Tattoos & Tears (Complete Collection)

by Amiee Louise

  He sways and plops ungracefully down on the sofa.

  “I don’t want coffee. Do you have any Nutella? I’m fucking starving. What about crisps? Cereal? I know, I want cereal,” he babbles.

  Fuck me, what do I do?

  “I’ll find you some cereal, babe. But first, you need to tell me what you’ve taken.”

  He rolls his eyes petulantly and makes a snoring sound.

  “Are you going to fucking lecture me and drag me back to rehab? I thought you were different to the rest of them, sweets.”

  I stand in front of him. He looks awful; he is twitchy, and he smells of cheap perfume.

  “No lectures from me, I promise.”

  I hold my hands up in defence and he smirks cheekily.

  “How about a fuck then, sweets? I’m so horny.”

  He adjusts himself in his jeans and I roll my eyes.

  “Not in this lifetime, rock star!”

  He smiles boyishly.

  “I like it when you call me rock star, it makes me feel important,” he says in a melancholy tone and my heart breaks for him.

  This is vulnerable Brody, the poor defenceless boy who just craves to be loved. I need to call Sam to let him know that Brody has fallen off the wagon.

  “I just need use the bathroom for a second, babe, make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

  He salutes, and I go into the bathroom. I run the tap, a trick I picked up from Cole. I dial Sam’s number and he answers on the second ring.

  “Angel,” he rasps, but I have no time to acknowledge the slickness between my thighs.

  “Sam, I need your help,” I whisper and start to pace the floor in the bathroom.

  “Is everything ok, angel? Are you ok? Is it Freddie?” he says, in a gruff panicked voice.

  “Freddie’s fine, he’s asleep, but Brody just turned up out of the blue at my flat. He’s drunk and high, Sam; I’m really worried about him.”

  He growls.

  “FUCK! Don’t let him leave, angel, keep him there. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says softly.

  “Thank you, I didn’t know who else to call.”

  There is a slight pause.

  “No need to thank me, angel, you did the right thing calling me. He disappeared with a stripper a few hours ago, we just assumed he was still with her. I’ll bring Lenny, his sober sponsor, he trusts him. Just in case he gets out of hand, Lenny will know what to do.”

  I hear a female in the background.

  “Don’t go, hot stuff, I wasn’t finished.”

  I hear the faint sound of a zip.

  “Here, take this and fuck off, we’re done here, sweetheart.”

  I hear the rustle of paper and the sound of heels clicking across the floor. My heart slams against my rib cage. I will never get used to Sam with another woman.

  Another woman’s hand touching what was once mine. The thought makes my stomach roil.

  “I’ll be thirty minutes tops.”

  His voice cuts through my thoughts and I swallow back the lump in my throat.

  “Ok, I’ll see you soon.”

  I hang up, not giving him the opportunity to say goodbye. I flush the toilet, turn off the tap and go back out into the living room. Brody isn’t on the sofa where I left him, and I start to panic that he’s done a disappearing act. I walk across the living room floor and I find him in the kitchen. He is sitting on my worktop, barefoot, with his feet swinging back and forth, eating a bowl of cereal. He has the biggest grin on his face, it makes my heart slam violently against my ribcage. He reminds me of a child. I start to think that Brody never really had a proper childhood, being pushed from one care home to another, never really having a place to call home, never really staying anywhere long enough to belong to a family. To a certain extent, Brody is a perpetual child, never really growing up, rebelling against authority, and always getting into trouble. He picks up my open bottle of wine and swigs from the bottle. He regards me intently and I chuckle softly.

  “What?” he says around a mouthful of cereal.

  “What happened, babe, you were doing so well.”

  I brush his arm reassuringly and he flinches away from my touch.

  “I don’t want to fucking talk about it,” he says flatly, and I busy myself putting the washing up away.

  “Are you not going to push me? Make me tell you, give me a fucking ultimatum?” he says with a bored, monotonous tone to his voice. I turn around and cock my eyebrow at him.

  “If that’s what you think, then you obviously don’t know me at all, Brody. I would never force you to tell me anything, or give you an ultimatum. True friends don’t do that. I’m here if you need me, babe, that’s all I can offer. If you want to vent, shout, cry, whatever, I’m here.”

  He cocks his head to the side and puts his bowl down next to him on the worktop.

  “How the fuck did I deserve a friend like you, sweets? I’ve never been a good person. I’m destructive, I destroy everything I touch, and I destroy the people who mean the most to me. I’m surprised the boys have stuck around as long as they have.”

  My heart breaks for him and I move closer to him.

  “You are the sweetest person I know. You’re kind, you’re gentle, you’re funny, and you deserve so much more than what you give yourself credit for.”

  He smiles, and I stroke his face. He leans into my touch and places his hand on top of mine.

  “Thanks, sweets, but I know none of that is true. You’re just trying to placate me and make me feel better.”

  I go to speak, but he jumps unsteadily down from the worktop and moves closer to me. His lean frame towers over me.

  “Sam is a fucking idiot,” he whispers and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  I chuckle softly.

  “Don’t change the subject, babe, this isn’t about me.”

  He backs me up against the worktop.

  “It's all about you, sweets, don’t you know? Sam’s a fucking mess without you,” he states matter-of-factly, and I shake my head.

  “What about you? Why are you such a mess, Brody?”

  He hangs his head and I regard him intently, waiting for his reply.

  “Because today is the anniversary of my mum’s death. On this day twenty-one years ago, I found the junkie whore that bought me into the world dead, with a fucking needle in her arm. She never cared about me, I was just a fucking inconvenience to her; she told me often enough. I was a mistake, an embarrassment, and she wished she'd aborted me. She loved the drugs more than she loved me. How fucked up is that?”

  He laughs bitterly. All I want to do is cuddle him and tell him that everything is different now. He has people around him that love him and care about him.

  “I hate that she fucking did that to me, Peyton. I fucking hate that my own mother didn’t want me. She didn’t give enough of a fuck about me to get clean. And my dad, he left us before I was even born; I don’t even know who he is. I can’t accept peoples love because I’m terrified they’ll fucking leave me too.”

  He puts his arms either side of me, trapping me between him and the worktop. He leans his head down on my shoulder and that’s when he breaks down. He sobs, gut wrenching, hiccupping sobs, and I start to wonder if it is the first time in twenty years that he has let his emotions free. I put my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me.

  “I’m here, babe. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. It’s going to be alright.”

  He moves his arms and pulls me tight to him. I stroke his back soothingly and his whole body vibrates with sadness. Unexpectedly, I hear someone clear their throat.

  “Angel,” I hear Sam rasp.

  Fucking hell.

  “Sorry to interrupt, I should have knocked,” he apologises, without an ounce of sincerity to his voice.

  I look at him, and the burning jealousy in his eyes is evident, even though he is trying his hardest to mask it.

  “I’ll give you two some space,” he says flatly and leaves the r
oom.

  Brody pulls away from me and I cup his face in my hands.

  “It’s ok to let go of your emotions, babe. No one would think any less of you, it just proves you’ve been strong for too long. Never be ashamed to cry, ever.”

  He sniffs and swipes his hand across his nose.

  “Fuck me, I’m such a girl.” He smiles. “You could have told me you had called Sam.”

  I avoid his gaze and he tips my chin up to face him.

  “Hey, it’s ok, I’m not mad, sweets. You did the right thing.”

  He kisses me on the end of my nose and grabs my hand, pulling me into the living room, where a tall, wiry man, with grey slicked back hair is standing with his hands behind his back. Sam is awkwardly standing nearby with his hands in his pockets, chewing some gum.

  “What sort of fucking trouble did you get yourself into this time, son?”

  The man, who I’m assuming is Lenny, chastises Brody in a paternal, fatherly way, and it makes me wonder what their story is.

  “It was just a temporary relapse; just a blip. I don’t need to go to a meeting, or back to fucking rehab, Len,” he says, with an uninterested tone to his voice and rolls his eyes.

  Brody’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he takes it out. He studies the screen and I see his expression change from almost carefree, to boiling, intense rage. His whole body is vibrating with the anger that is emanating from him in large waves.

  “FUCK!” he bellows and throws his phone across the room. It hits the wall with such force; it shatters into tiny pieces. He runs his hands over his head and starts pacing the room, like a caged animal. His jaw is tight, and his eyes are blazing with fury. It is a whole new side of Brody I haven’t seen before and another layer I have yet to discover.

  “Son?”

  He stops and looks Lenny in the eye.

  “DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING CALL ME THAT! YOU HAVE NO FUCKING RIGHT! YOU’RE NOT MY FUCKING DAD! STOP TRYING TO PRETEND YOU ARE, OLD MAN!” he shouts and Lenny stalks closer to him.

  “Oi, you little shit, don’t you ever fucking talk to me like that. I’m not above giving you a clip round the fucking ear, Brody Hart.”

  Brody laughs sullenly.

  “My dad left me and my mum before I was even fucking born. My mum died with a needle in her arm and abandoned me. Now my girl doesn’t want me, am I really that fucking unlovable?”

  He continues pacing and his shoulders start to shake as he begins to cry. My heart breaks for this broken man and all I want to do is give him a hug.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t fucking do this anymore,” he chokes out and starts pacing the floor with his hands behind his head. “Fuck me.”

  He shakes his head and Lenny steps behind him, placing his hand gently on his shoulder.

  “You don’t have to pretend to be strong with us, son, we understand, me more than most. You’re like a son to me and Nance. After Daryl died, we never thought we would get another chance. It’s ok to admit you’re struggling, you're not the only man to fall off the wagon. It’s ok to ask for help.”

  He sinks down to the floor, and with each of his sobs, my heart breaks a little more. Lenny sits down next to him and pulls him into his arms.

  “I’m too fucking old for this shit, son, but I’m always here for you.”

  He kisses the top of Brody’s head as he cries uncontrollably, and I feel so helpless watching Brody break down like that. Sam’s eyes lock with mine as we both watch this situation unfold in front of us. The sound of Freddie crying on the baby monitor interrupts our moment, and Sam holds his finger up.

  “I’ve got him, angel.”

  He winks and goes off into Freddie’s nursery. I hear Sam quietly singing to him on the baby monitor while Brody is still sobbing softly. Lenny looks up at me with soft, azure eyes and smiles. I smile back and move into the kitchen, giving both men some privacy to talk. I lean on the worktop and begin to wonder how my night got so full of drama. The sound of footsteps echoes across the floor and startles me.

  “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to scare ya,” Lenny says in a deep, gruff East London voice. “My boy tells me he came here first, sweetheart. I want to say thank you for being there for him. He tends to revert back to the drugs when he’s in this mood, so I wanted to thank you for not letting him leave before we got here.”

  I smile cordially.

  “I consider Brody one of my best friends, so there’s no thanks needed.”

  I drop my gaze to the floor, feeling intimidated by the large, brusque old man in my kitchen, and he chuckles throatily.

  “He talks about you a lot. He thinks the world of you, and he trusts you. It’s nice to finally meet you, sweetheart, and put a face to the name.”

  He reaches out his hand and formally introduces himself.

  “I’m Lenny Nicholas, but you can call me Len,” he says gruffly, and I take his hand.

  “Peyton, it’s really nice to meet you, Len.”

  I smile warmly, and he kisses the back of my hand.

  “Pleasures all mine, sweetheart.”

  He smiles and his blue eyes dance with amusement. I hear a soft chuckle behind me and spin round to see Brody with his eyebrow cocked.

  “Leave it out, Len! Stop trying to chat up my best friend, you filthy old perv!” Brody jokes and Lenny moves closer to him, grabbing him in a playful headlock.

  “I’ll give you old, you little fucker!”

  I laugh softly, enjoying seeing their interaction. I have never seen Brody this way before. It makes my heart swell with love and happiness to know that he has someone outside of me and the boys to turn to when he needs to talk. Brody and Len leave the room, and I can hear their hushed conversation. I busy myself by tidying the kitchen and wiping the work surfaces until I am satisfied with it.

  Ten minutes pass and Brody saunters back into the kitchen, looking relaxed. It is almost as if tonight never happened. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and he has a roguish look about him. He moves towards me, hugs me, and kisses me on the cheek.

  “Thanks for being there for me, sweets.” He winks. “I’m going to stay with Len and Nance, just for tonight.”

  I nod and they both leave, closing the door behind them, leaving Sam and me in my flat, alone.

  “Something you need to tell me, angel? You and Brody?”

  I shake my head.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Had you bothered to ask him, he would have told you today is the anniversary of his mum’s death. That was the cause of his relapse, and you’re welcome, don’t fucking mention it,” I say sharply and go to pass him, but he grabs my wrist.

  “Angel,” he rasps.

  “Fucking let go of me, why don’t you just go back to whatever whore you’re sticking your dick into these days?” I spit venomously, and he drops my wrist, as if I have burned him.

  “Is that what you really fucking think of me, angel?”

  He runs his hand through his already mussed hair and I shrug. I honestly don't know what to think anymore.

  “Just go, Sam, I can’t be around you right now.”

  He moves fluidly towards me and backs me into the wall. My heart beat kicks up a notch.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you talk to me.”

  As he brushes a strand of hair away from face, I flinch involuntarily. I can feel my body tremble at his closeness.

  “Are you scared of me, angel?”

  I bite my lip, drop my gaze to the floor, and fidget with my hands.

  “No, of course not I-I’m fine,” I lie, as he lifts my chin up to face him. His green eyes turn serious.

  “You seem to forget I spent seven months memorising every single inch of you, every contour of your sexy little body, every look, every smile and every reaction. When you just told me, you weren’t scared of me, it was a total lie, absolute bull-fucking-shit; you gave yourself away. You looked down, bit your lip, and fidgeted with your hands.”

  He smirks as I still my hands and d
rop them to my side. I hate that even after all this time, he still knows how my mind works and he can read me like a book.

  “Every thought, every single fucking inch of you, still belongs to me. You own me, Peyton, just like I own you.”

  I steal a glance at his strong, chiselled features. His strong jaw, his blazing green eyes, his sculpted cheekbones and his plump full lips. He is so handsome.