Ink Slapped

by A. M. Jones

  Her eyes widen. “I know. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my camera or laptop.” She smirks at her sarcasm, but it slips as sudden as it came. She studies the images on the screen of her camera. She’s flipped through them a thousand times already. “Don’t say things like that.” The soft tone suggests what I say touches her more than she lets on.

  And she shouldn’t say things that make me feel unique—one of a kind. “Where’re you going?”

  “Adrian’s parents are throwing his sister a huge birthday deal. We weren’t going to leave until morning, but he somehow talked me into leaving tonight. Then, he comes in today happy over launching a huge project. Apparently, he decided to celebrate instead.” She waves her hands in the air, I suppose in some sign of celebration. This all comes out in a rush as if it’s been weighing on her.

  The trip might be why a burlap sack covers her ta-tas and hips. Looking over my shoulder, I see Adrian leaning on his stick for support and wonder if she’s tucked herself away to please his family—maybe even to please him. If so, she deserves better than that. When I look back at her, she is scrutinizing me.

  “Want to play the winners?” I ask.

  “It’s best for me not to play a sport with something that can be used as a weapon. Especially one where I’m aiming at balls.”

  I laugh, but she’s serious. “Ah, come on. You can’t be that bad.”

  Sinking low in her chair, she scrunches her face. “I had an unfortunate, uh, mishap. I still think he was playing it up, but Adrian couldn’t walk right for a few hours.”

  I keep my laughter inside. What I would give to see a replay of that. “We’re playing.” I stand as if it’s set in stone. After digging deep in my pocket, I place a flash drive on the table in front her. “You can have this if you do.”

  A slow smile spreads across her face. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Don’t get your panties wet. It’s just me singing and strumming live. Old stuff. No Tainted District, no editing.”

  Her fingers enclose the small device as she laughs. “Fine. Just don’t walk behind me. Or in front of me. Better yet, just stay on the other side of the table.”

  I only smile. The fact that she cares enough about my balls to warn me away is a good sign, right?

  On Thursday, the desk chair squeaks as I plop into it with my lunch and phone. Digging around, a plate of brownies comes from nowhere. Just sitting on the edge of my desk. Eyeing them, I yell, “Whose brownies are these?”

  “Mine.” Mick fills the doorway and scratches his head. Oil spots blacken his clothes from a misfortune this morning. “Pretty good. You can have some.”

  He leaves, but I unwrap my sandwich and chow down. I open T.M. Dabney’s fourth Death to Demons book, Black-Eyed Demon—my favorite one by far. Zara’s brother has a mishap with an old radio playing certain annoying lyrics to a familiar song, repeatedly as if stuck. He ends up beating the radio with a bat. She never uses the name of the song or Madison’s name, but I could recognize Unplugged Moments lyrics from anywhere because I wrote them. T.M. Dabney’s cleverness at work.

  I’m almost finished with this book and figure I can have it done in another hour.

  A sandwich and several brownies later, I’m immersed in the vivid apocalyptic world I love. Zara narrowly escapes a demon mound, where she was captive for weeks, and she only remembers parts of her capture.

  The demons surrounded with the quickness always beyond me. This wasn’t going to be easy, especially with no weapons, but I loved a challenge. I lashed out at the nearest one, but he only laughed. Anger surged to the surface of my being, and I grabbed his pretty throat. Deceiving motherfucker. Panic crossed the handsome features and his true form burst forward in a spray of yellow demon sludge. I pushed the beast backward, tripping myself in the process. Chills swept up my spine as I realized I made his true form come forth.

  A demon caught me off guard, striking me in the stomach. Looking down, a possessed dagger wiggles its way inside. I jerked it out, and when it stilled, I used it to slash at the demon that surmounted it. Another demon, in true form, wrapped its long tentacle around my throat. Plunging the dagger in, it loosened its hold. Pain splintered against my temples and dots danced behind my eyelids.

  I’m thrown to the ground, seeing various faces and forms. Then, nothing.

  I use my finger to swipe to the next page, but nothing comes up. Swiping again, panic sets as I take in her author links. If I want to contact her, I can just fucking call her. Knowing it’s not out, I check for the fifth book, anyway. I’m not going to admit the relief that strikes when Devil-Tailed Demon appears under her four others, but it says, “pre-order” and has no cover. I buy it, hoping it downloads, but it never does.

  Standing, my chair rolls backwards and hits the wall with force. “What the fuck?” My frustration bounces back from the walls. I grab my hair. Surely, this isn’t the end? Especially since she can bring them to their true forms. They’re easier to kill that way. Taylor’s never ended on a cliffhanger before.

  Mick runs in. “What’s wrong?” His gaze darts around and lands on the desk.

  I hold up my phone. “I don’t know if she’s dead or just injured. That’s what’s wrong.” I stuff it in my pocket and grab my keys. “I’m going out.”

  “Uh,” he starts.

  “I don’t want to hear it. I’ll be back.”

  Walking though the garage, Milo lifts his head from an engine. “Where are you going?”

  “Fucking cliffhangers,” I mutter, going straight to the door.

  Milo laughs. “Wipe the crumbs from your shirt, dude.”

  “How long do you have left?” Savannah asks, sitting on the edge of my bed. She came over when I wouldn’t answer my phone for four days. Four days I’ve spent trying not to freak. Days I’ve spent with my laptop open and listening to Eli’s raw audio.

  “We’re flying this weekend to finalize everything. After that, a month? Maybe two?”

  Silence. She grabs my hand again as if she can’t believe it. “Geez. I think you should look on the bright side. You’ll be in New York. Isn’t that where some major publishing companies are?”

  “That’s not how that works, Savannah. And anyway, he sprung this on me after I said yes.”

  “Does your mom know?”

  I put the blanket over my head. Of course, she doesn’t know. “She'll flip the bitch switch.”

  “And this job is a for sure thing?” Her voice is muffled, and she pulls the blanket from me.

  “Yes, it’s something he can’t refuse. It’s a great opportunity for him.” Am I being a big baby? Yes. Do I love Adrian enough to follow him to a new life?

  “Look,” Savannah interrupts my train of thought. “I’ve got to get back to work but go to NYC this weekend and see what you think. You might like it.” She puts her arms around me. “Adrian is lucky to have someone so supportive. I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

  I nod, and when she leaves, I go over the previous weekend. The weekend that was supposed to be a birthday party turned out to be a big dinner where Adrian proposed. In front of everyone. The humiliation comes back tenfold. Tears leak from my eyes, not because I’m sad per se, I have a way of doing things and moving will turn everything I’ve built here upside down. I’m able to work remote but I have photography clients and my mother… yeah, I don’t want to think about it.

  Not only that, I feel like some cosmic opportunity swirls down the drain as I watch in dismay. The last time Eli was here, he seemed so confused and lost—I don’t want to do that to him.

  Adrian will be here later, so I need to get off my ass and be productive. Just when I throw the blankets back, a knock sounds on my apartment door.

  “Shit.” Maybe it’s better this way. I’ll tell him my worries, and he’ll do the thing where he makes me feel better. We’re engaged now, that part shouldn’t change.

  I shuffle through the living room as a knock comes again. When I open it, Eli stands there, looking dow
n the hallway. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it. I close my eyes. I don’t want to talk to him right now.

  “Oh great, you’re home. I have a bone to pick.”

  Oh no. He knows. Why else would he come to my apartment? My hands tremble. He shoulders by me. “She dies, doesn’t she? You can tell me. Rip my heart out.”

  “What?”

  “Zara. Just when we find out she can force demons to their true forms. Tell me. Something strange happened to her at the demon mound, didn’t it? They’re changing her over, aren’t they?”

  Warmth spreads through my body, and my chest fills to overload like it’ll explode any minute. I don’t know what to say. “I-I’m not going to spoil it for you.”

  “Hey. What’s wrong?” Grabbing my shoulders, he hunches to look into my eyes. He’s what’s wrong.

  “You read my books.”

  He grins. “Of course. I almost had the first book read before I even met you.”

  A little laugh sounds from my throat, and I bite my lip as tears well. He doesn’t understand how much this means to me. “You’re such a sneak.” I pull his books from my bookshelf and hand them to him. “I signed them, so they’re yours.”

  “You signed them? If I’d have known…” He sifts through the stack and sends me a grave look. “The fifth one’s not here.”

  “Hold on, junkie.” We both laugh. I open the box by my door and remove a book with Eli in all his post-apocalyptic glory.

  “Sign it,” he demands but stops when he sees the cover. His mouth falls open. “So, this is it. I’m on a book,” he murmurs, feeling the embossed typography that cost me a small fortune to print. He thumbs through the soft pages before looking at the cover again.

  I close my eyes. I can tell this is a moment for him, which makes it a moment for me. This means something to both of us.

  “I should’ve been a model,” he states matter-of-fact. I laugh.

  He laughs with me as I point to more boxes. “Those are yours. They’re promo items for the band. I, um, won’t make it to the party.”

  His eyes dart from the boxes. “What? Why?”

  I rub my eyes behind my glasses, trying to think of the right way to tell him. The books flop on the floor, and he steps to me so fast, I flinch. He grabs my hand and stares at the ring for a long time.

  Those bourbon eyes show so much emotion, and when they meet mine, his Adam’s apple bobs. He takes longer than I expect to speak. “Is this why you can’t make the party?”

  “Yes.” I’m not sure why I don’t elaborate or tell him I’m moving to NYC.

  His gaze seems far away as he stares at something beyond me. “Wow. I didn’t realize it was that serious.” He runs a hand through his hair, struggling for words. “Does he make you happy?”

  I tense, not wanting to go down this line of questioning. “We’ve been together for five years.” Even I can hear my clipped and guarded tone.

  Something sharp flashes in his eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question, but then again that speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” His brows rise as if he can see right through me, which only angers me.

  A slow burn starts behind my eyes and I step back. “You’ve known me for less than a month. Why do you care?”

  “Ah, so we’re going to continue ignoring the elephant in the room?”

  I cross my arms. “What elephant?” His mouth parts and then he closes it. I snort. “See? I’m hardly your type. Maybe you should focus on your own failing marriage.”

  His mouth becomes a tight line, and he steps closer, grabbing my arm so I can’t turn away. The closer he gets the more I lean back, but my movement doesn’t deter him. “Exactly. I wish someone asked me the right questions because I sure wouldn’t be going through what I’m going through right now. And you know what?” His words are harsh, and even more so with the rush of breath on my cheeks. I meet his scowl, nose to nose, and there’s strength in his eyes as if he strongly believes what he’s about to say. “Your defensiveness speaks volumes, so you better make sure it’s what you want because marriage isn’t easy and you can’t just walk out when the going gets tough.”

  I glare as a tear glides down my cheek more from the humiliation of truth rather than anger. He lets go of me and rigidly gathers the books from the floor, stacks them on top of the boxes, and picks those up as well.

  “And you’re right. You’re not my type. I never go for women who reduce themselves to nothing more than a doormat.”

  I suck in a breath and yank the door open. He doesn’t wait for a response. My chest feels hollow. The seconds seem like minutes as I chant to myself. He’s married. You’re engaged. I’m not a doormat. When I shut the door behind him, I lean against it. A second later I hear a voice in the hall.

  After cracking the door, the voices become louder. “Congrats are in order.” Eli.

  “Yeah, thanks.” I’ve never heard Adrian sound so smug. “It’s not a good idea for you to be hanging at my fiancée’s apartment anymore.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Just did.”

  “Taylor’s never made an inappropriate move toward me.”

  “It’s not her I don’t trust.”

  Eli laughs, but the sound’s not humorous. “Touché.”

  The boxes shift and footsteps get closer to my door. Adrian pushes the cracked door open and widens his eyes when he realizes I eavesdropped.

  “He doesn’t deserve for you to be such an asshole,” I tell him right away. I’m shaken and spoiling for a fight as if I need to prove Eli’s words wrong.

  He holds his palms as if telling me to calm down. “I know, but I think he needs to know I’m not all soft and fuzzy when it comes to him being here. He told me I’m right in not trusting him. What does that mean, T? Has he put his hands on you?”

  “No.” The sort-of lie comes quick. “He probably told you that to intimidate you right back.”

  He stares at me for a long moment before nodding. “Yeah, I doubt he’d cheat on his wife.” I’m not even sure what that’s supposed to mean. Has he done his own digging around? I open my mouth, but he stops me. “I have an idea.”

  “What would that be?”

  “I know I’m asking a lot out of you to drop everything here and move. Especially move in with me at the same time. I know you like your space, T, but I think it’d be a good idea to move in together for the rest of our time here.”

  My body seizes as I take in my tiny apartment. All of a sudden it seems way too small for the both of us. When we move to New York, he’ll have a day job, so he’ll be gone every day. Now though, neither one of us work outside of home and I already feel smothered.

  “Um, sure. If you think it’s a good idea.” I walk into the bedroom and straight to my bathroom and shut the door. Turning the faucet on, I splash my face before I hyperventilate. This day is too much. Especially since I feel like Adrian just wiped his feet all over me.

  Later in the day, Adrian leaves to pack, and I take the time to catch up on other stuff to keep my mind off things for the time being. I split the new book cover into eight sections for teasers of the reveal, the first one being Eli’s torso. This should get the readers in a frenzy.

  Then I email an old friend. Despite Eli’s visit, I want to do one last thing for Tainted District. It’s not fifteen minutes after I email when he calls.

  “Dabby.” His cavernous voice brings something deep within me forward. Biting my lip and squirming, my mind flashes on us moving between sheets as he whispers the nickname against my skin.

  I shake my head. “Marcus.”

  “What’s my favorite author been up to?”

  I’d take this as a compliment, but since my books are the only ones he ever reads, well. “I’m your only author.”

  He laughs, deep and rich. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. Let’s talk shop. Tomorrow for lunch?”

  “Of course.”

  “Our place, for old times’ sake.” When we click off, I stare at my pho
ne and allow myself to think about Marcus. We met at an independent creative arts conference when we were in college. Our whirlwind fling would’ve never worked long term. He referred to me as his future baby momma. For the most part, he never understood my need for space. Luckily, we ended on mutual terms and remained good friends throughout the years. How will he take my engagement? I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.

  I don’t know how long I sit in nostalgia mode when Crockett, making a horrid funny face, pops up on my phone to the ringtone of I’m Too Sexy. I laugh. He must have taken this picture and set it to his contact listing in my phone. “Hello?”

  “What’s this I hear about you not making it on Saturday? Eli’s not saying jack shit about it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Crockett.” I rearrange papers on my coffee table. “I have a lot going on—”

  “Wait. I need to see your face when I hear your excuses. Meet me in a half hour at Café Coco and don’t stand me up because I’m skipping band practice for this.”

  I sigh when he leaves no room for argument via hanging up on me.

  Over thirty minutes later, I sit in front of a fuming Crockett on the side veranda to take advantage of the glorious summer day. It’s cool and clear—rare for July. The patio is full of greenery, waves of petunias, and wrought iron. The cafe itself is an old brick house with a laid-back atmosphere. Adrian hates it. I’ve always loved it here.

  “You’re moving to New York in a few months,” he states after I explain everything to him. Glancing at a huge mature tree, he blows out a breath. “You’ll keep in touch?”

  I put my hand on his. “Of course.”

  He smiles, but his heart isn’t in it. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. And Eli. Especially Eli. He was a mess, but now he’s almost back to normal. Thank you for that.” He laughs, sounding a little mirthless. “I thought you two had something going on.”

  This is a great reason to move on. I sit straighter, thinking about the last time I saw Eli and not knowing how to feel. I shake my head. “He needs to work it out with Madison.”