Inked in the Music

by Kitt Rose

  I wanted to be more like him, to stop hiding my past because parts of it were ugly. And the only way to do that was to just do it. Today, I’d decided to talk about my life before.

  Dennis knocked on my door just before nine and I smoothed my blue blouse down. I opened the door with a smile and he graced me with one of his in return. His smiles weren’t rare, but they still were precious. He hugged me as he came in, automatically going to the couch and plopping down. He’d become comfortable in my apartment and I’d become very comfortable having him here. I grabbed the coffeepot, two cups, a plate of muffins, and joined him on the couch.

  “How was work last night? Anything interesting happen?” I loved hearing about the things he tattooed on people. I couldn’t imagine walking around with some of the stuff people put on their body.

  “Infinity loops. Had four girls come in who all had me do the same design on them, but in different colors.” Dennis hated doing infinity loops. He even raged on Joey for having one. He thought they were overdone and he liked original. Infinity loops weren’t original.

  “Poor thing.” I patted his knee. “Here, eat a muffin.”

  “Are you trying to shut me up?” The twinkle in his eyes gave away the fact that he was teasing me.

  “Yes. You talk entirely too much.”

  He stuck his tongue out and I laughed, pushing a muffin into his hand. He took a bite and moaned.

  “I take it you like it.”

  “So good,” he said around a mouth full of muffin. “And still warm.”

  I wrung my hands, suddenly nervous. “I wanted to talk to you about something before I lose my nerve. You know how I don’t really like to talk about my family or where I came from?”

  He swallowed a huge bite of muffin and set it down, nodding, his face serious.

  “Keep eating, please. I can do this easier if you’re not just staring at me.”

  “You don’t have to do anything or tell me anything, Z. I get that where you came from wasn’t a great place. I want to know about you, but you don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with. I can wait until you trust me more.”

  “No. You have that all wrong. I trust you, Dennis. More than anyone else in my life, probably.” I swallowed hard. I should have kept that to myself.

  He took one of my hands in both of his and turned it over, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin of my wrist. It took everything in me not to shiver. “I’m glad you trust me. You can. I want you to know you can count on me. I’m here for you.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. You’re a really great friend.”

  He winced.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. It’s my fault. I wanted to give you time because you’re so … inexperienced, but apparently, I backed off too much. I don’t want to just be your friend, Zirah.” His dark eyes were intent as he spoke.

  My stomach somersaulted into my throat. “You don’t?”

  He answered me without words. Sliding a hand behind my neck, he pulled me to him. His lips met mine and he kissed me.

  This time, I didn’t freeze. This time, I kissed him back. He tasted like blueberries. I dug my fingers into his hair, something I’d been dreaming of doing since that first kiss, and a hundred times since. The strands were thick and silky but coarser than I’d imagined. And I’d imagined it a lot.

  He pulled back a little, his hand sliding to my cheek. “No. I don’t. You get me now?”

  I blushed. “Yes. I thought you’d changed your mind.”

  He barked out a harsh laugh. “Fuck no.” He said it like it was ridiculous for me to think that.

  “Before you make that decision, I need to tell you some stuff.”

  “Nothing will change my mind.” He sounded so sure, but I wasn’t. My stomach churned.

  “You asked that first night how I’d never been kissed. My mom was sixteen when she had my sister, Heather. She wasn’t married and no one knew who the father was. Fast forward a little and she’s pregnant again with my brothers. Different father. This time everyone knows who the dad is, and it is someone else’s husband. Scandal ensues.

  “That’s about when she took over the unofficial position of town drunk from her daddy. By the time I came around, she’d do anything for her fix. And she’s a mean drunk. When I was six or seven, I got taken away from her once. I don’t really remember much of it, but they put me in foster care because she had this boyfriend who liked to hit me with his belt when he didn’t get his fix. Meth was his thing. Teeth rotting in his head, a walking skeleton. Him, I remember.”

  “Fuck,” Dennis whispered. “Your legs?”

  I nodded and stood up, pulling my skirt up to the tops of my thighs. Then I turned around and unbuttoned my shirt, sliding it down my arms. I had a sports bra underneath. The black straps crisscrossed my back, leaving wide swathes of skin exposed.

  He inhaled sharply.

  The scars on my back were the worst ones I had. Some raised and ugly. I pulled my shirt back up and buttoned it, my hands shaking a little.

  “After he did this, they took me away for a little bit. I spent a few months in a foster home before they gave me back. I never got taken away again.

  “Everyone in town knew about my mom. The kids at school didn’t talk to me because of her. By the time I dropped out, I was ready to be gone. My music teacher was my best friend, if that tells you anything.”

  “Why did you stay there?” he asked, voiced pained.

  “I was scared. No one could help me. Heather and Andy were good to me, but they were struggling with the same things. Then I found out my sister is actually my mom. They’d lied to me my entire life.” I swiped angry tears out of my eyes and sat back. “I loved her so much and she left me in that hellhole. How could she do that to me? It was the last straw, so I packed and left.”

  I stopped talking and he was silent. The water ring that I’d inherited with my coffee table held my eyes through most of my story, but now I risked a glance up. My eyes got stuck on the expression on his face. “Don’t pity me,” I said, in a hard voice. “I don’t need or want your pity.”

  He opened his mouth a couple of times before words came out. “I don’t pity you. I’m pissed that you had to go through that. Sad that anyone could do that to you. You’ve got to be the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. Hell, I’d never even heard you swear until a minute ago. And more than that, I’m fucking amazed. You’re so strong. I’m in awe of you. Not everyone would have had the strength to leave and you did.” He smiled at me. It was a slow, deep smile that curved his sensual lips up and out, settling something inside of me. “Fucking amazing,” he mumbled before he kissed me again.

  After a moment, he gently shifted me, pulling me onto his lap, my knees on either side of his thighs. His hands glided up the back of my shirt to touch the skin of my lower back. I set my hands on his shoulders, unsure where else to put them, where to touch him. When his tongue slipped inside, I tightened my fingers and tentatively stroked his with mine. I must have done something right because his hands moved to my hips and he pressed me down.

  I gasped into his mouth as I felt him under me, against my most intimate place.

  I slid my fingers back into his hair. My breathing turned ragged when he trailed his mouth over my cheek to my ear. I’d always wondered why people did that in the movies, now I didn’t. As his teeth fastened onto my lobe and gently tugged, I felt my muscles contract there. I wiggled in his lap, seeking something my body knew it wanted.

  “Fuck.” He pressed his face into my neck. “You smell so good. I need to stop. I don’t want to rush you.”

  I flushed, not entirely because of embarrassment. A part of me wanted more, but he was right, it was too much, too fast. “Sorry,” I whispered.

  I squeaked when he picked me up and set me on the couch next to him, tucking me into his side, his arm draped around me. He leaned forward, picked up the rest of his muffin, and took a bite. “Nothing to be sorry about. I like you. I know
you’re not experienced. Hell, I like that you’re not. And I know what I’m getting into. But even if my head knows, my body… Or a certain part of it at least”—he smirked and I turned beet red—“has a mind of its own.”

  We talked for a while longer. Nothing serious or heavy, just chatting. When it was about ten-thirty, Dennis stood up and pulled me to my feet. He stooped down and wrapped his arms around me. He kissed me softly, slowly, and so perfectly. “Want to grab dinner tonight?”

  I nodded, a smile growing on my face. He grinned in response before squeezing me once and letting me go.

  Chapter Eight

  Blueberries

  Dennis

  Zirah closed the door behind me. For a moment, I tilted my head to the sky and grinned. She possessed such sweetness it left me with a sugar high. Except I didn’t think she was the kind of chick to ever let me crash. Z’s thoughtfulness was ingrained in her soul.

  And after everything she’d endured, that was a fucking miracle. My lips compressed.

  I’d never considered myself a violent person. But my fists itched to find the man who had hurt her. Her back…

  My stomach churned, the blueberry muffin curdling in my gut. She would bear the marks of child abuse for the rest of her life. But I could do something about that.

  I spent my time between clients with my sketch pad. Even reached out to a couple of friends in the trade who did a lot of work on and around scar tissue. Texture would be key to hiding the spots ink wouldn’t take to well. The skin was scaly, like a snake’s. Snakes…

  They shed their skin, making them symbolic for change and a new beginning. Like Z had shed her past moving here. Which led me down a Pinterest and Instagram rabbit hole of snake tattoos for inspiration.

  At a quarter to seven, when I got off, I bounded up the stairs. Zirah wore a knee-length dress the color of Winterfresh gum. The red in her hair contrasted nicely with the shade of green. So did the pink in her cheeks.

  “You look beautiful,” I said.

  “So do you. I mean,” she stuttered, “y-you look handsome. You always do. You—”

  I laughed and kissed her. There was a moment of hesitation where she froze. Her lips tight under mine, and then she melted into the kiss. Her entire body relaxed, and she leaned into me. Warm and soft, she came alive. Her hands clutched at my arms. I curled one hand around her waist and tugged her closer. She tasted like strawberries.

  When I broke the kiss, I was breathing hard and her eyes were unfocused.

  “Hi,” I whispered, resting my chin against her temple.

  She giggled. “Hi.”

  “Ready to get some dinner?” I pulled back. Color suffused her lips, lips that were tipped in a dreamy smile. Male pride swelled in my chest.

  “Yes,” she said, voice breathy.

  “What do you feel like? Burgers, Italian, Chinese…?”

  “Chinese sounds good. Ty was gushing about the orange chicken up the street.”

  I took her hand and we started down the stairs. “We can do that. They have good food. You okay walking?”

  “Absolutely. It’s a nice night. I’d probably be bundled up in a coat back in Minnesota by now.” She tipped her head up toward the fading sun and swayed into me.

  I squeezed her hand, running my thumb over her hand. “What did you end up doing today?”

  She told me about her day on the way to the restaurant. And then I told her about mine, leaving out the different sketches I’d created with her in mind. They weren’t ready yet, and I had no idea how to bring it up, anyway.

  Over orange chicken and egg rolls, Z opened up more about her childhood.

  She’d worked every minimum-wage job imaginable, from fast food to housekeeping in a nursing home. The only qualification she’d seemed to have when looking for work was distance. Z had never driven a car.

  Trina would shit herself in disbelief.

  “You ever want to learn, I’d be happy to teach you. I’ll even let you drive my car,” I said.

  She froze. “You’d let me drive your car? I mean, I don’t think I’d let me drive your car. I mean, I could hurt it.”

  I laughed. “It’s just a car. You can’t hurt it. And if something were to happen to it, it can be repaired or replaced.”

  Her gaze moved over my face and she blinked once, slowly. “You really mean that,” she said with wonder in her voice before she shook her head. “I just don’t understand. Maybe someday I will, but fixing a car is expensive. My whole life, money has been almost as valuable as air. I wish it wasn’t that way, but you can’t survive without either.”

  “I’m not trying to make light of what you went through growing up. I never had to struggle. My parents never had to struggle. It’s hard for me to imagine what life was like for you. And I want to understand.”

  Z stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork and turned it in front of her face. Her voice was quiet when she spoke, still staring at that chicken. “We ate a lot of beans and rice, pasta, and potatoes. Filling and cheap. We didn’t get a lot of fresh fruits or vegetables. And sometimes I just wanted fresh blueberries so bad. They’re my favorite. I could eat a whole container of them in one sitting. But they’re expensive. So if there was an open package in the produce bin at the store, I’d eat one. Just one.” She exhaled and met my eyes. “I always felt bad. I mean, it’s theft, but I couldn’t help myself. And finding that open container was like winning the lottery. With a stolen ticket, but still.”

  “My little blueberry bandit,” I said, voice thick. I’d never been hungry. Never had a craving I couldn’t quench. I couldn’t imagine not being able to afford Red Vines. I mean, I got salty when I had to settle for Twizzlers. Then something occurred to me. “Wait, you made blueberry muffins this morning.”

  She nodded, finally eating the chicken from her fork. When she’d swallowed, she said, “Yes. I bought two packs at the store yesterday. One went into the muffins, the other I finished while I was making them.” She flashed me her dimples. “I want to try making a blueberry pie tomorrow.”

  “Can I help? I can pick up the supplies on the way over and we could do pies and grab dinner.” Something about Zirah sharing her favorite food with me, the once impossible indulgence, had me feeling funny. That protective instinct flared to life hotter than ever and I wanted to buy her blueberries every single day of the year. I wanted to bury her in blueberries. Making a blueberry pie with her… Yeah, I could do that.

  “You know how to bake a pie?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  “Well, sort of. More I’m familiar with the process. I’ve helped my mom make pumpkin pies at Thanksgiving before. But it can’t be that different. And if we get stuck, that’s what the internet’s for. If we really get desperate, my mom’s on speed dial.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Then in that case, I’d love to.”

  I winked. “It’s a date then. In the meantime, seeing you appear to just be picking at your food now, let’s get a box for your leftovers and head down to Maggy’s. They have blueberry ice cream.”

  Her eyes sparkled, that gold ring around the iris flaring. “Um, yes, please.”

  Chapter Nine

  Touch

  Zirah

  Friday, October 16th

  Tonight, Dennis and I had gone to Scottie’s again. This time for trivia. Some guy named Wood took center stage with a loud mouth and crude humor. The trivia was mostly pop culture so of course, I sucked at it. I didn’t know the television shows or movies or even the music of this decade. The questions he’d thrown in for the older patrons, those I knew.

  Trina had teased me mercilessly.

  Dennis confused me, though. Mr. Touchy-Feely had kept his distance all night. He hadn’t been cold, but more … detached. His behavior made no sense. He was normally so affectionate, but tonight, he’d avoided touching me.

  As he walked me to my door, I got up the nerve to ask him. “I was wondering something. You’re normally kind of… Well, you normally touch me a
lot. But tonight, you didn’t. Did I do something wrong?”

  He startled. “God, no. You just seem a little uncomfortable when we’re out in public. I want you to be at ease.”

  I melted a little at his thoughtfulness. “Yeah, but I’ve gotten really used to your touch and I like it. I missed you touching me tonight.”

  He beamed. “You know you’re always welcome to touch me. I was just trying to make you more comfortable. You seemed a little out of sorts.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, that was because of Wood. That’s a nickname, right?”

  “Yeah. Something about him being a pervert in the girl’s locker room. You’d have to ask Ty or Wood. He’ll tell you about it. But I warn you, I asked, and I regret it.” He paused, rubbing his thumb along my cheekbone. “Can I come in for a while?”

  I pushed the door open wide and he followed me inside, locking the door behind us. Grabbing my hand, he skipped the couch and pulled me to my bed, dropping down on the flannel blanket. He patted the space beside him, and I climbed in. Before I could settle, he pulled me against him and dropped his mouth to mine.

  Dennis could kiss me a million times, every day for a thousand years, and I would never get used to it. From the first touch of his lips on mine, a current surged inside. My body lit up and blood thundered through my veins.

  Like all his kisses, it started soft and sweet. But this one built into more fast. His hands wandered over the top of my clothing and suddenly I hated my clothes. There should be nothing between his hands and my skin. I gripped his shoulders tight, swimming in sensations.

  I had no idea how long we kissed. He teased me with his hands repeatedly. But when he finally pulled back, I was ready to climb out of my skin. I wanted to strip him out of his clothing and explore the expanse of his warm skin. I needed both of us naked to see where things would lead.

  The evidence that he wanted the same pressed insistently against my hip. But Dennis only held me close until his breathing evened.