Sketch

by Laramie Briscoe

  Nina has done what I asked her, and the ass I’ve always loved so much is staring back at me, up in the air, her own tramp stamp, the one I gave her, visible. I put my index and middle finger into my mouth, twirling my tongue around them. My dick jumps even at that contact.

  “Quit messing around, Devin,” she tells me, her head hanging between her shoulders. “I need this as much as you do.”

  With my right hand I grab her ass and tilt it up to my liking before I take the fingers of my left hand and plunge them deep into her core. She’s wet. Sopping wet, like I’d hoped she would be. “You love when we fuck angry, don’t you?” I taunt her, moving my hand from her hip to the front of her body, down her stomach, and I find her clit. I strum it as I slide into her, bottoming out with the first thrust. My fingers are smashed in between her and the desk, but I don’t care.

  “Shit, Sketch.” She throws her head back, gasping for breath.

  “You want it hard?” I grit my teeth as I pull out of her, hoping I don’t come all over her ass. Her pussy has never been hotter, and I’ve never been this hard before. The way she engulfs me is so tight against my heated skin.

  “Yes,” she breathes heavily into the air.

  I wrap her hair around my hand, and do just that—pound into her harder. My hips piston in and out, and I set a good rhythm as my body works against hers. I plunge in, grasp her hair, and stroke her clit, all in a choreographed dance. The desk is moving against the floor, making the awfulest noise ever, but we don’t stop. My hips speed up and I can feel the end nearing. She’s gasping, I’m moaning. Her juices are coating the head of my cock, and I’m leaking everywhere. Together we’re straining trying to come to the end of this ride, even though neither one of us knows where it’s going to lead us. Her body tightens against mine, and I know she’s there. I lean forward and push my palm against her mouth, coming everywhere as she bites down on my skin there.

  “Fuck,” I breathe out. “Fuck.” Another wave hits me, and I struggle to withdraw from her body, knowing we’ve made a colossal mess, and not just of bodily fluids.

  She’s breathing heavily, and she looks back at me. I feel softer towards her than I did before, and I’m raw; I can’t let her see that. Tears are gathered at her eyes, her eyeliner is smudged, and she’s allowing those tears to streak down her face. She’s allowing me to see her vulnerability. Even though she got hers, I used her, and she knows that.

  I clear my throat as I have a seat in my chair.

  Neither one of us knows what to say to each other, and I watch as she gathers her clothes, quietly wiping away the tears. She’s drawn into herself just like I’ve drawn into myself. Her voice is shaky. “I think that’s enough for today,” she says to me.

  I haven’t bothered to get up, but I know things have changed. “I broke you today the same way you broke me.”

  She doesn’t say anything as she leaves, but I can hear her sniffles as she runs down the hallway.

  Now, I feel like I can put myself back together.

  Chapter Nine

  Nina

  I’m sobbing as I exit his office, and I pray I don’t see anyone as I make my way out of the building and to my car. Once I’m able to get inside, I lean my head back against the seat and really let the tears fall.

  It’s been so long since Sketch and I have been together. I’d wanted it just as bad as he had. Up until a year ago, we’d had a great sex life, but as we both got involved in things that had less to do with each other and more to do with other people, our sex life had disintegrated.

  I’d felt something in the minutes we were together. I’d nearly cried when I felt his cock enter my body. It felt like I was whole again—something I hadn’t felt in a long time. I’m working hard on making myself the type of person who doesn’t need a man, but fuck, I need Sketch, and I’m not sure I will ever not need him.

  But he was right about something. Right now, I’m broken. I also know that I can be put back together again, somehow.

  SKETCH

  It’s been three days since Nina ran out of my office. I haven’t heard from her or seen her; I can’t say I expected to. I lean down and reach into the drawer where I’ve stuck the divorce papers and pull them out. I haven’t even read through these, I have no idea what she’s asked for. That’s what I pay my attorney for. He assured me I’m not getting screwed, and I believe him.

  To my right, my phone vibrates, and I see Nina’s name pop up. I’ve got a text message. I clear my throat and grab it, smiling as I read.

  I was wondering, do you think I could hang out with you at the shop today? I get off work at 5. I don’t know your schedule, so this is a shot in the dark. I want to try. The divorce isn’t final yet, and I’m willing to come to you.

  I don’t have any illusions that this will work, but I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I did tell her she would have to come to me, and maybe that’s what she’s doing. I don’t expect her to show up, but I text her back anyway.

  Sure.

  Nothing more, nothing less. When I apprenticed, she spent time with me because we didn’t have any money, and hanging out at the shop meant she was warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I can count on one hand how many times she’s been here to hang out with me.

  A part of me is looking forward to it, but another part of me doesn’t know what to think. I’ve never been the type of person to get my hopes up, and I won’t do it now.

  *

  I’m bent over my desk, working on a custom piece for a buddy of mine. He’s in a band, and he and his wife had a baby not too long ago. His arms are fully covered in tats, but his back is an open book. His stage name is Reaper, so I’ve got the head of the Grim Reaper at the top, fading down into the fretboard of a guitar. The robe that the reaper wears is open and is sheet music containing the name of his son along with lyrics of a song he and his wife, Harmony, sang together. He contacted me a week ago, and I’ve been dying to work on it. Things aren’t looking perfect, but I know in the end I will get what I want. Harsh, dark lines flowing into artistic beauty. The darkness always ends in beauty…I constantly make sure of that.

  There’s a knock at the door, and I look up. Nina stands there, and I can’t hide my surprise.

  “Hey.” She offers me a small smile.

  I don’t return it, but I put my pencil down. “Hey.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt you. I just wanted to come and hang out. Ya know, see exactly what you do while you’re here.”

  She has a seat in the chair across from me, and I can’t help it. There are things I need to know.

  “Why now? Why not years ago when I opened this place?”

  Nina leans forward, her long blonde hair covering half of her face. “Because back then I always assumed you would be around. I thought nothing would tear us apart. Now, I know that’s not the case. You keep telling me you’re doing good here. I want to see it. I want to see what makes you get up and come here with a smile on your face every day.”

  I don’t think I can answer that question. She’ll have to watch, she’ll have to put the time in. She will have to learn the dynamics between the artists and the clients, figure out who’s a live grenade and who’s not. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes it’s them. I offer her nothing as I turn my phone on, Black Friday blaring through my speakers.

  “I’m working on a piece for Reaper right now. Listening to their music helps me,” I offer. “It puts me in their headspace, and it gives me some insight on what makes them tick.”

  The name Reaper makes her take notice.

  “Reaper? Really?” she asks me, breathing in a deep breath. “Sketch, I didn’t know.”

  She sits there for a long time watching me. I try to pretend like it doesn’t unnerve me, but it does. When I’m drawing, or tattooing, I’m vulnerable in a way I never allow myself to be on the daily. I take pride in my work; I love it when someone tells me it’s the best work they’ve ever seen. That, to me, is almost better than burying myself ball
s deep in my wife.

  “I saw it,” she says when I’ve given up hope that she’ll talk.

  “Saw what?” I keep my tone level. I don’t want to play games today, I’m genuinely curious.

  “Your tats. I went home and searched your hashtag. My God, Devin, you do amazing things,” she tells me.

  I glance up and notice there is an emotion on her face that looks almost like pride. It feels good, finally, to get some recognition from her. I shrug. “I take what people give me and do what I feel.”

  “Why didn’t you ever share it with me?” she asks, twirling her blonde hair between her fingers. “Why didn’t you show me how good you’ve gotten?”

  It’s my turn now. “Why didn’t you ask? If a national magazine was asking for a story, shouldn’t you assume I’m good enough to be there?”

  She’s quiet again, but I’m not sorry I said it. When they came to me and asked me to be on the cover, to do a piece for the magazine, I wanted her to be interested. Instead, she’d laughed and said it was cute. I’d never mentioned it again.

  “I don’t know how to say I’m sorry.” She bites her bottom lip. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, and there have been misunderstandings between the two of us, but you can’t keep holding me at fault.”

  “There is no fault when I’m only telling you what you’ve told me. I’m repeating your words to you, babe. You wonder how we got here. This is how.”

  “How do we get past it?” she asks. “Because I think I want to. I don’t think giving up is the right thing to do.”

  I’m quiet for a long time before I pick my pencil back up and start in on the drawing again. “I don’t know.”

  The truth, for once, will hopefully set us free.

  Chapter Ten

  SKETCH

  It’s raining, and I mean pouring down. The streets are saturated with water, and it’s ponding in all the familiar places. That’s why today I’m at the gym. I normally don’t work out here, but sometimes I don’t have the opportunity to run. Besides, after the last few days, my feelings are raw. Punching on this bag is the best release I’ve found. This and running are what have gotten me through the last few months.

  “Hit it harder, Devin,” my friend, Trace tells me.

  “Scared to,” I pant. “I can’t hurt my hands.”

  I’ve hurt them once or twice doing this, when I let all of my emotions go. It helps, every time, but it doesn’t make things perfect. I find that it lets a little more of the anger slip away though, and I sleep better at night. That’s really all I can ask for.

  “What’s got you so worked up today?” he asks as he helps me unwrap the protective covering on my knuckles.

  Trace has been a friend for a long time. He used to tattoo for me, but left to be a personal trainer. In return, I got his little brother, River, who’s been on vacation for the last three weeks. Thank God that dude comes back tonight. It’s been hell picking up the slack. If things continue to get busy, I’m going to have to expand my team of three to four.

  “Nina and I have decided to try and work things out.”

  It’s the first time I’ve said those words to anyone, and I still kind of can’t believe I’m saying them. I’ve worn this hurt for so long, I’m not sure I can let it go. That’s why I was beating on the bag so hard. I don’t want to continue taking this shit out on Nina, because if she’s willing to work at it, then so am I, but dealing with the hurt she caused is hard.

  “Whaaaattttt?” Trace whistles.

  He was privy to the first few weeks of me drowning myself in a bottle of Jack and cursing the day I met her.

  “Yeah,” I confirm. He is the only one I talk to like this. I’m not a big “sharing my feelings” type of person to most of my friends, but Trace gets me. “There was a chain of events that led to me fucking her in my office…and when I say fucking her in my office I mean I used her. I’m really not proud of it, but I felt how I felt at the time, and I think it was the catalyst that broke us both through the shock of what we were doing to our marriage.”

  Trace wraps his own hands up and motions for me to hold the bag for him. “You know you’ve got to go all in with that, right? The way you’ve gone all in with being shitty to her.”

  I sigh. “I know, that’s what worries me. Like, how do I turn this off? How do I turn off the feeling of complete devastation I felt and the fear she’s going to do it again?”

  “Bro. I know you. You’re one of the most driven and successful people I know. If you want this, you’re gonna figure it out.” He hits the bag hard enough for me to take a step back and center myself again. “Look at how you’ve attacked working out. You sure you don’t want to join me in the ring?”

  I shake my head, grinning at him. “I love working with my hands too much.”

  “Stay true to you, Dev, and whatever happens with Nina will happen. Don’t let yourself cater to her again. A marriage is a partnership. She’s got to meet you halfway, but you’ve got to meet her halfway and stop. Don’t let what her dad told you all those years ago keep fucking you up. You’re good enough. You’ve made that shop into one of the most successful tattoo shops we’ve ever had in Tennessee. You have people coming from across the country to sit in your chair. She’s lucky to have you,” he takes a deep breath, “and I think she’s beginning to realize that. Don’t force or push anything, and I think it’ll be all good.”

  He stops, catching his breath, and I readjust the hat on my head, pulling the hem of my shirt up to wipe my forehead. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize that no matter how hard the circumstances were that brought about the change—the change has been good. I’m no longer focused on work all the time. Not having Nina around meant I didn’t need as much money. I’m taking care of myself like I never have before. In that moment I make a promise that I’m not going back to the person I was before. I like this Sketch—and maybe this is the Sketch Nina has needed all along.

  *

  I’m getting out of the shower, enjoying the way the steam relaxes my muscles after a long workout. I haven’t punched the bag in a long time, and my biceps and forearms are telling me just how long it’s been. I need dinner, I know I do, I need to replenish the calories I’ve expended, but damn I’m lazy tonight.

  It’s at that moment the smell of food assails my senses. A meal I haven’t smelled in a long time. If my sniffer is correct, it’s baked pork chops, homemade mac and cheese, and green beans; if I’m lucky there will be rolls too. My freakin’ favorite meal that Nina used to make me when I was apprenticing and we had the money for it. I’d come home dog-tired, and she’d have cooked it for me. I swallow roughly; it’s been years since she made it for me. I’m almost scared to walk out into the kitchen to see that what I’m thinking isn’t true.

  C’mon, Dev, I tell myself. You’ve done a lot in the past few months you never thought you would. Just walk the fuck out there and either face the fact you’re definitely losing your mind or Nina’s really here. One foot in the front of the other is how I’ve lived my life lately, so I do that. One foot in front of the other until I make it to the kitchen.

  There she is, bent over the oven, checking those pork chops I love so much.

  “What are you doing here?” The question comes out much harsher than I intend for it to, but I want to know, and I hope it means what I think it does.

  Chapter Eleven

  SKETCH

  She pops up, the oven door closing with a loud snap as she turns around, her face red that I’ve caught her bent over.

  “I wasn’t sure you were really here or if your truck was just here. Back in the day, there was no way you’d be home before ten, much less seven, but I heard the shower running, so I went ahead and got dinner started.”

  I try to ignore the comment about me being home before seven, but I can’t. “Since I don’t have to worry about making all that money to keep you in your lifestyle anymore, I try to cut out around five. Sometimes I have to work later—like if ther
e’s a walk-in, or if one of the other artists have something going on, but they’re learning to run the shop on their own.” I admit something to her that I should have done a long time ago. “And I’m learning to give up some control of the shop too. It’s not going to burn down just because I’m not there. The people I’ve hired are pretty fucking capable individuals.”

  Her eyes are lowered, checking on the mac and cheese she’s just taken out of the oven, making sure it is done. Her voice is low as she speaks. “That money became important when I realized I wasn’t going to get to spend it with you. The shopping trips, the spa treatments, the new hair, the new car. They were there because you weren’t.”

  It isn’t an accusation, like me telling her I didn’t need to work long hours because she wasn’t around anymore. It’s obvious that it’s the truth. I’m feeling generous, and quite frankly, I need to move on. “Then we can agree that me not being around and you being a spoiled brat is in our past?”

  She smiles up at me. One I haven’t seen in years. There’s hope in her eyes, and the smile reaches to the edges of her lips, showing me the two dimples I almost forgot she has. “I can’t promise I won’t ever be a spoiled brat again, Sketch, but I can try my best.”

  “And I can try my best to put us before the shop instead of using the shop as a way to make our marriage better,” I tell her truthfully.

  “Is that really what you were doing?” she asks in a scared voice.

  I turn away from her and go over to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water, and twist the cap off and drain it before I turn back to her. “I thought the status symbols were worth it, ya know? Giving you everything I thought you deserved. I never asked what you wanted. That hit me today. I never did; I just handed you shit and told you to be happy.”