Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  Naomi shrugs. “She says I did . . . I do. She says I just need to get myself under control and everything will be fine, and she could stop treating me like a baby.”

  “Do you feel out of control?” I ask.

  “Yes.” She sighs. “I feel like I’m running on a treadmill that never stops and just keeps getting faster and faster.”

  “What happens if you step off the treadmill?”

  Naomi offers me a weak smile. “The world ends. At least according to my mom. I don’t graduate and I’ll never get a job and I’ll end up homeless with no teeth.”

  I laugh at the absurdity. “I didn’t get into college and I don’t have a degree and I have my own business and the homeless guys I know have all their teeth. There’s life off the treadmill.”

  “What’s your business?” Naomi asks. “Dad didn’t tell me much about you other than he was bringing you up to meet me.”

  “I have my own tattoo parlor in the East Village.”

  “Really? Can I see some of your tattoos?”

  “Sure.” I take out my phone and flip to a folder full of my favorite, finished work.

  Naomi scrolls through the pictures with utter concentration. She’s so fiercely focused that I find it hard to believe she needs to take speed to stay on top of the academic treadmill.

  “These are really good,” she says. “Like really, really good. They’re art.”

  “Thanks.” When she hands me back my phone, I thumb over to the design for Mac’s mermaid. “This is the one I’m doing on your dad. To replace that terrible thing on his back.”

  Naomi covers her mouth with one hand while she laughs. “Oh God, his mermaid. I used to get so embarrassed when he took his shirt off at the pool or beach. I’m glad he’s finally getting it covered.”

  “It’s one of the worst I’ve ever seen. I’m thinking about using it in before and after ads. The before is going to be titled, ‘flounder with boobs’.”

  Naomi giggles. It’s not as nice as Emily’s giggle, but it’s still good to hear, and it transforms her face into something much less zombie-like. “It totes is.”

  I grin at her, feeling the age difference between us in that one sentence. Any worry I had about being too young for Mac finally dissipates.

  “How did you get into tattooing?” Naomi asks.

  I tell her about Edz taking me to see Rufus, my unexpected apprenticeship, and taking over the shop from Rufus when he retired. As I’m winding down my story, Naomi reaches out and taps her fingernail against my collar.

  “I know what this is,” she says quietly.

  I swallow as though the collar’s suddenly tightened around my throat. “You do?”

  She nods. “My mom used to wear one. A metal ring. Engraved in the back was the word ‘property.’ She always kept her hair down over it but I saw it a few times. Are you like that with my dad? Are you his property?”

  “Not exactly. I’m submissive. Do you know what that is?”

  She spends a long moment studying the flowers she’s set on the arm-table attached to her chair before she nods. “I read about it.”

  “What did you read? Because there’s all kinds of garbage online.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Never believe everything you read on the internet. But I read a lot about it, about being submissive. I bought some books. I wanted to understand . . . my mom said that she didn’t want those things. What my dad did to her. She said he beat her and forced her to have sex with him in ways that hurt her. But—” Naomi lifts her shoulder, the sharp bone moving under her expensive blouse. “That’s not my dad.”

  “Naomi, I’m not sure anyone knows the truth of a relationship when they’re outside it. I only know what your dad’s told me. What I can say is that Mac is one of the most conscientious Doms I’ve met. I’ve never had a moment’s fear that he’d do anything to truly harm me. He goes out of his way to make sure I feel safe and cared-for.”

  She offers me a small smile. “He always makes me feel that way, too. The things Mom said he did.” She shakes her head. “That’s not my dad. I know him. He loves my mom. Even though everything got fucked up between them, I know he loves her. He didn’t do the things she said he did. Or if he did, it wasn’t in the way she said.”

  That makes my throat tighten again. Things I don’t want to hear? That Mac’s still in love with his ex.

  “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle,” I say. “It’s a shit place to be.”

  She sighs and strokes her flowers. “It is. I thought by coming up north to go to school, I’d get away from it. I guess I fucked that up, too.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re getting back on the treadmill,” I say. “Maybe step off and let them run on it for a while.”

  Naomi’s deep blue eyes flash up to mine. “Yeah? I’d like to see Mom try. She’s always at me because she has her doctorate. But, like, humanities? C’mon. It’s not exactly rocket science, is it? I’d like to see her try nonlinear equations.”

  I chuckle because the moment seems to call for it, but I really don’t have any idea what she’s talking about. “What’s your mom a doctor of?”

  “History. The late Victorian period, specifically.” Naomi rolls her eyes. “Dickens.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ve seen the Bill Murray version and that’s about it.” That’s not really true. I’ve read A Christmas Carol and Great Expectations. I’m not sure why I’m playing dumb except that people always seem to expect it of me. And I’ll admit that beyond the novels I’ve read, I don’t know much about the Victorian period. Humanities were not my best subjects, either.

  Naomi laughs but it doesn’t turn condescending and I appreciate that.

  “I know you said not to apologize for her, but I am sorry. She just—she’s still so angry at Dad. Everything that ever goes wrong, she lays at his door. And he just takes it. Sometimes he pushes back a little, but mostly he just lets her yell at him. That’s why I thought . . . well, for a while I thought he might be getting back at her in private. But I just can’t see him doing that.”

  “I don’t know what he was like when he was younger, Naomi, but I can tell you that now? He never brings anger into our private time. Not ever.”

  She smiles a very sad smile. “You know he’s never hit me? Never even yelled at me except when I used his electric razor to shave the dog.”

  I have to laugh at that, and Naomi’s smile brightens a bit.

  “Yeah, I was grounded for like a year for that. Other dads, they used to shout at their kids. Dad never shouted. His disappointment was worse than a hundred hours of shouting.” She pushes off her pump, draws up her knee, and curls around it. “That’s all I do now, disappoint him.”

  I tentatively touch her back and when she doesn’t flinch or object, rub it gently. I can feel each rib through her blouse and it almost makes me recoil.

  “Naomi, I don’t think that’s true. Mac has so much love for you. I see it every time he talks about you. It’s right there in his eyes.”

  She tips her head and rests her temple on her knee so she can look at me. “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  She sighs. “I’m so tired. I never thought I’d be this tired at twenty-one. I’m tired of trying to keep up. I’m tired of failing at everything I do. I’m tired of disappointing him. I’m tired of mom trying to turn me into something I’m not. I’m just tired. Are you ever tired before you even get out of bed in the morning?”

  “Yeah, I am sometimes. Everyone gets low. Before I met Mac, I was in a pretty bad place. I was beginning to give up on the idea of finding a guy who really cared about me. I was kind of giving up on everything.”

  “Meeting my dad changed that?”

  I grin. “Sure did.”

  “I’m glad. He looked happy when he walked in here. He deserves that. He’s a really good guy, my dad.”

  “The best,” I agree.

  “I just don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “Naomi, the only way you co
uld truly disappoint him is by taking drugs again. I don’t think he cares what you do with your life, as long as it’s what you want. Degree. No degree. Career. Homeless without teeth.” That draws a huge smile out of her. “Your dad will love you as long as you’re alive and doing the things you want to do.”

  Naomi slips off her other pump and pulls her knee up. “I actually do love it, you know. Physics. Even the math part, which is kind of killing me. When I’m not under so much pressure, I love the science. I’m just so afraid of falling behind and not getting the grades I need. Mom keeps telling me that if I graduate anything less than summa cum , I’ll never get a decent position and the market’s so tight for academics.”

  “Do you want to go into academics? I don’t know anything about your field, but it seems like there would be a lot of jobs for physicists.”

  “Oh, sure,” she says. “Lots in the private sector. But Mom says that real research only goes on at the great schools. Everything else is commercially driven.”

  “Is that a bad thing? I mean, my art is commercially driven. People pay me to tattoo them. Does that mean it’s not as good?”

  “No,” Naomi admits. “It’s really good. Would you tattoo me? I’ve always wanted one. Mom says tattoos are for rednecks, but I think they’re cool.”

  “Sure.”

  We spend another ten minutes talking about potential tattoo designs. She really likes the idea of a geometric heart which I think would suit her and I do the rough beginnings of a sketch with a pencil and a sticky note she hands me. As I work, I start to wonder if Amy and Mac have killed each other out in the hallway when Amy slams back into the room.

  She sweeps her gaze up and down her daughter, who has relaxed even more in her absence, pulling an oversized “Queens College” sweatshirt off the bed and tugging it down over her knees as she sits curled in the chair. “Put your shoes back on, Naomi.”

  “Mom, they hurt my feet. Brenna doesn’t care. Do you, Brenna?”

  “No.” I could stick my Docs out and wiggle them under Amy’s nose, but I’m afraid she’d combust. “It’s your room. You should be comfortable.”

  Amy narrows her eyes at me. “You would think that. Are you even old enough to drink?”

  I scoff at her. “Get real.”

  “Brenna owns her own business,” Naomi tells her mother. “And she doesn’t have a college degree.”

  “Of course not,” Amy sneers.

  “Amy, enough,” Mac says quietly as he enters the room. “Naomi, I think it’s time Bren and I head back.”

  “Oh.” Naomi sits up. “Already? Brenna and I were just getting to know each other. You’ll come back next weekend, right?”

  “Definitely. I’ll take this and work on some designs,” I say, waving the sticky note. “Just give me your email.”

  I pull out my phone, open a new contact, and hand it to Naomi. Under her mother’s baleful glare, Naomi types in her contact details, including her cell number.

  “Text me when you get back to the City, okay?” she asks.

  “I will. I’ll video call you so you can see my shop.”

  Naomi gives me an unfettered grin that cracks my heart because it contains all of the child she was. Mac’s daughter. Smart and lively and happy. Before the treadmill ground her into this sad, dull skeleton of a person.

  I hold out my hands, cautious about pushing this new connection, but Naomi moves into my arms immediately and gives me a warm hug.

  After Naomi releases me, Mac moves in and gives his daughter a long hug that leaves tears in both their eyes when they part.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow at our time, kiddo,” Mac says as he pecks a kiss onto her sunken cheek.

  “Okay, Dad. I love you.”

  Mac staggers and I jump out of the chair to steady him. “Sir, are you okay?”

  He nods and swallows hard before leaning back over to crush his daughter in another hug. “I love you, too, baby. I loved you before you were born, and I’ve loved you every minute of your life, and I’ll still love you when we’re both stardust again.”

  “Bye, Dad. Drive safe.” Naomi cracks a smile as Mac releases her. “Speed kills, you know.”

  Mac blinks back tears and manages a wry smile. “It does. I’ll go slow if you do.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Dad.”

  He presses another kiss on her forehead before putting his arm around me and walking me out of the room.

  I cry all the way back to his bike. I can’t help it. Mac doesn’t try to stop me, and I feel like I’m crying for him, too, since he can’t seem to let it out. He doesn’t say anything as we reach the bike, just hands me my helmet, swings on, and waits for me to climb on behind him.

  “We’re going back to the motel,” he says, his voice thick.

  We checked out before going to the IHOP, but I’m not going to question him. “Yes, Sir.”

  He wheels the bike around and drives us the ten minutes back to the hotel. I’m quiet, trying to gauge his mood, as we walk into the motel reception and he books the room we were in for another night. When the manager tries to say the room’s not ready, Mac waves it away. “We’ll take it now. They can clean it after check out tomorrow.”

  “Okay, mister, if that’s what you want.”

  “I do.” Mac pockets the key and takes my hand. He doesn’t say anything more as we return to the room, which is still looking as rumpled as we left it. As soon as we’re through the door, he’s on me, slamming me back against the wood, tearing off enough of our clothes to get inside me. He’s a storm: bruising kisses and nipping teeth and pinching fingers and brutal thrusts that bang me into the door so hard my teeth rattle. I just cling to him until he comes with a groan and a rictus that looks more like a grimace of pain than pleasure.

  “I’ll take care of you in a moment, girl,” he pants as he drops his face into my neck.

  “I’m okay for now, Sir.”

  Mostly I’d just like to unglue my back from the door and make it to the bed, or the couch, or even the floor, I’m not picky as long as it doesn’t have splinters.

  He adjusts his hold on me and walks us over to the bed, slipping out of me as he sets me down. I unlace my Docs, kick them off, push off the rest of my clothes, and scoot back into the pillows. I’m not sure what Mac plans next—I’m not sure he knows, either, because he stands there with his jeans around his knees looking confused—but I don’t plan to let him out of this room until he’s vented in a way that doesn’t involve his dick.

  He sinks to the edge of the bed and begins striping off the rest of his clothes. I scoot forward and wrap myself around him.

  “You had a good talk with Naomi,” he says as he tugs his jeans down his calves.

  “I did. She’s great, Mac.”

  He rubs his hands through his hair. “She is. She’s a great kid when she’s not trying to kill herself with methamphetamines. I do know what those are, by the way. Amy loves to shove my lack of education in my face, but I’ve researched it and talked to Naomi’s doctors. I know what they’re poisoning themselves with.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” And I don’t. Mac’s devotion to his daughter is obvious. “She has a ton of love for you.”

  He nods and I hear him swallow hard. “Today’s the first time she’s said those words since she was fifteen.”

  Fuck, no. That can’t be right.

  “That’s the first time she’s told you she loves you in six years?”

  “Yeah.”

  I sit back enough to rub his back but keep my legs around his hips. “Mac, she may not have said it, but she loves you. All she cares about is disappointing you.”

  “Only way she could disappoint me is if she keeps taking the drugs.”

  “I told her that. I know addicts lie about using and relapse is really common, but she seems serious this time.”

  Mac nods. “This is the first residential rehab program she’s been in since leaving Florida. They have an amazing recovery rate. If she stays in the progr
am, she has a four in five chance. I’m just afraid Amy will convince her to leave.”

  “Sir, I’m not telling you what to do. She’s your daughter. But your ex is freaking toxic. If Naomi even thinks about leaving the program, you should invite her to move in with you at Logan’s rather than going back to school. If you need me to get out of the way—” My throat tightens with what I’m offering. It’ll kill me to do it, but it feels right. “So you can focus on your daughter, then that’s what you should do. She needs you.”

  “Bren.” Mac shifts away from me and turns around, the blue of his eyes all the more piercing against the bloodshot whites. “Real talk. Do you need space? I know that was ugly and if you want to back off me because Amy and Naomi are just too much, I’d understand.”

  “No, Sir, that is not what this is about. I like Naomi and I—” No, I’m not saying those three words right now. “I want to be part of your life. But if you need Naomi to move in with you . . . I could stay in my apartment and we could just date, so you can focus on her.”

  Mac’s shaking his head before I even finish speaking. “That’s not what I want. If you need space, I’ll give it to you, but this isn’t coming from me. Nomes needs my help and my attention and I will give it to her, but not at the expense of what’s between us.”

  He knows just what to say to silence my doubts. And I’m sure I’m grinning like an idiot hearing him prioritize me like that.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to make it about me. I just want you to be free to focus on your daughter if that’s what you need to do.”

  He cracks a smile. It’s a pathetic effort, but it’s the first I’ve seen in over an hour. “Only good thing about having too much time on my hands? I have plenty of attention to go around.”

  I trace his dimple with my fingers. “I’m sorry today sucked so bad.”

  “This morning wasn’t awful.” His smile shades from sad to wry. “Hard to beat IHOP’s pancakes.”

  I punch him in the arm without any force. “If you’re trying to get me to dump you, slandering Bebe J’s pancakes is the way to do it.”

  He grins and tackles me into the bed. “Did you just threaten to break up with me over pancakes, girl?”