The North Star

by Wendy Cole

  I looked from the pills, to the juice, and back to her facial expression. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Her grin twisted. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to.” I accepted the pills and the carton. “He’s just being nice.”

  She snorted, leaned back against the wall behind her, and crossed her arms. “Bard not only got up this morning, he drove to the store to get that.” She motioned to what she’d given me. “Then asked me with words and out loud to go inside this RV and give them to you.”

  She stood straight, shot me a knowing smile, then walked away.

  I stared in the direction she’d gone long after the door shut behind her, then I downed the pills in one swallow and heaved a breath.

  It doesn’t mean anything.

  Then why are you smiling? Inner Jessie snarked.

  I forced my lips into a straight line and threw myself out of the bed.

  The orange juice worked as a good replacement for actual food, and between it and the painkillers, I gradually began to feel human again.

  By the time I washed off the smell of the previous night’s alcohol, got dressed, and reached the shop, there was a full house. Boe, Scarlett, and Zeke were all seated in their stations with clients. Four more people sat in the chairs by the door waiting for a turn. Charlene was in her usual place behind the counter, and the old man seemed comfortable as he leaned back on a chair by the door. “You better start getting your lazy ass up or you’re gonna end up fired,” he said.

  I shot him a glare, but otherwise didn’t respond. He didn’t know there was a good chance it didn’t matter. Odds were I was about to get canned just for being me.

  Zeke noticed me and patted the shoulder of the man he was tattooing. “Take a break, John. I’ll only be a minute.” He stood and strode over to the front.

  I drew closer. A laptop sat opened on the counter, and a tall wooden stool had been placed right in front of it.

  “What’s up?” I peered over his shoulder. The Department of Health was spelled out in big official-looking script across the top of the screen. Underneath it were the words, Blood-borne Pathogens and Communicable Diseases course. “What’s this?”

  “This is what you have to do to get your license. You’re going to sit here, take this course, and get at least seventy percent of the questions right on the test.”

  I met his gaze with wide eyes. “So…you’re not firing me?”

  His brow furrowed. “Of course not. Why the hell would I fire you?”

  Bard didn’t tell him.

  “Just kidding.” I smiled. “So, it’s that easy?” I pointed at the screen, praying he would let my question go.

  He did.

  “Pretty damn simple. After that, we’ll need to get the actual license, but that’s just paying a fee. You should be able to start tattooing pretty quick.” He smiled, then in a serious voice added, “But you need to take your time on this course and make sure you pass the test.”

  A test. I sucked at tests, but a test about tattoos? “I’ll pass it.”

  I sat down and squared my shoulders.

  “That’s the spirit.” He ruffled my hair then hurried back to his station.

  My lips curved as an unfamiliar sensation filled my chest. It was like flutters; almost anxiety but a little softer. Excitement? Holy shit. I was excited. My license! I stopped myself and forced my mouth to relax back into a straight line. It would be far too unlike me to succumb to such behavior. I shuddered at the thought. No. I’d celebrate after, but in my own way. Maybe with a tattoo. My mind began to run over what I could tattoo to commemorate my first real accomplishment until I realized I was literally just sitting there doing nothing and forced myself to get started.

  Focus. This shit was important.

  I took my time with each slide, but regardless of how many times I read over the information, I couldn’t absorb it. I hadn’t even heard of most of the shit. There were so many diseases, all with ridiculously long names. Hell, a person would be dead by the time the doctor could even spit out what’s killing them. Tattooing was a lot easier in Cell Block B. Bitches in B-Block didn’t ask for credentials. They asked for clean lines.

  It took two hours just to make it to the test, and by that time, I was still grossly unprepared with one very numb ass.

  The test was long, all multiple choice, and felt way too much like school. I struggled to remain focused and chewed my lip as words I didn’t recognize popped up in the questions. I answered them all as best as I could, relying on common sense more than actual knowledge, but my confidence was dwindling by the second. Then it happened. I answered the last, and a button at the bottom prompted me to either submit or go back and revise. My fingers twitched as I moved the curser over the selection.

  Going back won’t do you any good. You have to move forward.

  I clicked it and stood, took a large step backwards, then stared at the screen as if a demon might pop out of it.

  Zeke walked over. “All done?”

  I took a moment to answer. “Yeah.”

  He peered around me to the little hourglass spinning in the middle of the screen. Retrieving your results, it said. I chewed my lip and stared at it so hard, the letters started to double.

  “How long does it usually take?”

  Zeke grinned at me. “A minute. It’s a lot of questions. How about you take a break and get some fresh air. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

  I nodded. My butt was tingling, and it was an odd fucking sensation. I needed to walk around and get away from that stool, that computer, and the dread that came along with them.

  I darted through the shop and out the back door, only offering the old man a brief nod in my quest for freedom. The minute I was outside, I took a deep breath and let the cool breeze and the warm sun wash away my anxiety.

  It is what it is. Stressing won’t change anything.

  Slowly, I relaxed and took the time to notice my surroundings or, more specifically, the man staring at me from across the yard.

  Bard stood beside the Camaro with the hood up and his shirt off, covered in a combination of oil and sweat.

  He straightened and began wiping his hands on an old dirty towel. “You alright?”

  “Yeah.” It was a lie. He knew it was a lie. No way had those freaky eyes not caught the mental breakdown I was on the verge of having. “I just took that big ass test. I’m waiting for my results.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  He continued to watch me, still busying himself with cleaning his hands.

  I tried not to stare at his chest, but it was the most distracting thing I had at my disposal.

  “Is there something wrong with it?” I pointed towards the car.

  Bard shook his head. “No. I’m just changing the oil.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed hard. Something had changed since the previous night. It was something about knowing everything he’d told me. He hadn’t tried a thing; hadn’t made a move. We just sat together, drank into the early morning hours, and talked about anything and everything. We talked about simple things. He asked me about my art, about what drove me to draw, and he listened to me go on and on about what it felt like when I escaped into that part of myself. Then, we went to bed. Separately.

  Still, looking back on it, it felt too intimate. It had been too natural. Even Drake and I had never just…been. It was a new experience, a nice one, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

  Thankfully, Zeke walked out the backdoor and gave me a new thing to focus on, and the blank expression on his face did an abrupt job of turning me to more important matters. He shook his head, a jerky left to right, and my heart sunk.

  “I’m sorry, girl.”

  It felt like the ground would open and swallow me. I’d known it would happen. I’d known it was stupid wishful thinking on my part. People like me didn’t get licenses. That was too positive, too normal, too close to being an actual part of society. W
hy did I even…

  “You only got an eighty-five,” he added. A wide grin spread across his face, and his chest shook with barely-suppressed laughter.

  “What now?” I couldn’t process what was going on. My brain was standing on tiptoes and leaning forward, but the wall I built around myself kept blocking its view. It couldn’t be real, it said. Don’t look or you’ll be disappointed.

  “You passed.” Zeke’s smile widened and a rumble finally broke free. He shot a wink over at Bard, eyes dancing in good humor.

  I passed?

  I was licensed.

  I was a legal tattoo artist.

  My brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” He laughed. “I already paid the fee. You just need to put in your info.”

  My cheeks hurt, and I realized it was from smiling. I was smiling. “I passed,” I whispered to myself then shouted, “I passed!” That unfamiliar flutter took over. I didn’t even think. Next thing I knew, I almost knocked Zeke over and crushed him into the biggest hug I’d ever given in my life. “Thank you!”

  He let out a big, booming laugh and patted my back. “You did good, kid.”

  I cast a glance over at Bard, and the look he wore was too warm, too sweet. His eyes were far too soft. “Good job, Tequila.”

  Fuck it. Who cared if he was tempting? “I passed!” I yelled at him as if he hadn’t already heard me.

  His lip twitched.

  “Come on, girl. Let’s get this info in so you can get to work.”

  He didn’t need to say it twice. I rushed past him, more than ready.

  Zeke followed, and his rumbling laughter made him sound like he ran on an engine.

  I reached Mr. Frankfire and paused. “I passed, old man!”

  He smiled. “Of course, you did! Never doubted it for a minute!”

  I gave him a hug, being extra careful of his injuries. His eyes widened the instant my arms engulfed him then he let out a warm chuckle and patted my shoulder. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I like it!”

  I rolled my eyes and continued over to the computer. It’d never taken so long to type my name before. It felt like I couldn’t move fast enough. When the little confirmation screen came up, I almost said fuck it and did a happy dance. Instead, I eyed Zeke’s empty station and the gun and ink palette still laid out beside it.

  “Zeke?” I turned to him. “Can I borrow your gun?”

  He lifted an eyebrow, but the smile never left his face. “Sure thing. Help yourself.” He gestured to it.

  My gaze lingered for a moment before I looked back at him. “Do you mind if I take it somewhere?” I paused. “I just…I want to be alone.”

  He studied me a moment before nodding. “Go on ahead.”

  I gave him a grateful smile, walked over, collected the gun and the black ink, then made my way back to the motorhome. The minute I heard I’d passed that test, I knew exactly what tattoo I was going to do and exactly how I would celebrate this accomplishment.

  Bard eyed me questioningly as I walked by, but I ignored him. This was personal. This was a milestone, a pivotal moment in my life.

  I made my way up the steps and down the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, I immediately locked the door behind me, plugged the gun into the wall, and sat the ink on the counter beside it.

  The person who stared back at me in the mirror was not the one I was used to seeing. For once in my life, I had accomplished something worthwhile. I’d made a positive change in myself. I lifted my sleeve and looked at the black eagle across my shoulder―the brand, the scar―and I knew it was time.

  I picked up the gun and turned it on, and the buzz and vibration were like an encouraging voice. I dipped it into the ink and began to cover the last reminder of the past, of the club, of him. It took a long time, hours, to complete the solid black band around my arm. I didn’t stop once, and my emotions ran high. Tears streamed down my face, but I didn’t hold them back. I didn’t wipe them away. They dripped off my chin, landed on the counter, and fell into the ink. It was fitting, so I let them and kept working. Nobody disturbed me. If they tried, I didn’t notice. When the band was finally complete, I added two simple words above it.

  Never again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  By the time I exited the bathroom, the sky had darkened to a mixture of black, deep grey, and purple. A full moon cast its light over the clouds, creating shadows so dimensional they seemed unreal like a painting. I stared out the window for a moment, enjoying the view, letting myself feel the fire cascading over the skin of my shoulder. This moment, this day, this night, these people, I’d never forget, not one part of it.

  My chest seemed lighter than before, almost…cleansed. The tears I’d shed left me rested. As if I’d been so full of emotions, the purge released a weight I’d unknowingly carried with me.

  The brand was gone. It was no longer a reminder, only a memory. I could carry the memory. I would add it to the others buried deep in the recesses of my mind. Eventually, maybe, it wouldn’t haunt me anymore.

  It was surreal to have goals, let alone to accomplish them. I was a licensed tattoo artist with a job at a tattoo shop, a place to live, and good people who seemed to care about what happened to me. It was a lot to take in. Unbelievable, but it was real.

  For the first time in my life, I could be excited about the future. It both thrilled and terrified me. It was thrilling to be able to hope, to dream, to have something in this world to look forward to, but also terrifying to have something to lose. I couldn’t let them find me. I couldn’t lose this, not now.

  With a deep shuddering breath, I shook off my dark thoughts and made my way to return the gun and clean up the new piece.

  Bard was still beside the Camaro when I stepped through the door. He’d brought a lawn chair over and was sitting with a beer in his hand. It seemed like he knew whatever I’d been doing was personal, that I needed space. I never appreciated his perceptiveness more.

  His gaze whipped to me the moment the door swung shut, and his eyes seemed to take in everything, settling on the black band fully on display. Something in his expression made my skin tingle.

  Surprisingly, when he stood and moved towards me, I didn’t run to escape him. I needed him to know, to see for himself, that I wasn’t one of them. His parents and all the pain caused by the club, that wasn’t me.

  His slow cautious steps resembled a man approaching something wild. Each foot hit the ground in a careful heel-toe movement, allowing me plenty of time to choose to walk away. When he closed the gap between us, he didn’t speak. His grease blackened hand gently wrapped around my wrist and lifted my arm. His other hand touched the place just above his grip and trailed a path up to the edge of the new art. The feel of him lit fire to my skin, but it was different than the fire on my shoulder. It didn’t burn. It warmed.

  Each breath grew shallower than the last as nerves tightened my chest.

  “I like this,” he said, each word low and smooth.

  I nodded and swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. “Thank you.”

  Bard’s eyes met mine. “Never again.”

  He gently squeezed my wrist. There was a promise in the statement. As much as I would have loved to believe the pipe dream, it was too unrealistic. Bard couldn’t protect me. No one could.

  “Never again,” I agreed, taking a much-needed step backwards. Never again meant just that. No men, not even this one. “I’ve gotta go clean it up.”

  His eyes sharpened as I turned away, but he didn’t follow or try to stop me. Still, I could feel him watching me. His gaze burned a hole into my back. I fought to reach the back door and escape those intelligent eyes. They always saw too much.

  Zeke was sitting with Charlene behind the counter, and I didn’t miss how close they were. Scarlett and Boe were in Boe’s station, looking over something I couldn’t see. There wasn’t a customer in sight, the opposite of that afternoon.

  “Thanks,” I directed at Zeke
, returning the gun and ink back where I’d gotten it.

  Zeke turned to me, and his eyes landed on my shoulder. He didn’t speak for a moment, but when his gaze met mine, I knew.

  He had known. Bard had told him.

  “Come on, girl,” he said, “let’s get that cleaned up.”

  I propped myself up onto his massage table and took a deep breath. Zeke silently wiped away the blood, cleansed the area, rubbed it with ointment, and wrapped it up. When he finished, he looked at me. “He told me who you’re running from. I know that’s why you thought I would fire you.” He shook his head, his eyes serious. “You’re a part of this place now, girl. Nobody is going to mess with you here. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I couldn’t speak. Moisture pricked the corners of my eyes. I blinked hard and looked away before my emotions could take over.

  Zeke patted my shoulder. “It’s a ghost town around here. Take it easy for tonight. I’ll get you started first thing in the morning.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Zeke…for everything.”

  He stood. “Tomorrow,” he said, “shop opens at eleven.”

  “I’ll be ready.” I smiled at him then looked around the room. “Where’s the old man?”

  I wanted to see him, to share this with him. For some reason, he felt like family, and he was the one person I wanted to share it with.

  “He took off a bit ago,” Zeke said.

  My eyes widened and shot to him. “By himself?”

  Zeke gave me a look. “He must be in his late sixties, girl. I can’t control what he does. I offered to have someone go with him, but the suggestion was not accepted kindly.”

  “Where did he go?” I was up in an instant. All at once, a million scenarios flashed through my mind: those kids finding him, beating him, the old man laid out on the curb somewhere with people passing by as if he were nothing more than discarded trash. If anything happened, nobody would help. They wouldn’t care.

  “Hey now,” Zeke said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  I turned to walk away. “I have to find him.”