Until I Fall

by Claudia Burgoa

  Aspen is tough to read; she conceals herself behind an indifferent, ascetic attitude. Some days, she works hard to give me the impression that she is a heartless gold digger dating a wealthy divorcee. The façade fools many, not me. It was apparent from the beginning that there’s sadness within her, and that those warm brown eyes reveal a sweetness in her soul not hard to recognize. As I learn more about Aspen, my desire to erase those wretched lines around her eyes and remove the gripping sadness in her heart grows.

  “Do you feel like talking about it?”

  “Do you feel like listening to it?”

  I feel like listening to your voice. Which makes zero sense. I’m in my late-thirties and I’ve never had the urge to call a woman, spend my nights thinking about what she’s doing, or fantasize ways of seducing her into my bed. Life is fast, hectic, and everchanging with the different missions I overtake at work. There’s never time for relationships, or a minute to think about anyone. Except I’ve spent days, nights, and all my free time wondering about the girl next door. These past few weeks, I’ve reflected about her and those brown haunted eyes. Thinking of ways to bring her back from wherever forsaken place she hides. Today isn’t any different. Can I make a difference from here? Drive to Tacoma to visit her with the excuse of seeing Mom?

  I look at my watch. No fucking way, I couldn’t make it on time.

  “Always,” I respond, waiting for her to share the latest chapter of her life. The one I missed because I went away. “I’d listen to anything you want to share.”

  “I lost another patient,” she mumbles. “Well, I didn’t. We’d been able to stabilize him, he went to surgery and . . . I pride myself on being the best damn doctor, to do my best with each case. Avoiding those hurtful words, ‘sorry we tried to do our best but . . . ’.”

  She exhales, time passes. I look over the words I tattooed on my arm once I quit the force. I had served for years, prided myself on succeeding during each mission, hating the loss of innocent lives, and the lives of the men who fought along with me. Is she going through the same?

  “Lately I . . .”

  “The faces of those you couldn’t save appear recurrently in your dreams,” I murmur, understanding part of the pain.

  “Something like that.” She clears her throat. “A part of me wants to change specialties, the other needs to let go of the ER.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “It’s complicated.” Her tender voice starts to change. She huffs. Even without seeing her I know the barriers are up and ready to take over. “Forget about it.”

  “Aspen, don’t do that. Stop keeping those who care about you at bay.” My voice comes out harsher than I meant. “We’re trying to have a conversation and you are cutting it short.”

  “I’m going to bed,” she snaps. “This isn’t something I talk lightly about with strangers.”

  “Whoa, where is this coming from?” She went as cold as the artic. “Why are you trying to start a fight with me?”

  ASPEN

  A FIGHT?

  I blink twice. Are we fighting? It doesn’t feel like a fight. Well, how do I know? I usually don’t get this far. Not since Michael and that was more than ten years ago.

  “Aspen, talk to me,” he insists.

  How do I explain to him that after ten years I still miss my fiancé? Since the beginning of our relationship, I fought myself to stay positive, convinced myself that Michael would come home after every mission. I never thought about the possibility of not being with him. I prayed to have him by my side. It wasn’t enough. Now I live life without him.

  Every time I lose a patient, I feel like I’m losing Michael all over again. After he died, I made it my mission that no one should ever go home with a broken heart due to negligence. My efforts aren’t enough. It pains me to say those words, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Losing Dad only pushed me farther into isolation. Brynn and Austin, my brother, know what’s going on inside my head. Some days, I allow Scarlett to learn a few things. Other than them, the rest of the people around me are casual friends. Explaining my life gets lots of pitying looks and fake understanding.

  “Walk away from the darkness,” Anderson whispers.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Try lowering the barriers and let others into your life.” Anderson sighs, desperation and anger attached to every word. They feel like a hammer trying to break me free from the dome I live under. “Try to talk to me.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I fight him because there’s no need to break into a place where I live safe.

  “Of course it matters. You exhaust yourself. You avoid sleeping to replace an emptiness. You need to open yourself and let others inside.”

  I growl again, unable to communicate the force of the whirlwind rotating inside me. It’s as if the container where I’d placed all my emotions fractured and they’re leaking through the small fissure, one by one. If I could inject Novocain to stop all these feeling spinning around, I would. “Well, I can’t at this moment. The dark place is safer.”

  I don’t tell him to save his words. Many therapists have tried to explain that opening up is the only way to heal. What if I let someone new in and I lose him? No one should go through the pain of losing a loved one. No one.

  “Fuck,” he mumbles. “We’re both tired, no one’s going to win this conversation. I have a meeting in a couple of hours. Be ready tonight, wear something comfortable.”

  He leaves me staring at the phone, not understanding what happened. Why is he coming over tonight and why the hell do I feel like a bitch?

  Anderson: Get some rest, sorry if I came off too harsh.

  Me: Sorry if I sounded like a bitch. I worked too many hours, saw too much and . . . see you later.

  Anderson: Sweet dreams.

  ANDERSON

  After showering, fixing my apartment and responding to some emails I have from the past week, I climb down the stairs, push the industrial metal door that opens to the street and lock it behind me. Though the tattoo parlor is in the same building as my apartment, the door is on the other side of the structure. I leave my jacket behind. July is one of the few months when there’s not much rain in Seattle. The sky is open, there’re only a few clouds overhead and the sun is shining. Teens go down the street riding their skateboards. Moms are pushing strollers or holding the hand of their little children. Everything is busy, yet calm; unlike fall or spring, when the streets around this area are filled with college students rushing to get to their destinations. Across the street from our shop a new restaurant is going to open. The city changes every few weeks, new businesses come in, the old ones close out. Fancy big names with fancier lettering are taking over the city. But our shop never changes.

  Once I reach The Gallery Ink, I unlock and push open the glass door to the parlor. I look at the main entrance where the jewelry and all the stupid shit Kevin, my partner, thinks we should sell. Thank fuck this place is deserted. We are only open to the public from Thursday to Sunday and after six o’clock. Our primary income comes from the exclusive customers who make appointments. Some of them arrive as early as seven o’clock in the fucking morning. Friday night is our busiest night when drunk college kids saunter in asking for their first tattoo.

  “For fucks sake!” I stare at the racks on the far-left corner. “When did we start selling t-shirts?”

  “Well there, hello, stranger.” Odette, our receptionists greets me. Her lips purse as she takes me in, finger twirling her long platinum blonde hair, tight black strapless top showing her flashy ink around her arms, and leather pants hugging her hips that sway from side to side as she approaches me. “I’ve been wondering when I’d see you again. I missed you, chief.”

  “Good morning, Odette.” She runs her long nail along my chin. This gesture usually gets me hard enough to fuck her against the bathroom wall, but not today. “Is Kevin in?”

  “Yeah, he’s busy with one of his high-profile clients. We have plenty of time t
o play.” Odette rests both hands on my chest, rubbing her body against mine as she stretches her neck and tries to kiss me. Her cheap perfume revolts my stomach and her hands touching me feels like an invasion, an unwanted intimacy. I gently take hold of her hands, removing them from my chest. I walk toward the back of the shop, sliding the barn style door to my station. “What is with you two these days?”

  “With us?” I halt, turning around, crossing my arms and arching a brow expecting some sort of explanation.

  “You and Kevin are both acting weird.” She plays with the edges of her top almost spilling her tits before she ‘fixes it.’ “He’s in a fucked up mood and you’re ignoring me. Not even a call to let me know that you’re alive.”

  I rub the side of my neck thinking of what to tell her. We’ve fooled around a few times. Odette is a great lay, we have an arrangement of sorts. We don’t play fucked-up games, I always set her straight: a quick fuck, no strings, and no feelings involved. Relationships are complicated when both parties aren’t invested.

  “There’s no need for me to call the shop,” I clarify as I search for my sketchbook. “I didn’t schedule any clients for the next few months.”

  “You never told me why you’d be outside the city. It matters to me. You’re toying with me, and I’m done with it. Once you realize what you’re doing, hit me up. Until then, I’m not going to discuss our relationship.” She flips her hair to the side and strolls away. “Call me when you’re ready to fix our situation.”

  Call her? This has never gone outside the parlor. I should’ve never fooled around with her. With my life, it’s easier to just snag the first breathing body available.

  “There’s no situation. That’s not who we are, Odette,” I run it by her again. “It was a few times and only casual.”

  She rushes back to my working room. “Casual, huh?” She purses her lips licking them a few times. Not sure what she’s trying to imply, but I’m not following or getting turned on by her.

  “It doesn’t get more intimate than having your dick inside my mouth.”

  I shrug. I don’t see your point.

  Odette stares my way with a scowl. “From now on, things are going to happen my way. The next time you want me on my knees with my lips around your cock, you’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

  She storms out of my room. What’s with the five-year-old tantrum? Does she think that her delusional act will get her somewhere? She throws shit inside her purse and leaves the shop, slamming the door but not before she serves me with the last word. “I quit.”

  “You better fix your shit with her,” Kevin calls from his work station. “Or find us a replacement by the end the day.”

  “Tiago can cover for her,” I suggest. The fucker owes me a few favors.

  “I need a strikingly beautiful woman who enjoys wearing little to no clothing.” His voice amplifies as I approach his station. “A little eye candy in the store attracts new customers.”

  “We don’t need that to get customers. We have the VIP customers posting on Instagram to pimp us out. Either way, she’ll come back, Kev,” I assure him, angling my head to the guy who lays on his stomach while his back is getting inked. “Technically, I’m not staying for more than a couple of hours. You can call her after I’m gone.”

  “How’s your mom doing?” He continues moving the needle slowly down the stencil line. He stops to wipe and continues. “You know to call if you need me.”

  “I just wanted to swing by and check to see if you needed something.”

  He stops the needle and tilts his head narrowing his face. “Nah, if Odette doesn’t come back I’ll find her replacement.”

  He goes back to work as he speaks up again. “Call or text if you need us. I’m here for you, dude.”

  “I’ll be in my studio for a couple of hours.” With a sharp nod, I pivot around and head to my room. I turn on my computer and search for my drawing tablet.

  ANDERSON

  “WHERE ARE WE?” Aspen cracks her neck, handing me the helmet I bought her earlier today and shaking her curly her.

  “Downtown?” I arch an eyebrow, resting the helmet on the seat of my bike. Nerdy Doc with framed glasses and lab coat is hot. The biker chick look with skinny jeans that fit her like a second skin, hugging the curves of her rounded ass, leather jacket and tall boots has me drooling since I picked her up an hour ago. “We’re in Belltown.”

  “That’s obvious.” She snorts, pointing at the Space Needle, then turning around to the building in front of us. “What are all those people waiting for?”

  “Hawk,” the valet parking dudes greet me. One takes the helmets while the second jumps on my bike.

  “There’s a full house tonight, good luck going inside.” Ryan stays behind handing me my ticket.

  “Thank you for the heads up, Ryan.” I take Aspen’s hand marching toward the back door.

  “This isn’t a ride along the coast,” she insists. Her eyes are weary, her body is tense, and surprisingly, she’s holding my hand tight and grasping my arm with her other hand.

  “Hawk, my man,” the security guard on the back door greets me, interrupting Aspen. As he greets us as he opens the door. “They’re at full capacity, keep an eye on your girl.”

  “All the clubs?”

  “All except the acoustic bar. There’s a private concert.” He indicates angling his head to the left. “I’m sure they’ll let you in, though.”

  “Is there something special going on?”

  He nods. “The boss and his band are playing tonight.” He salutes me closing the door from the outside.

  Weird, Kevin didn’t mention having a gig tonight.

  “Where are we?” Aspen grasps my hand tighter as we walk through the dim hallway.

  “The Silver Moon.” I scan the area, checking who’s working tonight. “We have a couple of options, choose between bar or . . . Do you want to hear live music?”

  She halts, pulling me toward her. “Live music?” Her brows knit into a frown. “What happened to ‘let’s drive?’”

  “I promised to distract you.” With my free hand, I touch her temple, drawing small circles on it, then smoothing the wrinkle in between her brows. She furrows her nose. I slide my finger to the tip, poking it slightly, and resisting the urge to kiss her nose. “You seemed too stressed when I picked you up.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She shakes her head. “The best way to erase that worry is interrupting Kevin’s gig.”

  “Who’s Kevin?” She raises her eyebrows in question.

  “My partner.” I smile, waiting for some ‘tattoo artist’ suggestion but he says nothing. “He’s cool, you’re going to like him.”

  She intakes air, nodding slowly. Her shoulders loosen up, and she smiles. “Then, we shall listen to the troubadour.”

  No one is on the stage when we enter, music blasts from the speakers overhead. I find us a seat in the left corner of the bar, closer to the stage. Aspen orders a margarita while I order whatever special they have on tap. She sheds her jacket, uncovering a red sleeveless blouse that shows off enough of her cleavage. I can see straight down; I’m mesmerized by her full breasts and the hint of a black bra covering them. My pulse quickens as I picture those breasts bursting as I unhook the delicate garment holding them.

  From the corner of my eye, I notice Kevin walking toward us. “I apologize in advance,” I warn Aspen.

  “What?” She blinks twice, confused.

  “Look what the cat dragged,” Kevin says, stopping right beside Aspen, shooting her a flirty smile. Fuck, I should’ve sat right next to her. “And who are you, gorgeous?”

  There’s a primal urge inside me to push him away from Aspen.

  The waiter delivers our drinks. Aspen grabs hers, gifting Kevin a cordial smile. Her tongue darts out, licking her lips first and then the salt around the rim of her glass. My jaw drops. My breath catches. Fuck, what I would give for that tongue to swirl around my cock. Just friends. She takes a couple of gu
lps, gazing at Kevin after licking her lips. “I’ll be better after two or three of these.”

  “Aspen, this is Kevin, my—”

  “Partner,” she finishes my sentence, extending her hand. “Nice meeting you, Kevin. It surprises me that we haven’t seen you around the house.”

  “Sweetheart, tell me when and where and I’ll be there with Gran Patron.”

  “Cool it, man,” I advise him.

  He lifts his arms, surrendering, “Chill, Hawk.” The music stops, the voices of everyone around take over the background. “I better go backstage. We start in a few. Are you going back to your Mom’s tonight?”

  Aspen raises her margarita glass signaling the waiter to bring a second one.

  “Not sure, I brought the bike.” He nods, agreeing that if Aspen continues drinking at this pace, she might not be able to hold onto me while we drive back to her house. “Depends on how things go. The apartment is only ten minutes from here.”

  “Nice meeting you, Aspen.”

  “Same, Kevin.”

  Once he’s out of earshot she leans, and gives me a knowing grin. “He’s cute. Handsome. I approve.” Then she twists her lips. “He’s a flirt, is he . . . bi?”

  I rub the back of my head not understanding how she knew Kevin is bi-sexual. “Yeah,” I respond with a shrug. “Does it bother you?”

  She touches her sternum slightly shaking her head. “Not at all. Does it bother you?”

  “Nah, he is who he is.”

  She opens her mouth, but the music begins and we go quiet. I drag her chair closer to me. “You can see better from this angle,” I explain as she stares at me.

  The waiter brings her a second margarita, I signal for him to come closer to me. “Bring us another round of water, please.”

  Aspen bends close to me, resting her head on my shoulder and her lips brushing my ear. “Are you going to tell him to cut me off?” I shake my head, moving my arm around her shoulder and pressing her closer to me. “Good, because I’m a big girl.”