by Kitty Cox
"Yeah," he said, the smile slipping. "I hope it gets better, whatever it is. Feel free to stop by over there sometime, if you're in the mood, or whatever?"
“The tattoo place next door?” Mack shook her head. "No tattoos for me. Hard enough to find a job as it is. Last thing I need is give them another reason not to hire me."
"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah. Nice to meet you, Mackenzie. Finally."
She lifted her hand in an awkward wave and shuffled through the door, slinging her bag across her shoulder. Tugging the sleeves of her sweater back to her wrists as she went, her shoes clicked on the sidewalk the entire block back to the office. She didn't know if she should laugh or cry. Ryan. That name seemed so perfect for the Super Hot Guy. He was nice, too, which wasn't at all what she'd expected. And he'd talked to her! Actually talked - to her.
Granted, talking to Super Hot Guy was only a minor distraction from the letter hanging in her bag. Each time she thought about it, her heart beat faster and cold shivers ran up her spine. That's why she wouldn't think about it. She'd think about the amazing blue eyes and her art on his body. They always said that artists only became famous after they were dead, right?
She cursed the thought as she opened the door to the office. Not her office, just the office. It was a temp job, but she had the chance to go full time when the contract was up. Just like the other three temps jobs she'd had in the area. Not like there was anything special about it, except that it paid the bills.
School, rent, utilities, they never stopped. Now, she had to add medical bills to the list. Her insurance wasn't that great. Ok, it was atrocious. Her annual check-up cost almost one hundred bucks! The CAT scan? She dreaded to think of how expensive that would be.
Dropping behind her assigned desk, she pulled the headset on and logged into the system. Within a few seconds, the first call came in. She answered it properly, politely, and efficiently, struggling to focus on the words coming out of her mouth. It kept her distracted, at least. Hour after hour, call after call, she smacked at the keys and watched the clock slowly tick toward closing time. Thirty minutes before her shift ended, her boss gestured for her to sign out.
"I'm on for another half hour," she reminded him.
He nodded. "I need a moment. Go ahead and sign out, then come to my office."
With a shrug, Mack did and stored the headset. The next shift would share the desk, so she wanted to make sure everything was in its proper place. She tucked her bag a bit further under the chair and headed through the maze of cheap cubicles. On the far side of the room, her boss's door stood open. He sat behind the desk, waiting.
"You needed me?"
"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "Mackenzie, we're terminating your contract."
She couldn't find the words. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her eyes just hung there, watching him shift awkwardly in the chair, stony silence hanging between them.
"Look, I'm sorry," he tried. "We're over-staffed for the number of calls coming in, so we're cutting back the temps. Your agency will have a check for you tomorrow, but..." He lifted his hands. "Take off early. We'll pay you until the end of the shift. It's the least I can do. I'm really sorry about this."
Mack just nodded. She tried to smile, but nothing happened on her face, so she staggered back to her desk, grabbed her bag from under the chair, and somehow found her way back to the street. The glass door closed with a soft whisper behind her, but the reality hit her hard.
What was she going to do now? She didn't have a job. No money coming in. No way to pay for her next doctor's appointment. Crap. She needed to call them!
Determined to keep it together, she scrambled in her bag and tugged her phone free. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, unaware of what was going on around her, she pushed the contact listing for her doctor's office.
"South Street Medical," came the cheery voice on the other end.
"It's Mackenzie Lawrence. I um, I scheduled a scan for tomorrow."
"Hi, Mackenzie. Yes, I have you scheduled for ten am."
"I don't know, I think I need to cancel that, or something," she said, her voice shaking.
"Mackenzie, from the notes here, this test is very important. Verifying these results could help us - "
"I got fired," Mack interrupted. "I can't pay for it."
The girl on the other end paused. "Hold on, ok?"
Mack agreed, and the music began to play in her ear. She barely heard a stanza before the girl was back.
"Mackenzie?" she asked.
"Yeah?"
"Come in anyway. I talked to Doctor Janis. She said we'll set up something, but we need to do this test."
"Yeah," Mack said softly. "Thank you."
She politely hung up and put her phone back in her bag. Lifting her head, she took a long deep sigh. It was the worst thing she could have done. As the breath left her body, her throat tightened and she sucked in a gasp.
The fear of cancer, the gorgeous guy actually talking to her, the loss of her job, and the doctor trying to help her, it was all too much. It was a roller coaster, and no matter how hard she tried, Mackenzie Lawrence had reached the end of her limit. She couldn't do this. She couldn't take any more. She just wanted to go home.
She forced her legs to move instead of buckle, one foot in front of the other, but her eyes revolted. It started as a bit of a blur in her vision, and she tried to wipe it away, but in less than a block, it wasn't only her eyes that were running; her nose was trying to join in.
She lifted her chin a bit higher and wiped at her face with a sniff, just begging her feet to carry her the four blocks home. She could do this. Just a few more steps. Just three more blocks. Just one more day.
Chapter 2
One More Day
Through the haze in her head, she heard her name, but her feet kept going. She had them in a rhythm: one step, then the next. She knew how to get home, she'd been doing it long enough that she could make it on auto pilot. Just one more step, one more day, one more step, one more day.
"Mackenzie?"
Her heels clicked a steady rhythm and she wiped at her face. He didn't mean her. No one knew her. She didn't have friends here. She didn't have family here. Her life had resulted in a failure already. She just had a job. Key word: had.
A strong hand grabbed her arm, halting her, and gently guided her around. "Mackenzie?" Ryan's voice. "What's wrong?"
"I need to go home," she managed to get out, wiping the sleeve of her sweater across her eyes and nose.
He tugged her closer to the building, looking at her the whole time, genuine concern clear on his damned near perfect face. Why did he have to decide that now was the time to talk to her? Now, when she looked like she'd just lost a round with PMS. Mack sucked in a breath and tried to control her stupid eyes.
"Yeah, you look like you need a hell of a lot more than that. What's wrong?"
She shook her head. "Nothing."
"Liar."
Super Hot Guy refused to let her go. He stood there, against the side of a building, waiting for her answer. Mackenzie didn't know what to do, so she shrugged again.
"You ok, Mack? Babe, I've seen you walk this way for a year now, and you've never been crying. What the hell?"
"I got fired," she said softly.
"And it's that bad?" he asked, lifting her chin, smiling timidly.
She just nodded. "Yeah. My life's kinda going to crap right now."
She felt the tears battering at her eyes again, but damn it, she would not cry in front of Super Hot Guy. Not any more than she already had, at least. Her eyes had to be red and puffy, and she was sure her nose was running. Nice fucking impression, Mack.
Not that she was a stellar beauty normally, but like this? She had to look like the Loch Ness monster! A pudgy girl with average brown hair, average brown eyes, of average height, with flaming red eyes and a streaming, snot yellow nose. Lovely. Just the impression she always wanted to give.
"Wanna talk about it?" He tilt
ed his head to the building behind him. "I'm not booked for a couple of hours, and I can brew a pretty good cup of coffee."
"Not really."
"Ok. You wanna have a cup of coffee and a table big enough to spread your paper across?"
She thought about it. That's exactly what she had planned to go home and do, and it could be worse, right? At least the one person in the world who decided to talk to her was the cute guy. Not that he'd remember her tomorrow, but still. With a shrug, Mack gave in.
Ryan pulled open the door and held it, gesturing for her to come inside. Glancing through the large windows, she realized it was the tattoo parlor. Above the door was a very professional sign proclaiming the name, Sterling Ink.
"You do tats?" she asked, realizing how stupid the question was as soon as it was out.
"Yeah," he said. "Tuesdays are slow."
She stepped inside the building, into a well lit, clean, and modern looking room. The counters were polished wood and the floor was pristine tile. Not that Mackenzie could tell if any of it was fake or top end, but it was clean and even pretty. On the walls hung countless images, each in a glass covered frame. Most were meant to be inked, but a few were simple drawings, done for nothing but the sake of art, proudly placed between the rest.
She stopped at one. It was amazing. An acrobat hung by one leg suspended in a pale ribbon, painted in what looked like acrylics. Every nuance of muscle was accounted for, the shading was nearly perfect. Without thinking, she reached up and touched the glass gently.
"This is amazing," she said.
Ryan chuckled. "Thanks."
"You did this?"
He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Yeah. I get bored when it's slow. Sometimes a few things come out together, and end up working. Other times, not so much."
Mack just looked at him, stunned. "You're really good. Why'd you want the chameleon if you can do this?"
"Yeah, um," he glanced away. "Because it's good. Look, I don't get inspired like you do. Either I have an idea, or I don't. Usually I don't. Most of these were drawn for clients, using their ideas."
"You drew all of these?" She looked at the myriad of frames. Large ones, small ones, all scattered across the walls.
"The other guy hung some of his, but yeah, I think most are mine. You still want that coffee?" He gestured to the break in the counter, inviting her to follow.
Unsure of what else to do, she trailed behind him like a lost puppy. He led her through a door at the side and up a long narrow hall to a large open room. A table was the main feature in it. Nothing fancy, and it was liberally stained with scuffs of paint and inks, but it looked like heaven to Mackenzie. The light was good, the table had plenty of elbow room, and there was even a sink. Ok, and a refrigerator, coffee maker, and other items typically found in a break room, but this break room was designed for an artist.
"Make yourself at home. Colby won't be in tonight, so it's just you and I."
"Colby?"
"Yeah, he's the other artist. I mean, tattoo artist," he explained as he set the coffee pot to brew. She noticed that he'd used a bag of really good quality grounds, not the cheap stuff she was used to.
She dropped her bag on the table and sank into one of the chairs. When he was done, he joined her, leaving an empty space between them. She felt like a bipolar idiot. She'd walked into the shop crying, but now she was starting to just feel numb again. Of course, no sooner had that thought crossed her mind before she felt her throat try to pinch off.
She sucked in a long breath, telling her body to stop it. Just one more breath. Just one more day. She could do this.
"So you really like that job or something?" Ryan asked, gently.
"No," she admitted. "I kinda need it, though."
"I know how that is. What do ya do? I mean, besides amazing art."
"It's not that amazing, not compared to yours."
"You can't compare something I worked on for a year with what you do on your lunch break. I scraped that canvas so many times, trying to get her just right."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm proud of her. I dunno, I just always see her as this defiant woman, using the most unlikely strength to show the world that not everything is what they expect. I mean, there she is, all alone, so graceful, performing for a beam of sunlight."
Yep, that was all it took. Her eyes started up again, and no matter how many times she blinked or breathed, nothing was going to stop them.
"I can't do this," she mumbled.
Ryan just stood and slowly walked over. Without asking, he tugged a chair closer and sat, pulling her head against his shoulder. "You have someone at home?"
"No," she muttered through her sniffles.
"Anyone I can call?" He gently pressed her head closer to him.
"No. My dad's on the road. He's a trucker."
"Best friend? Boyfriend?"
Mack just laughed. "No."
"Then you're stuck with me, Mack. I got two shoulders, and a funny feeling that your job was just the straw on the poor camel."
She nodded.
"Want to talk about it?"
"No," she said as another rush of sobs hit.
He didn't ask again. The Super Hot Guy that she'd never met before that day just held her and let her cry until her eyes simply couldn't cry anymore.
Sniffing, she pulled back and rubbed at her face, shame warring with the appreciation she felt. She wasn't the kind of girl to break down over something silly, but cancer wasn't silly! She also wasn't about to tell some perfectly good stranger about it.
Yeah, they'd had coffee at the same time for almost a year, but they hadn't talked. It's not like they were friends, and it sure wasn't going to be anything else, not with the wonderful first impression she'd just given. Hell, who was she joking. Super Hot Guy wouldn't think of her as anything but a hard luck case. So, he was beautiful and sweet. That made it even more embarrassing. She's just smeared mascara all over his shoulder.
"There's a bathroom around the corner to the right," he said, rubbing her shoulder gently. "Washcloths are in the cabinet. Sorry, most are stained with ink, but they're clean, I swear."
She chuckled a bit and smiled at him as well as she could while she wiped at her eyes. Pulling herself to her feet, she followed the directions and found it. The washcloth wasn't as bad as he made it out to be, not until she wiped the black rings away from her eyes and onto the pale fabric. Giving up any hope of looking decent, Mack just scrubbed at her face, removing everything. She might look plain now, but at least she didn't look like a plain raccoon.
She found her way back into the break room to see Ryan pouring two cups full of coffee. He glanced over his shoulder.
"Cream? Sugar?"
"Yeah, lots."
He nodded at that and mixed it in. Carrying both cups back, he sat beside her once more, gently sliding the paler coffee toward her.
"So how'd you get started in art anyway?"
She chuckled. "Yeah, there was a cute guy in high school who was in the art classes. I signed up my senior year. Found out I liked it, and I've just stuck with it."
"You're really good," he said.
"I really got mascara all over your shirt." She gestured to his shoulder.
"Kinda not worried about it."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked suddenly. "We've been going to the same place for a year, and you've never talked to me before. Why now?"
Her day had been too weird, and she just couldn't take it anymore. She'd been in town for eleven months. She knew, because her lease was coming due soon, which meant rent would go up. In all that time, she'd managed to drop out of school to work full time, just to pay her bills. She was slowly sliding downhill, and no matter how hard she tried, she wasn't winning.
A year ago, she'd been so hopeful. She'd finish her degree, become another starving artist, but have enough skills to make a living at what she loved most. She studied advertising art as well, knowing it would at least give
her a career, and had struggled to build a portfolio good enough to get a showing in some local studio. It never happened.
She knew she was being ungrateful, but she didn't know how to care anymore. Not today. Today had officially topped the list of worst days ever, and even the very attractive man sitting across from her made it only marginally better. Maybe worse, because she couldn't stop worrying about why he even cared.
"Look, you were always in the middle of a sketch. I thought about it a few times, but I hate it when someone breaks my stride, ya know. I just, I dunno, I figured if you wanted to be friendly, you would have said hi to someone there."
"What?" His words just weren't making it through her brain.
"Yeah," he looked at the floor. "Um, I don't really just jump up and talk to people. I mean," he sighed. "I don't know what I mean. I just wanted to see what you were working on, I guess."
"Yeah," she said, brushing it off. "I gotcha."
That's when the door chimed. With an apologetic look, Ryan stood. "Work calls. Draw something?"
"Like what?" she asked, not feeling anything inspirational.
He shrugged. "Tribal flowers, or dragons, or something. I dunno. I always need girly tattoo ideas. Yeah, and drink the coffee before it gets cold," he said over his shoulder as he walked out.
She heard him greet the potential customer and pulled out her sketch book. Tribal flowers? She hadn't tried that before. The sharp lines contrasted with the soft idea of the flowers, and somehow fit her mood perfectly. It seemed as good of an idea as any.
She unzipped her bag, set a tin on the table, and opened it. It wasn't high end supplies, just colored gel pens, charcoal sticks, and other basic art crap. Flipping to a clean page, she grabbed the first thing that came to her hand, a pen, and started. The rose began to bloom on the page in sharp angles of red and green, shaded liberally with black, hints of violet kissing the edge of each serrated petal. She moved on to a pansy, setting it just beside the rose on the same page.
Everything faded to the scratch of the ball on the rough page and the ink staining the paper. Roses, pansies, petunias, zinnias, daisies, climbing vines, apple blossoms, they covered every inch. She was working on a water lily when a man's chuckle made her look up.
