If she agrees to this, this is a huge win for us.
“I can’t stomach the thought of another man touching you.”
“Are we really having this conversation here?” She bites on her lip ring as her chest rises and falls quickly. This conversation is making her nervous.
“What better place?” I give her a half shrug.
In her absence the past two weeks, one questioned plagued me. Were there other men? The thought of another man inside her infuriates me. She’s mine, and I’m a stingy motherfucker.
“Are you seeing anyone else, Mills?
She bites her lower lip, trying not to laugh.
“Mills,” I growl.
Her head shakes quickly. “Do you think I am?” A beautiful smile finds its way through the mask of uncertainty. I can sense her defenses beginning to melt away.
“Answer me.”
She lifts her finger, pointing it between us. “I haven’t touched or been touched by anyone since I met you.”
“Neither have I. Just so we’re clear.”
I’ve never been one to push for an exclusive relationship with any woman. What I did was my business and what they did was theirs. I preferred a no strings attached route. Much easier and less messy. I’ve never been one to promise a woman I’m sleeping with more than what it was, strictly sex. However, with Mills, I want to spend time with her outside of my bed. I want to explore this city with her on my arm.
Hell, I want to explore everything with her. In a short amount of time, she has buried herself deep under my skin.
I need her.
I crave her.
One of the lions stirs behind her. With my hands on her waist, I twist her body so she can see the lion stretching his large paws in the air and baring his huge teeth as he yawns. These massive creatives are breathtaking.
She gives me a smile that has my pulse racing. “This is a huge step for me. I may screw up. Please be patient, this is a first for me.”
I take her hand in mine, reassuring her. “I’ll hold your hand every step of the way, sweetheart.”
Standing on tiptoe, she touches her lips to mine.
“Thank you.”
Here’s the thing. I can’t get enough of this woman. Mills makes me feel. She makes me want to look toward the future. She’s become a part of me.
Chapter Sixteen
Juliette
The last two weeks have flown by in a blur. Things with Lee have been great. We either meet up at my place after work or go to his. I’ve fallen asleep in his arms each night after mind-blowing sex. This morning I snapped a few pictures of Lee while he was sleeping. It’s the first time I’ve done anything like that. I’ve never taken a picture of a man I’m sleeping with. However, in reality, Lee is so much more than a man I’m sleeping with.
Fuck. I’m in a relationship. Yet the thought of it doesn’t scare the ever-living hell out of me.
I check my phone to see how many appointments I have today. Since it’s the first Sunday of the month, my appointments aren’t in the computer where everyone has access to them.
Two of my regular clients who I’ve become friends with over the years reached out to see if I could squeeze them in. My schedule was booked during regular hours, so I offered up today since I’d be here for my other four appointments.
After speaking in detail with each of them throughout the week, all the designs are completed and already on stencil paper ready to transfer to my clients. Each night I stayed a little after closing to work on the designs.
Since the designs were prepared beforehand, even with the complexity of one of them, I’m hoping to be out of here by seven. Maybe I’ll surprise Lee and show up with dinner for the two of us.
A knock on the door draws my attention. The lights in the window of the shop are off.
Making my way over, I turn the lock, opening the door to find Rory and Brandon with their arms full of goodies.
“We’ve come bearing gifts,” Brandon says, lifting his arms, revealing the two twelve packs of soda in his arms.
“I’ve got an assortment of bagels and cream cheese. Your favorite!” Rory squeals then wraps her free arm around my neck, pulling me in for a tight hug.
“Girl, I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
Rory steps back, and I open the door the rest of the way to allow them past the entrance.
“I’ll set this stuff in the back by the kitchen,” Brandon says.
“You know where everything is, make yourself at home.”
Brandon takes the bagels and heads to the back to put the soda in the fridge.
I close the door behind them, turning the lock and following Rory over to my station. “So tell me, how is New York treating you?”
“It’s good. I’ve been busy with the hospital and Leah.”
I look down the hall to see if Brandon is on his way. “Give me the scoop on the new man in your life.”
Rory’s eyes widen. “How do you know?”
“I ran into Brandon at Murphy’s a few weeks back, and I was asking about you.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Nothing much. He mentioned you were seeing a really nice guy and he was happy for you.”
Rory smiles and nods her head. “I met someone. He’s a great guy.”
“I’m happy for you.” I pull her in for another hug. “You’ve been through so much. You deserve to be happy.”
Rory steps back, and her green eyes shimmer in the light.
I knock her shoulder. “Don’t cry on me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No. No. Don’t be silly. These are happy tears, not sad ones. I’m at peace with everything.”
“I’m glad.”
“So, what did I miss?” Brandon’s boisterous voice fills the quiet room.
“Nothing. Go set up my phone by the speaker and put some music on. I’ve got the two of you, then four more appointments later in the afternoon.”
“I didn’t realize you were open on Sunday. I thought you squeezed us in,” Brandon says as he walks over to the counter.
“We aren’t. I started doing something on my own here at the shop. I’m not advertising it or anything, it’s just been word of mouth.”
“Care to share what your secret project is?” he says once the music begins to play through the shop.
“People have scars that hold traumatic memories and they’re ready to move on from. I’m helping people feel better about themselves. I want them to be proud of the tattoos that cover those scars now.”
Rory’s eyes widen and her hand covers her mouth. “Jules. You are truly amazing to do this to help others.”
Brandon walks over, slinging his arm around my neck, pulling me in for a hug. “I’m proud of you, Juliette. You truly are one kick-ass chick. Even with your purple hair.”
I nudge his broad chest with my hand. “Hey. What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing, I love it. It was pink the last time I saw you last year. Purple suits you.”
“Thanks. I was bored the other night, so I changed it up a little.”
“Change is good,” Rory chimes in.
“Ok, so who is going first?” My eyes bounce between the two.
“Mine is quicker, so I’ll go,” Rory says.
“Jump in.” I point to my chair.
“I’ll toast us some bagels. I’ll be back,” Brandon says and heads to the rear of the shop.
Rory and I catch up while she relaxes in my chair. Brandon feeds me pieces of bagel over my shoulder while I work.
“All done,” I say, wiping the excess ink off her skin.
Rory stands and walks over to the full-length mirror and turns to see her ribs. ‘Sometimes you’ve gotta fall before you fly’ is etched in black ink over her ribs with several doves flying above the wording.
“You know the routine. This isn’t your first.”
“I love it. I’ve been meaning to get back here.”
“Let me clean
it up and cover it.”
Once Rory is cleaned up, Brandon sits in my chair, admiring the stencil I created for him. “I can’t believe how much detail you were able to get in the design,” he says.
“Took me a little while, but I’m happy with it.”
Once I transfer the stencil onto his left forearm, I get to work. This piece means a lot to Brandon. I knew his friend, he was a client of mine for years.
Hours later, Brandon extends his arm for Rory to see the full detail of his new tattoo. It’s an American flag with a police officer’s badge nestled within the folds. The badge contains four numbers they’ll never forget, and will honor for the rest of their lives.
Tears glisten on Rory’s pale heart-shaped face.
My heart squeezes with anguish as I watch Brandon pull Rory against his chest, hugging her tightly while keeping his left arm is extended.
Rory steps back with a choking cry. “I need a minute.” Her voice breaks. She walks down the hall, and the bathroom door closes behind her.
“Will it ever get easier?”
“She has her moments. There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think of him.” Brandon holds his arm out for me to clean and apply the wrapping.
I nod my head.
Brandon leans back to look down the hall. “She’s truly happy with Christian. You’d like him. He treats her like a queen, and he adores Leah.”
Rory was dealt a horrible blow in life, leaving her a single mother to raise her daughter.
“That’s all we could wish for.”
Our conversation ceases when we hear the bathroom door open. Rory walks down the hall clutching a paper towel. Her cheeks are flushed from crying. Brandon shoots me a look, and I shake my head.
The tattoo probably brought memories back. She’s entitled to have as many moments as she needs. I give her space and don’t push. I of all people know when someone needs time.
Brandon pulls me into a hug. “Thank you. You did an amazing job,” he whispers against my temple.
“Ready to head out? I’m sure Leah is giving her grandparents a run for her money. Let’s go relieve them,” Brandon says to Rory. I walk Rory and Brandon out, and set up for my next client.
My next two appointments go smoothly. They embraced their pieces as if the art were armor, their scars no longer visible to the world. The beauty of tattoos is they can easily cover scars. Many may not realize it, but when the design works around the scars, they go unnoticed, disguised by the beauty of color.
I’m standing anxiously by the door, awaiting the arrival of my next client. Twenty or so minutes pass before they arrive. I greet them and lead them back to my station. “Here, have a seat.” I point to my chair. “I have to be honest with you. I’ve never done this before, but I think I can give you what you’re looking for.”
Maggie unbuttons her shirt, revealing her breasts. She underwent a double mastectomy after being diagnosed with breast cancer. “I finished my last round of chemo six months ago.” She lifts her hand, taking her hat off and runs it over her newly grown hair.
“I was never one of those women who felt my breasts defined me. I didn’t feel as if I didn’t have breasts, it would make me less of a woman. Yet when I had them both removed to save my life, I began to wonder, am I less of a woman now?”
Trying to be discreet as possible, I wipe the tear off my cheek. Maggie has endured so much.
“When I made the decision to go forward with the reconstruction surgery and had the expanders put in, I was told I wouldn’t have nipples.” Maggie made a face. “Talk about shocking. I never stopped and thought about not having nipples. The things we take for granted.” She laughs.
Maggie talked to me the entire time I worked. Her friends and family were a great support system during her treatments, each taking turns to go every week with her for her chemotherapy treatments.
I wipe her skin of excess ink. I am very pleased with the results. Maggie stands and walks over to view her breasts. Money couldn’t buy the look on her face as she stands before the full-length mirror and views herself for the first time.
She lifts her trembling finger, touching the side of her breast, careful not to touch the freshly-inked skin. “They look real.” She leans closer to the mirror. “If I didn’t know you put these here, I wouldn’t know there are fake.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “How did you do it?”
“It’s an art. I love turning what people think are imperfections into perfections.”
She buttons her shirt, being extra careful with the bandages I placed on her.
After going over the aftercare with Maggie, I walk her to the door. Maggie clutches my hands with both of hers. “I can’t thank you enough. You’ve made me feel like a woman again.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
“Are you sure I can’t pay you?”
I exhale a long sigh of contentment. “I’m positive.”
Maggie turns and leaves.
In doing this, I have the power to help change a person’s life. I can help someone feel better about themselves.
My tired feet make their way to the back, and I pop a half bagel in the toaster, having a few minutes before my last appointment.
Cracking open a soda, I lean against the wall, relishing how pleased Maggie was with her tattoos. I wasn’t sure how they might turn out, but after researching about it this week, I saw a few artists use a certain technique that had the best results.
With my bagel in hand, I walk back to the front of the shop when I hear a knock at the door. With my one free hand, I open the door and welcome my final client, Daniel, into the shop.
“Hey, have a seat over there. Give me a minute, and I’ll be right with you.”
Daniel walks over to my station, grabbing one of my portfolio books. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since this morning. Pulling apart a piece of the bagel, I pop it into my mouth, savoring the vegetable cream cheese spread.
Once I’m finished, I wash my hands and check my phone. Two missed calls and a few text messages from Lee appear on the home screen. Clicking the screen to view them, my heart melts a little.
Lee: I miss you.
Lee: I’m hoping you end up in my bed tonight.
Lee: And underneath me.
A laugh escapes me. Fiend.
I shoot him a quick response.
Me: Both are a possibility.
I turn off the screen, sliding my phone in my back pocket, and walk over to Daniel.
“Thanks for letting me eat. I’ve been busy all day. I didn’t want you to have to listen to my stomach growl while I worked on you.”
Daniel sets the book aside. “No problem.”
“Did you have a chance to review what I sent you?” I ask.
“Yeah, it’s exactly what I want.”
Daniel stands and takes his shirt off and lays on the table. I position the stencil over his back, the piece stretching from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.
With my cup filled with black ink, I grab a pair of latex gloves, sliding my hands into them.
Daniel lays completely still while I outline the design. He opted for an owl with blazing orange eyes. The details of the feathers on his face are going to be the toughest part of the piece.
“Every Part of Me” by Godsmack plays throughout the shop, and Daniel sings along with the lyrics, handling the work like a champ.
I focus on the intricate details of the owl’s feathers, the sound of the gun soothing me.
His back has several scars, which I assume are burn scars, and a few lines that look like old lacerations. If I had to guess, I would say he was abused at some point in his life.
As if reading my mind, Daniel turns his head to face me. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me how I got them.”
“It’s not my place to intrude. If you feel comfortable telling me, that’s completely up to you. Everyone has their own reasons for wanting to camouflage their scars.”
“My brother was a sadist
ic bastard when he was younger; hell, he still is. There are several years separating us, and he would beat the shit out of me. I was too small to defend myself. He would pin me to the floor, then sit on my back. He was too heavy to fight him off. He would hold his cigarettes against my back to see how loud I would scream.”
I shudder inwardly at the thought, knowing all too well what he endured. “I’m sorry to hear what you went through. No child should have to suffer any type of abuse by anyone, especially not a sibling.”
A swift shadow of anger sweeps across his face. “He didn’t stop there. The abuse continued for over a year, it only escalated. Finally, my mother believed me after I told her time and time again what he was doing to me. She never thought her precious Bobby was capable of such hatred.” He breathes raggedly in impotent anger. “I was his first victim; his violent temper heightened over time. He’s spending the next twenty-five years in state prison for manslaughter.”
As Daniel spoke, I could sense his torment. After all these years, it still pains him to speak of the events.
Ice spreads through my stomach. I’m so furious, I can hardly speak. My breath burns in my throat. “Life leaves us with scars. Our scars show the battles in which we fought. Some we have lost. Some we have won.”
Daniel doesn’t continue, for which I am grateful. I take a few deep breaths, and my breathing begins to get under control, my chest no longer tight.
When I first thought about offering my services for free to those who wanted a tattoo to cover a scar, I didn’t imagine it would take off like it has. I wasn’t expecting to feel the weight of the pain of each of my clients.
It’s one thing to be brave and force my feelings to the back of my own mind, but when someone else connects with you on this level, it brings it all out to the forefront, and I can’t keep my wall up.
Every first Sunday for the next three months is fully booked. Word has spread, and I want to be thrilled, but as I help these people on their own journey of healing, my own painful memories are resurfacing and my old wounds seem fresh.
Beautifully Scarred Page 13
