Emerge into Forever

by Andrea Michelle

  She shakes her head. “He went to the bathroom. He just assumes it had to be then, but that’s not the point. He never should have let Dean in our apartment at all.”

  It’s been over a week and I haven’t seen Dean, or heard from him, all of which make me thankful and also nervous. His bike hasn’t been in the parking lot here at the apartment, or at school where he usually parks. Rebel even said he quit the bar without notice and took off. Part of me thinks the nightmare is over and only alive when I’m asleep. The other part of me wonders what he’s up to and if he’s okay. That other part of me frightens me because I don’t want to wonder about him, or worry about him. I most definitely shouldn’t care if he’s okay, but a part of me does, and I can’t understand that part of myself.

  Em plops down on the bed huffing. "I didn't know, Riley. He admitted it all to me before he left. He knew Dean was acting strange with you, yet he chose his friendship over us, over you. I don't think I can trust him ever again. I mean, shit, Ri...Dean stole that letter. He altered your path that night by doing so and he tried to—,"

  "Don't say it. I know.” I stop her from saying the words I can’t bear to hear. “Collin couldn't have known what was in Dean's head, though, Em. Even I didn't think he had that in him. But to be truthful, the way I remember Dean before that moment, I think he wanted to take care of me. I think he got lost somewhere in his head later because he was drinking."

  Her eyes bulge. "Are you making excuses for him?" she asks shocked.

  I shake my head, "No, absolutely not. What he did, what he tried to do, I can't forgive him for that. I'm just saying he wasn't himself. He hasn't been himself for a while now. I can understand losing yourself when the world around you seems to be closing in."

  She throws her hands in the air. "I want to murder him and you want to understand him. That's crazy, Riley You have to see that, right?"

  I climb off the bed with my mouth agape. Her words are too close to home—one word in particular. Crazy. My mouth opens and shuts, the tears brimming my eyes as I stagger away for distance. "I see it, and I am crazy, Em. Or at least I feel like I am.”

  She studies my reaction and her voice is a mere whisper when she asks, “Why?”

  I lean against her dresser. “Because only a crazy person would have thought Josh and I could survive four years away from each other and still get our white picket fence future without bumps in the damn road." I touch my heart. A huge part of me still wants that future, will always want that future, but knows it’s not realistic and so he and I are friends—best friends. I have hope for that to change. Someday.

  “I wake up every morning with this fucking ache, this tightness in my chest and the memories of the last time I felt his touch, really felt it and want it badly, need it desperately. He reached inside my chest, ripped out my heart and took it with him. He’s still there. I’m still here. Nothing’s changed. We can’t be together and together is the only place I want to be. I ignore the world around me, you, Rebel, my family. You’re all here. All I want to do is listen to his voice because that’s when I feel alive. That’s fucking crazy, right?"

  Tears begin to stream down my face, but I can't stop the madness I’ve been holding inside for over a week. She slowly stands seeing me coming apart.

  "Only a crazy person would blame herself for the person Dean has become. I toyed with his emotions knowing all along I was in love with his best friend. Because of me they hate each other now. Because of me everyone is miserable. You and Collin. Oh, my God. You were so happy with him. Then there’s Dean and Josh. Me and Josh. And for what? Because I had daddy issues? Because I didn't believe enough in love? What a fucking joke that is.”

  She’s standing in front of me now, unsure of what to do with me like this. “I've let my heart be filled with hate and bitterness for years that I didn't have any room for what belonged there. Love. Compassion. Trust. The second I tried to make room and shift all the shit around, it was too late. He didn’t want to occupy the space there anymore. I was so alone. Only a crazy person would think I deserved what Dean almost did to me. He has every reason to want to hurt me. Josh has every reason to not trust me and believe so little in me. Maybe he’s just as crazy, though, because he still wants me, wants to keep trying. I keep thinking he might be better off without me. All I do is hurt him.” I take a deep breath and gasp as a full on sob is trying to climb out.

  Emily hugs me and then shakes my shoulders like she is trying to shake sense into me. "You most definitely are a crazy bitch if you think I'm going to stand here and let you say all of that about yourself and not tell you straight up that you are completely wrong. You don't deserve to be hurt like that. You don't deserve to be hurt at all ever. So fucking what, you dated Dean for two years and didn't give him your goodies? I hate to say this, and I so wish I could burn away the memories, but Riley...let's not forget that the entire time he was pursuing you he was banging me in secret,” she cringes. “Ugh...and Preslee. I don't know the details of their relationship, but I'm positive that she was after him long before she was interested in Josh. Dean is an asshole. You might see goodness in him, way deep down somewhere—like deep, deep, down close to the pits of hell—but I don't see the same thing. And as far as being crazy about wanting Josh after everything y’all have been through, well, that's love sweetheart. No matter how many times the heart is wounded, it still wants what it wants. Your heart wants him and his wants you."

  I wipe at my eyes. "My heart isn't mine anymore. It is his. He knew that. He knows that. And now, I'm here...unable to breathe and scared as hell to let him back in. I’m pushing him away again. He kissed me before he left.” I touch my lips as they tingle from the memory. “I can still feel it, it was that kind of kiss. Ya know the one I’ve told you about before? Everything in my body came to life. Then his lips weren't connected to mine anymore and it was like my lifeline had been severed. I shouldn't be so dependent on someone. I can't even stand on my own two feet without him and that's not fair. If he doesn’t call, I feel panicked. I’m having nightmares on top of that. "

  She pulls me in for a hug and lets me cry into her shoulder, and I feel terrible. Like a complete shit friend. She’s going through her own break up and I’m unloading my crazy on her. “I don't know what the future holds, Riley. I wish I did. I wish I knew if breaking things off with Collin is the right thing to do, or a huge mistake. We don't know these things for certain. I'm content with taking chances and gambling on the wild card. I find it fun, to be honest. But you are not like me. You always play it safe and think way too damn much about the past and the future. You forget to live now. So, just stop...breathe for a minute and let everything else go. Focus on what you want and then go grab the hell out of it."

  For the first time in over a week I feel a little less weight sitting on my chest. “I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I shouldn’t have done that. I think you might be being too hard on Collin, though. You care for him. He's good to you. I've never seen him like this with a girl."

  She gets a far away look in her eyes while wistfully smiling. "I know. He's sweet and amazing in bed. But c'mon...he's still Collin. Gorgeous as hell and capable of charming his way into any girls panties, which he does. I should know. Damn, if he makes me someone I'm not used to, though."

  "Someone who is in a relationship?" I ask.

  She shivers like the thought scares her. "Yes, I have never committed to anyone, definitely not like him, and then he does this thing and I’m sort of freaking out."

  "Honestly, though, have you been faithful?" I haven't seen her with other people but I'm curious. She is the female version of him.

  She rolls her eyes. "A girl can change her spots, Riley. As a matter of fact, I have and that scares me most. I know he hasn't. He's honest about it, and I appreciate that. But the truth is, I wish he had been faithful because then I might be more willing to think he’s trustworthy."

  “Um, I think you said that wrong. A leopard can’t change its spots, Em. Not a gi
rl can change her spots. Silly.”

  She shrugs. "Whatev.”

  We drive an hour to Wicked Ink and I watch Emily's reaction closely as we strut inside. As far as I know, she hasn't seen Brandt since Beau's wedding. That didn't go so well, but then it didn’t matter because she had Collin on the side.

  Besides, Emily admitting she wants to play can never be a good thing.

  It's pretty late in the evening and nearing closing hours so the place is desolate. If I didn’t know Brandt so well, this would be a bad idea. Still kind of is, but Brandt loves to ink after hours and I want this new tattoo.

  "Oh, man. If it isn't Shortie and Sweet Sugar! What do I owe the pleasure of this surprise?" Brandt says to both of us but only looking at Emily. Again, I watch her reaction and there it is...the lip bite, the twirling of the hair and the rosy cheeks. So pathetic, he turns her to mush.

  I greet, "Hey," then reach up to kiss his cheek and give him a hug. "I'm here for a tattoo if you’re willing, and Em wants another piercing," I explain.

  He nods his head, “I’m always willing, baby girl.” Emily decided in the car that she doesn't want a tattoo but the spot above her lip pierced. "You're pierced?" he asks her.

  She nods. "Riley, too. We got them in Arlington at a place near campus. The scenery isn’t as nice there, though.” She winks, using her sugary sweet voice on him and I hate it. “Riley got her navel done," she tells him.

  "See," I lift my shirt and show off my guitar dangle.

  He smiles, then his curious eyes fall on Emily. "Navel, too?" he asks dropping his gaze to her stomach.

  She shakes her head. His eyebrow lifts and he scrapes his teeth on the hoop in his mouth. I see the wheels turning.

  Brandt is colorful and vibrant. Eccentric. He's pierced in a lot of places and has various tattoos decorating his skin. He's yummy, but like a big brother to me, so I don’t explore his beauty the way she does.

  Emily grins while puffing her chest out, "I got my nipples pierced."

  Hell. What is she doing? She is toying with him and it’s working. His lip twitches. He shifts his stance and runs his hands behind his neck as he mutters a curse under his breath. And why is she doing this? This is her playground.

  "Damn, Sugar. So, how ya been? You and pretty boy still bumping uglies?" he asks with a hint of jealousy maybe. His eyes are drawn to her boobs and her cheeks flame red at that.

  “Yeah, we're good.” Then the temptress in her kicks into overdrive, as if this little flirt fest wasn’t tempting enough. “Long, hard and amazing actually," she says with a sinful twinkle in her eyes. She's taunting him…and lying.

  He smirks, "Is that so?"

  Emily moans her answer. "M'hm."

  I interrupt this insane exchange of crazy. "Yeah, um...I'm good, too. Thanks for asking," I say.

  Finally Brandt and Emily break eye contact and look over at me. “Well, better than I was when you last saw me…um, kind of better.”

  Brandt’s eyes go cold and his hands fist by his side. The lust bubble busted by my reality. “I’m fine. Seriously. Can I get a tattoo?"

  I don’t want to talk about that. I want the pain of the needle to take away the pain of everything else, the pain I’m not numbing with tequila shots.

  "Yeah, Shortie. Watcha want?"

  I point to my wrist, "I want a cluster of stars like a burst of them. All black.”

  Emily frowns. I explained my desire to her on the car ride over and she didn’t like my answer.

  Brandt asks, "I'm taking there is a story behind this one."

  I nod, "There is a story behind the first one you did."

  He grins, waves his hand to the back and directs me to his station. Emily follows us and stares after him like a lovesick puppy. She even nudges me from behind, I look over my shoulder and she mouths, “Damn,” when he isn’t looking. Great.

  He starts prepping as Damien walks out from the back. "Oh, shit. Did I forget I had a client?" he asks. Damien does the piercings and I don’t know him well at all.

  Brandt’s gaze bounces uncomfortably between Emily and Damien. "No, last minute walk-ins. She wants a piercing," he says nodding his head at Emily. “You wanna do it? It’s closing time, so you don’t have to,” he adds. I get the feeling he’s hoping Damien will reject Emily’s request.

  "Where at?" Damien asks.

  Emily smirks and flicks her eyes to Brandt. "My clit," she says.

  He drops his tray and stumbles to pick it all back up. I literally choke and she laughs. "I'm kidding. Damn you guys. I want a Monroe. Can you do that? Or will you? I mean I can set up an appointment and come back later if not." she asks, watching Brandt do his best to collect himself. I’d be amused if she weren’t heartbroken right now. Actually, I’m nervous for her.

  Damien’s eyes sparkle and light up mischievously. "I like you. I'd enjoy the clit more, but yes, I can do it. C'mon back. I’d love to do you.” He might not have meant that to sound inviting, or dirty, then again he might have. The crazy continues.

  After she walks away, I literally have to drag Brandt’s attention to the here and now. “What the hell is with you?” I ask him.

  He turns his baby blues back to me and shakes his head while a low rumbling laugh leaves his throat. “She gets under my skin. I don’t know why. Does she really have her tits pierced?” I cringe and he apologizes.

  “Yeah, she does,” I tell him.

  He hums like it intrigues him and goes back to setting everything up. I change the subject. “Hey, I haven’t talked to you about what happened.”

  He freezes and without turning around, he says, “I guess we haven’t, huh?”

  I place a hand on his shoulder and I can feel the anger vibrating off of him. “I know you trashed his place, and I know you did that for me, but you could’ve gone to jail. I mean, breaking and entering on top of a death threat and just—,”

  He interjects, turning to face me. “Hey, I knocked. He didn’t answer, so I let myself in. And honestly? He should be thankful he wasn’t home, Shortie. My intentions weren’t to be threatening, but actual. I intended to do him bodily harm, maybe not murder him, although, I can’t guarantee that. When someone hurts someone I care about, it’s what I do. I care about you, Peanut.”

  I give him a hug, literally getting on my tippy toes to do so. “I care about you, too. But you’re crazy. It must be in the air or something.”

  I sit on my chair as he instructs me to do. He sketches out what I asked him to ink on my wrist for me to approve. Without looking up from the pad of paper he asks, “Has he bothered you any?”

  I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No, I think you scared him off. He left town or something. There’s this box delivered to his door, it’s just been sitting in front of his apartment for three days now.”

  He flicks his eyes up for a second. “That’s good then.” Is it? Actually, it has me on pins and needles. He lifts the pad up, “Like this?”

  Fear gone, my lips curl up into a wide smile. “It’s perfect.” His eyes fall to my wrist and he frowns. “What is it?” I ask.

  He picks my hand up and touches the spot by my wrist. The marks are gone. All that’s left is an invisible scar that haunts me when I close my eyes and sleep. “I saw it. When you were at my apartment and you wiped your eyes. I saw your wrist, the bruise. What he did. I didn’t know what it meant until Josh informed me.”

  I pull my wrist free and turn away from his gaze. His pity. His fucking pity. I don’t want it. I don’t want anyone to look at me and feel sorry for what happened. “Don’t look at me like that?” I snap.

  “Like what?”

  I turn back to him and circle my hand around his face. “Like that. Like you feel bad for me.”

  He frowns. “Well, I do feel bad for you.”

  “Don’t. Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  I reach into my back pocket and pull out the piece of paper that has the sketch of the other tattoo I want, for later. The one I didn’t share wit
h Emily yet. I haven’t shared it with anyone. I hand it to him and he asks, “What’s this?”

  “Josh’s birthday present. I want you to do this for me soon. I’m nervous to get it. I’m sure it will hurt like hell, but it’s beautiful, right?”

  He unfolds the paper and I see the look of satisfaction on his face. He’s an artist and would totally appreciate the beauty in it. He touches the bird I found online. “This is breathtaking,” he says.

  Its body is formed around a treble clef. Music notes branch out through its wings and down its tail. I wrote a poem down that I want to accompany it in script.

  “When do you want to schedule it?” he asks. I tell him and we set the date.

  He asks me the meaning behind my tattoo choices and I explain to him that they are personal. I do explain why I wanted the stars on my wrist verses anywhere else on my body, though. I don’t want to remember something negative, something ugly about love, something dark. I want to be reminded of something beautiful, of Josh, of our light in the darkness. Our stars. And how I want them to lead me back to him. Back home.

  Damien has left and it’s well after midnight. My tattoo is complete, the one I want most is on the books officially and now I am standing in the front admiring the artwork on the wall, bobbing my head to Skillet while also watching Emily and Brandt have a conversation in hushed tones away from me. Part of my plan has backfired on me. I wanted Brandt to do my next tattoo, only him because he’s the best. Therefore, I needed to come to him for this one tonight. However, this side effect with Emily is unwanted and scaring me. I hate that she appears seductive. I also hate that he eyes her like a piece of candy he wants to lick. His Sweet Sugar. Who the hell thinks that nickname is even sexy? She apparently does. I don’t even want to know how that nickname came about.

  My phone begins to sing in my back pocket and I answer it quickly knowing Josh’s ringtone. “Hello.”

  “Hey, bestie. Watcha up too?” he asks.

  I cringe internally at my new nickname. I both hate and love that he is being true to his word. He is giving me the space I requested, letting me breathe, waiting. I miss hearing, “pretty girl” roll off of his tongue, though. I miss our, “more.”