Lost, Found, Loved

by London Casey

  I wiped the excess ink off some guy’s shoulder and stared at the tiger looking back at me. I had spent maybe too much time on the eyes, but damn, they were really lifelike. It was a little difficult to get the overall image to flow the way I wanted with the curve of his shoulder, but it worked. It always worked. Tattooing was the one thing that never let me down.

  I patched him up and pointed to the door.

  He shook my hand and swore to me he’d be back for more ink soon. I warned him I was heading to Miami soon, but that he should still come back to St. Skin.

  I felt like a doctor or something, the way I had been shuffling people in and out.

  I sat on my chair for a few seconds to catch my breath. I cracked my knuckles, stretched my wrists, and stood up. The chair rolled back until it hit the wall.

  The shop was bustling once again. I swore I’d never seen a tattoo shop as busy as St. Skin. People would call and make appointments weeks and months in advance, yet there would be dozens (if not more) people just walking in all day long. Looking around. Getting advice. Hoping to sneak in on a session and pay whatever we wanted them to pay.

  There had to have been at least ten people up front.

  I stood there and looked around, slowly shaking my head.

  I looked over at Danielle as she ran the counter. I gave a quick thumbs-up, and she pointed to a woman standing near the front window. The woman clutched her bag tight and looked nervous as hell.

  I took a step when I felt hand come down on my shoulder.

  “We need to talk,” Tate’s deep boss-voice said to me.

  “In case you didn’t notice, Tate, there’s people waiting.”

  “Yeah. They can wait a little longer. Come with me.”

  I followed Tate back to my room where he opened the door and held it open as though it was his fancy-ass office.

  I entered the room and he shut the door.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Last time I checked, I was tattooing people.”

  “How many did you do today?”

  “Why?”

  “Yesterday?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “You’re going to end up fucking something up, Zayne.”

  “No I’m not. I’ve got to save up some cash, Tate.”

  “Oh, Miami again?”

  “This is my business.”

  “No, actually it’s my business,” Tate said.

  I curled my lip and looked away. I fucking hated anything that represented authority or telling me what to do.

  “So? I get paid to bring business in,” I said. “I make customers happy and you’re pissed at me.” I grabbed my leather jacket. “I’ll just fucking take off then, Tate. You deal with the overflow out there.”

  “Whoa, easy now,” Tate said. “Don’t be so fucking touchy.”

  “Fuck you, man,” I snapped. “The other guys are booked with appointments. I’m taking the leftovers out there. I’m not doing full back pieces in two fucking hours Tate. I’m doing my goddamn job. You want to see what I just got done out there?”

  “The tiger,” Tate said. “I saw it.”

  “You saw?”

  “I asked to see it,” he said. “It looked-”

  “What are you doing, checking my work? Like my fucking father? A teacher?”

  Tate put a finger to my chest. “Hey. Take a breath, man. I’m just worried about you.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to tell you that the tiger looked fucking amazing. You were able to pull that off after running how many hours here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone pull that off before.”

  “Right,” I said. “And this is where you offer to kiss my ass to keep me here.”

  “No,” Tate said. “You need to leave here. You need to rest your mind. And your body.”

  “Tate…”

  “You were here until two in the morning,” he said. “And then back at eight. I appreciate all that you’ve done here. The money is great. Business is good. But you look ready to fucking throw up and pass out. Look at yourself in the mirror, man.”

  Yeah, I got it. I looked like shit. I couldn’t stand being in my apartment. I couldn’t stand being alone. I couldn’t stand anything other than the distraction of the needle buzzing and my mind focused on bringing an image to life on someone’s skin.

  I succumbed and slowly sat down on my chair.

  Tate leaned against the wall.

  We were in silence for a little bit.

  “So, what is it?” he asked. “This because of the wedding?”

  “Among other things,” I said.

  “Well, I can set you up,” Tate said.

  “Meaning?”

  “You pick. I can have someone show up at that wedding that will jaw drop everyone there. If you wanted to show up and raise a little hell. Or I can have you set up somewhere else. A hotel for the weekend. Anything you want.”

  I smiled. “What a choice, huh?”

  “I’m serious,” Tate said. “You can’t get to a point where you fuck up. And that will happen if you do too much.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes me feel settled right now. I’m not taking any big pieces, Tate. Just what’s out there.”

  “Cass mentioned you had something drawn you want tattooed on you,” Tate said.

  “No.”

  “Let me do it for you,” Tate said.

  “What?”

  “Give me the drawing and let me get it ready. My gift to you, Z. For all you’re doing around here.”

  “I don’t get shit I’ve drawn tattooed on me.”

  “This time you do,” Tate said.

  I stood up.

  I walked to the door, and Tate didn’t stop me. “I’m not going to stop here, Tate. This is all I’ve got right now. My mind will clear itself out soon. It always does.”

  “I know, Z. I know. I just want you to know we all care. You’re family here now. And anything you need is waiting.”

  I looked at Tate. I appreciated the words.

  I walked to the front of the shop again and to the woman who still stood there clutching her bag, biting her lip.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  She spun around, wide-eyed with bright blue eyes.

  “I’m Zayne. You can call me Z. What are you thinking for today?”

  “I just want to forget about everything for a little while.”

  I nodded.

  Me too…me fucking too…

  It was the middle of the night.

  The clock in the kitchen glowed four in the morning. Too late in the night to be partying and too early to be considered morning. My head throbbed like I had walked into a wall. But I knew it wasn’t a wall that did it. It was the goddamn whiskey. The fog of smoke that wrapped its arms around me almost as tight as…Sarah.

  “Shit,” I whispered.

  I shut my eyes and leaned over the sink.

  Sarah.

  I spent four hours tattooing birds across her back. Touching her skin, her slender shoulders, taking in the smell of her hair, everything about her totally opposite of what I really craved. My mind told me that’s exactly what I needed. The complete opposite to get a taste of something different.

  I glanced at the bottle of whiskey on the table. I went to the culprit of the night and saw there was still at least one shot left in it. I twisted the cap off and officially killed the bottle.

  That was the second bottle.

  The first one had ended up broken on the side of the building because Sarah said she wanted to throw it against the brick building and hear it shatter.

  Pieces of the night slowly come back to me. The biggest piece of the night was that Sarah was asleep in the spare bed. Where I had been sleeping about fifteen minutes ago. Waking up and looking to my left and seeing her in the bed, it all sank hard against me. What I had done. The things I had done to her. The entire time thinking about someone else. And hel
l, she had been doing the same thing. We both knew exactly what this was.

  One night. Never again.

  I wasn’t going to get any more sleep, so I made some coffee.

  I leaned against the counter, staring at the floor. The good news was that the floor wasn’t moving. But my head was still aching and probably would for the rest of the day.

  The coffee smelled better than the whiskey did, which was my cue that I really had gotten my fill the night before. I wondered how much of the night I spent talking about other people. Not that I gave a damn about it. There was nothing wrong with chasing away the demons for a night. I wasn’t going to be fake about it either. No lying. Christ, no lying. I learned that lesson with Bella the hard way.

  “Fuck,” I whispered as I rubbed my jaw.

  I needed to shave. I needed to avoid St. Skin, too. I had been working at an insane pace. Tate was right. I was going to end up burning out and fucking something up. I just didn’t know what else to do.

  Even a one-night thing wasn’t taking away the sting of Bella.

  “Psst…coffee?”

  I looked up and saw Sarah shuffling toward the table. She was fully dressed, something she was not when I exited the bed.

  “Hey,” I said. “Yeah. I couldn’t…”

  She nodded. “Mind if I have a cup before I go?”

  “It’s four in the morning,” I said. “Catch some z’s.”

  “Coffee and go,” she said pointedly.

  “Right,” I said.

  I poured two mugs and gritted my teeth. I should have been handing the mug to someone else.

  The strange part was that I gave Sarah the coffee and there was nothing between us. No flirty glances. No flirty touches. No urge to kiss her. Nothing. Whatever had happened was just an attempt to just forget. Which was the first thing she said to me when I met her.

  “So,” she said, “she means that much, huh?”

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “Whoever you’re hiding from,” Sarah said.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  I leaned against the counter again. It was still dark out. The entire apartment was dark, except for a small light above the kitchen sink that spread dimly halfway through the kitchen.

  “It is what it is,” she said. “I’m glad we were able to waste away last night, Zayne.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “It’s not my business, but if she’s worth whatever you’re thinking, I hope you don’t quit.”

  “I’ll keep that advice in mind,” I said. I raised my mug for a second. “I’m going to take this coffee to go. In my room.”

  “Of course,” Sarah said. “Your real bedroom, right? She raised her eyebrows.

  I froze for a second.

  I was busted.

  That was the one coherent thing that went through my mind over and over. I didn’t want Sarah in my actual bed. Which seemed stupid because the night Bella and I started up I took her to the spare bedroom. So maybe it was a crazy way of ridding her from the apartment.

  I had nothing else.

  “If you ever need any more ink, stop by the shop,” I said.

  “I will,” she said. “I’ll make sure to ask for someone else, though.”

  “Was I that bad?”

  Sarah grinned and winked.

  I walked to my room and crashed to my bed, holding a coffee cup. I was wide awake. I put the coffee down and looked at my dresser. Right over where the engagement ring was. Where the wedding invitation was.

  Shit, maybe I should have pitched my idea to Sarah.

  I laughed because I wanted to scream.

  Fuck the wedding. Fuck Steph and her soon-to-be husband. Fuck everything.

  All I wanted was just one more chance to talk to Bella.

  I couldn’t stomach the idea of her running back to that asshole who slept with her best friend.

  I sat there and waited until I heard the click of the front door.

  I’d never see Sarah again, and that was fine with me.

  But never seeing Bella again?

  That would burn a hole in my heart forever.

  20

  BELLA

  How could I be so stupid?

  I curled myself up in the covers as Parker slept next to me. My mind and my heart came up with this grand scheme that involved alcohol and revenge. Parker apologized to me for what he’d said about my tattoo. He admitted that it made him jealous to think of someone else touching me. That led to me raising my eyebrow and he broke down, crashing to the couch and losing himself. His hands buried in his face, crying.

  Actually crying.

  Real tears and everything.

  We spent the entire night talking. Until after midnight. He told me to sleep in the bed, and he’d sleep on the couch. I told him there was no way in hell I’d ever sleep in that bed again.

  So, I slept on the couch.

  By morning, he was gone for work, and I felt lazy and confused on the couch. Parker left me a note with some saying about the future being a blank book that we both could write together. And that the pages that were already written—the past—could be ripped out and burned.

  It made me roll my eyes that he seriously thought it was just that easy to forget about what he had done.

  The same for Abby too.

  She texted and wanted to meet for coffee.

  It was a terrible idea, but I wanted to see her squirm a little so I agreed to meet her. She wore big black sunglasses and looked like she was hungover. Except she hadn’t been drinking the night before or that early afternoon. She was riddled with guilt. Just like Parker, she cried. And she openly cried, right there in a coffee shop, in front of complete strangers. She begged for my forgiveness. For my understanding. For my friendship. It reminded me of the first time we met. Way back in college, on the first day, when the freshmen were being shuffled around, trying to figure out where to go. She and I walked into each other and dropped all our stuff. We ended up accidentally swapping a couple books and had to swap back. We met for coffee and ended up both crying at how much we hated college and wanted to quit.

  That moment led to a long friendship that involved a lot of tears, but never the kind of tears we both spilled as she got to apologizing for sleeping with my boyfriend. And every time I half-considered telling her it was okay, I thought those exact words: sleeping with my boyfriend. And those words filled me with this rage that made it hard to contain.

  We sat for almost two hours, the last thirty minutes of it in complete silence. The two of us looking out the window. I seriously had no idea what to do. Or how to cope or go forward with anything from here.

  When we left, Abby had the nerve to hug me. Her arms went around me, and the only thing I could think of was her body pressed against Parker’s. The feel of her breasts against mine. Those breasts that were exposed for Parker’s pleasure. His hands touching her. Kissing her.

  It made me finally snap.

  I broke away from Abby and rushed back to the apartment. And that’s when I started to drink. If I didn’t drink, I would have called Zayne. And I wasn’t going to go from one liar to another, back and forth like some dumb woman who never learned her lesson. I was going to get drunk, cry, and then find a way to get over everything.

  The whole drunk-and-crying part worked out great. Except I couldn’t stop crying. I even went as far as to strip the bed of all the covers and pillow cases. I threw them all into the shower and dumped an entire bottle of shampoo on them and ran the shower for a good thirty minutes. The smell of flowers and lavender filled the bathroom as suds collected. It washed away whatever I thought was in the blankets and sheets, but not in my heart.

  I put fresh sheets on the bed.

  I told myself tonight I was going to sleep in the bed. And Parker would sleep on the couch.

  Take that, you fucking loser. You stupid, cheating loser.

  I was huddled up in the chair in the living room when Parker came home. He had the same defeated look on his fac
e. He tossed his stuff to the corner and sat on the far end of the couch, staying away from me.

  When we looked at each other, it was just…pain.

  So, I asked him a loaded question. “How did things get so fucked up?”

  That question led to him asking if he could have a drink with me. And before I knew it, we were drinking, talking, yelling, crying, and then…

  He was on top of me.

  We somehow kissed. Just once. And then the idea came to me. I wanted to screw Parker so hard and so good that he’d forever hate himself for what he did to me. The idea instantly became an obsession, fueled by the booze, which always seemed to make bad ideas seem good.

  We ripped each other’s clothes off. Parker kissed me, walking me back to the bedroom. I tried to throw my legs around him a few times, but he didn’t pick me up. I had to face it, I wasn’t sure he actually could pick me up. Not like Zayne. Not the way he just grabbed me and…

  I had to force Zayne out of my head more than once.

  But I had him. Meaning Parker. He was there. On top of me. In the bed. My bed. Our bed. I clawed at his back even though it didn’t feel all that good. It was just…us. The way it used to be.

  As fast as it started, it was over.

  He rolled to his side.

  I rolled to my side.

  And sleep washed over me.

  How could I be so stupid?

  The question hit me again, and the entire night played out all over again. For all that I drank, I wasn’t feeling sick or in pain at all. Maybe I was just in shock. Maybe I was just numb.

  Parker started to stir and I hurried to fake sleep.

  I listened as he got out of the bed. He reached for me and touched my shoulder.

  Then I heard the sound of the door open and close.

  I rolled onto my back again and looked at the clock. It was almost six in the morning. I had no idea what time we had gone to bed.

  Was this going to be the rest of my life?

  I ran my hands down my body and wasn’t sure how to feel. Stupid was the first word that came to mind, but maybe that wasn’t exactly the case. If things were going to work themselves out…

  I shut my eyes.

  Is that what I want?

  I sighed and threw the covers off me. I was wearing nothing but a bra and panties. I couldn’t find my clothes on the floor, so I dug clothes out of my bag. Not really pajama material, but I wasn’t going to have an awkward conversation with Parker while wearing nothing but bra and panties.