I don’t mind late walk-ins, especially since Ben stays at my parents’ house on Saturday nights. But this week has been crazy. After dealing with Trevor’s antics all week, I’m drained.

  Alone finally, I’m debating if it’s too late to call Justin. All day I’ve been thinking of how to explain the realization of my feelings through the painting I made last night.

  Yet no sooner are my boots off and my butt on the couch when a knock sounds at the door. Having an awful suspicion about who’s on the other side, I stay on the couch, but the knocking grows loud enough to irritate my neighbors. A look through the peephole confirms my suspicions.

  Trevor flies in as soon as I release the dead bolt.

  “I’ve been driving past your place all night,” he says almost too fast for me to understand the words. “You’re lucky you’re not out with that douche bag.” As he leans on my dining room table like he owns it, I notice his wrinkled clothes. His bruises have healed and without them to distract me, I notice the dark circles under his eyes.

  “You should have tried the shop,” I reply. “I had a late walk-in.” Pushing the door closed with my foot, I ignore his gesture for me to sit in a chair. I’m not sitting. The sooner he’s gone the better. “Why are you here?”

  “First off,” he says, yanking an envelope from his back pocket and waving it in the air, “I got this in the mail today.”

  I cross my arms. This riddle talk has been coming out of him all week. “Am I supposed to know what that is?”

  “It’s a court date. For my arraignment. You were supposed to tell douche boy not to press charges.”

  “We haven’t been talking much lately, but I doubt that has anything to do with Justin. The police came. People were arrested. The state or city or whatever is pressing charges.”

  He folds his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s good news.”

  “What?” I’m confused why he would be happy that charges are being pressed.

  Pushing out his chest, he steps toward me and places his hands on my shoulders. “I’ve decided I want to work out things between us. I want you, Ben, and the shop back.”

  Part of me feels like he has socked me in the gut. Another part is pissed. We’re divorced. That he believes I would take him back is beyond egotistical. A third part of me is completely confused. Trevor has been halfheartedly pursuing me in his own twisted way since he got back. I assumed his main purpose was to get me in bed. Trevor has always used booty calls to boost his ego. But the old connection we used to have is dead. It’s almost like he’s been going through the motions. Now this? And including the shop in his statement? Who includes business during a conversation about getting together with their ex-wife? Suddenly, I recall his child support payments. They’ve always been erratic. I never count on them, just put half in Ben’s college fund and the other half in an emergency fund, but it’s been months since his last payment.

  My hands ball into fists on my hips. “What’s going on?”

  His expression turns sly as he grabs my upper arms. “I want us to be together, babe.”

  Ugh. The “babe” has come out. I tear away from his grasp. I’ve always feared a part of me would want Trevor. He was my first love. My first heartbreak. And second. He’s the father of my son. He was my husband. But since last night’s revelation while painting, I can say without a doubt I do not want to be with Trevor ever again. I’m finally totally over him. However, even if I wanted him, there’s obviously something going on here I’m unaware of.

  “What about your tattoo business in California? And your girlfriend there?”

  He reaches for me again, but I sidestep him.

  “I broke up with Lexi before coming here, and California isn’t for me.” He clasps a hand across his wrinkled shirt over his heart. “You and Ben are for me.”

  His blue eyes are strangely dark. I look closer. Because his pupils are huge. Maybe I don’t want to know what’s going on with him. In the end, it doesn’t matter.

  “We’re not getting back together. Ever.”

  Confusion fills his crazy-looking eyes and his jaw tightens. “Why?”

  Because I can’t stand you. Because there’s someone else. Rather than either of those truths, I say, “It was over when I filed for divorce. Two years ago.”

  He steps closer to me. I step around the table. He steps around the table.

  “We belong together. We have Ben and the shop. We belong together,” he repeats rapidly with confidence.

  I step away again. Between the sidestepping and his ridiculous chanting, I’m getting dizzy. “It would be best if you left.”

  He takes a huge step and towers over me. “We are getting back together.”

  “We’re not,” I say firmly. “And you need to leave.”

  He breathes on me like a dog, huffing into my hair. “Are you being a bitch because of that douche bag?”

  I point at the door. “You need to go.”

  “I’m staying.”

  I’m getting angry. He’s basically been bullying me all week and this is the bully cherry on top. “We’re not getting back together. There is nothing left to say. Leave.” I point past him again.

  He leans closer to me and says through his teeth, “We’re working it out.”

  “Do I need to call the cops?” I ask, backing away from him.

  He lunges, grips my arms hard, and shakes me. “Quit being a bitch!”

  My anger erupts. “I’m never getting back together with you. I can’t stand you. Get out of my house,” I hiss.

  His face twisting in rage, Trevor lets go of me as the door creaks open behind us, but before I can put any more distance between us, he snarls, lifts a tattooed arm, and backhands me. Hard. My jaw and mouth scream in agony as I fly across the room, bang into the wall, and s
lide to the floor.

  Pissed, humiliated, and in pain, I peel myself from the carpet while grunts, crashing, and cursing erupt behind me. With my entire body shaking, I stand and then see Justin and Trevor circling each other in my living room. I clutch the back of a chair, afraid I might crumple back to the floor.

  What the hell is happening?

  After Trevor’s slap, I’m completely dazed. I can’t understand how or why Justin is here.

  Trevor rushes at Justin. They end up locked together in a furious embrace that neither is willing to break, shoving at each other and knocking over chairs. The coffee table tips over, and the rain of Legos spilling everywhere sounds amid their cussing.

  I’m still clutching the chair, trying to think of what to do, how to get them apart, as Justin slams Trevor against the wall. His hands clamping on Trevor’s shoulders, Justin slams him into the wall two more times, causing the entire room to shake. Appearing as dazed as I am, Trevor lets Justin wrap him in a headlock.

  With a heave and teeth clenched, Justin drags him across the carpet, throws him out of the apartment, and clicks the deadbolt into place before leaning against the back of the door. Still shocked he’s here, I can only stare at Justin as he wraps his hands in his messy hair and bows his head. “I want to kill the mother fucker.”

  Trevor bangs on the other side of the door while shouting obscenities.

  Justin lifts his gaze and his eyes blaze at the sight of my face, which has to be marked. “I’m going to kill him,” he says, breathing hard.

  Building tears finally break free. I let out a sob and stagger toward him. My hands cup his lovely face. “He doesn’t matter.” I’m shaking. He’s shaking. “That you’re here is all that matters. You came is all that matters.”

  He gently brings a trembling hand to my face but doesn’t touch me. “You’re lip’s bleeding. There’s a red welt your face,” he says through clenched teeth.

  I’m probably lucky Trevor didn’t hit the side of my face with the ring in it because the blow would have torn my lip, but I’m trying not to think of that right now. “Forget it. Forget him.” I slide my hands around Justin’s neck and inch closer.

  He finally pulls me to his chest. My fingers grip him, a raft in a swirling, angry ocean. We stand there for a long moment, holding each other, leaning on the door that pulsates with Trevor’s rage.

  Justin’s fingers tangle in my hair as his other hand holds me tighter. “What the hell is going on?”

  Shaking my head, I bury my face in his chest. “I think he’s on drugs,” I mumble into the softness of his T-shirt.

  “Drugs?”

  “Talking fast. Huge pupils. Thinks he rules the world.”

  “Sounds like coke.” He gently lifts my head and wipes at my tearstained face. “I should have kicked his coked-up ass to hell.” His lips thin. “I still want to.”

  I’m about to tell him again to forget Trevor, but we both pause at the sudden silence.

  Listening, Justin cocks his head to the side.

  My fingers loosen their grip on his shirt.

  His green gaze comes back to me as a different rap sounds at the door along with the muffled word: “Police.”

  Justin’s brows lower.

  I step back. “He couldn’t knock with so much control, but check the peephole.”

  After pressing his face to the door, Justin opens the door to the waiting officer.

  The next half hour passes in a long, slow blur. One of my neighbors called the police. Not sure if it was the screaming, fighting, or door banging, but someone had enough. Finding Trevor still beating at the door, the police hauled him down to their car. After an officer takes my statement and pictures of my face, while Justin rotates between hovering and cleaning up the mess of my living room, we’re finally alone.

  He sits on the arm of the couch and hands me a glass of water and two Tylenol he must have found on the top shelf of the bathroom vanity. Suddenly feeling guilty and strangely shy, I can only glance at him as I lower the wet washcloth from my lip and reach for the water and pills. “Thanks.” I swallow the pills, then set the glass on the coffee table. “I’m beyond grateful you were here, but why did you come?”

  “You weren’t answering your phone and”—he drags a hand through his hair—“I needed to talk with you. Luckily, the door was open.”

  Not wanting to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up, I say, “With Trevor’s call and text bombardment, my phone’s been on silent, but I was going to call you.”

  He stiffens beside me. “Why?”

  Realizing he’s imaging the worst, I shift toward him. “Because—well…” His expression constricts as I fumble for the right words. This was much easier expressing with paint.

  A quick rap-rap-rap sounds from across the room.

  My gaze snaps to the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Let me,” Justin says, standing. After looking through the peephole, he turns toward me. “I think it’s that girl…from the gallery night. Is she Trevor’s girlfriend?”

  “Jazz?” I ask incredulously.

  Frowning, he nods. “Do you want me to answer it?”

  Jazz knocks harder.

  I rub my temples. “Might as well before the neighbors call the cops again.”

  Standing in the doorway and dressed in a cropped leather jacket and the shortest skirt in the world, Jazz glares from me to Justin twice. “Where’s Trevor?” she asks me.

  Still rubbing a temple, I say, “Probably in a holding tank downtown.”

  “What?” she wails, and rushes into my apartment. “Why?”

  I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “Oh, maybe because he was disturbing the peace, yelling obscenities, and hitting me.” I wave a hand across my injured face, showing her the damage.

  Jazz abruptly stops in the middle of the living room, finally noticing my bloody lip and marked face. “What did you do?” She arrogantly flips her long platinum hair over her shoulder. “He’s never been violent with me.”

  Still standing at the door, Justin closes it while I try to contain my dislike for the woman scowling at me. I’ve disliked her for so long, it’s hard to keep the emotion off my face. “Guess you don’t say no.”

  Her lip curls in disgust. “Bullshit. He came over here to talk to you about the shop and Ben.”

  “And about getting back together.”

  Now Jazz looks like she wants to hit me.

  Guess it’s my night.

  “Whoa,” Justin says, moving in front of her and pointing at a chair. “Sit down and talk or leave.”

  Jazz gives him a hard glare but moves to the chair by the window. She crosses her legs and one red cowboy boot bounces. “You know he’s been staying with me this whole time, right?”

  Justin sits back down on the arm of the couch, almost a foot from me. Too far away.

  Suddenly, I’m tired. Tired of Trevor. Tired of arguing. Tired of hating this girl across from me. “Yes, I gathered he was staying with you.” My arms loosen around my knees. “You know what, Jazz?”

  At my blunt tone, Jazz pauses bouncing her cowboy boot.

  “I think Trevor is in love with you.” She visibly deflates and falls back into the chair. “I’m just what he thinks he needs. Now and then. In fact, he’s probably always been in love with you, but he loves himself more because you’ve never been good enough for him. Not when we were in high school. Not when he went to California. And not now when he’s obviously desperate enough to try and force me to take him back.”

  She opens her mouth, closes it, and wraps her arms around her waist. “He’s broke.”

  I sigh. “I figured as much.”

  “He lost the shop in California.”

  “After tonight, I was guessing that too.”

  “He, he is—�
�

  “Snorting all his money up his nose?” Justin says sarcastically.

  Her nostrils flare from evident anger. “Things are tough for him right now.”

  “Quit making excuses for him,” I say. “He’s been walking all over you since you two were twelve. He walks all over everyone.”

  Her heated eyes flash at me. “You don’t know what he’s been through. What his childhood was like. Going from foster home to foster home sucks. Trust me, I know.”

  Justin leans forward. “So that gives him a right to treat you like shit?”

  “Like you’ve got room to talk,” Jazz spits at Justin.

  “You’re right.” Justin leans back against the wall and folds his arms. “But that all ended when I fell in love.”

  A burst of warm emotions hits me as Jazz stares slack-jawed at Justin. She snaps her mouth shut and turns to me. “What are you going to do?”

  Still fuzzy from Justin’s declaration, it takes me a few seconds to understand her question. “I’ll be filing a restraining order and pressing charges.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Her hands clasp her knees. Red nails dig into her skin. “Why would you do that to your son’s father?”

  “Ben is my reason,” I say. “As much as I’d like Trevor to rot in hell, he’s my son’s father. He needs to get off the drugs and get himself together. Or he won’t be seeing Ben. At this point, if it weren’t for Ben I wouldn’t care if Trevor snorted coke until it killed him. But because of Ben, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure Trevor has no choice except to get clean.”

  “When did you turn into the judge and jury?” she sneers.

  “When I became a mother.”

  “You can’t take Ben from him!” she says, flying out of the chair.

  Justin stands too. “Okay, we’re done here.” He goes to the door and opens it. “Allie’s been attacked enough for one evening.”

  Jazz glances from me to Justin’s stern face. “Fine, but you’d better rethink the whole Ben thing, Al.” She pauses at the door. “Or Trevor’s going to be really, really pissed.”

  Like I care.