Draw Me In

by Regina Cole

  As I climbed into bed, I reached over to switch off the lamp. The whole room was plunged into darkness, only the bright numbers on my clock casting a glow on the edge of my bed. My gaze wandered over the inky blackness, settling finally on the window. Jackie had left the blinds open again, and the soft glow from the lamps along the walkway spilled soft fingers of light on my roommate’s rumpled covers.

  I drew the comforter close up under my chin, squishing it down with a huge yawn.

  When I closed my eyes, Neill was there. Laughing at me, teasing me, getting that serious look when he talked about cross-contamination and autoclave settings. Tomorrow I’d bring a spare notebook and write down what I needed to know.

  A tattoo artist. I was really doing this. But could I keep my heart safe from Neill? I really shouldn’t think of him that way. I couldn’t think about a relationship, not with him or anyone . . .

  Sleep claimed me within moments of that thought.

  My brain stuttered, fighting against wakefulness. I rolled over onto my stomach without opening my eyes, burrowing under my pillow. Ugh. I was definitely the kind of girl who needed a solid eight hours to function normally. With the extra hours at the shop plus the late-night shower, I’d gone to bed well past the time I should have. Any minute now the alarm would go off, and I’d have just enough time to swing past the vending machine and grab a granola bar on my way to class.

  “Dammit,” I mumbled into the sheets. “Donwannamove.”

  Another breath, then two, and I reluctantly lifted my head, my pillow flopping to the floor like a dead fish. I blinked at the clock.

  Then blinked again.

  “Jesus Christ,” I squeaked in horror as the numbers made sense to my foggy brain. “Oh, crap, are you kidding me?”

  It was 9:52. I hadn’t set the alarm last night, and I’d completely missed my first class. Crap, crap, crap. I needed those notes. And since my only other class was for a project I’d already completed, I didn’t have anything else to show up to today.

  Shoving the covers off, I padded to the bathroom, frowning tightly. Not good. I was struggling to make a B in that religion class, and the missed lessons sure wouldn’t help my average.

  I fumed at myself as I brushed my teeth extra-hard in punishment. I had to do better. The whole reason I’d taken this job was to stay in school. I refused to let Dr. Fields be right about the job thing.

  Staring at myself in the mirror with foam coating my lips, I paused. Dr. Fields. I was supposed to meet with him this afternoon. He’d suggested we do calculus tutoring twice a week, so I wouldn’t fall behind.

  Bending over the sink, I spat. As I yanked the faucet on and rinsed my mouth, I made up my mind. Screw the meeting. My calculus average was fine. Even if I bombed the last test and the exam, I’d still pass the class—barely. Besides, I wouldn’t be missing any more classes. I’d just have to work extra hard to make sure nothing like this happened again.

  After tossing on some clothes and grabbing a notebook, I jammed my feet into my sneakers and left for the dining hall. I’d grab an early lunch and head straight to the shop. I didn’t have to be there until three, but as Neill had explained, the more I was there and learning, the better.

  I couldn’t agree more.

  Neill

  I finished rinsing the glass and propped it upside down in the drain board. Drying my hands with a blue plaid towel, I tossed it over the board and leaned up against the dark green counter. I glanced around the apartment.

  Clean. Too clean for a single guy living alone, really. The pale sage walls of my kitchen were blank, no pictures, no cutesy quotes, no oversize cutlery to break up the grassy color. It was almost sterile. Empty. I frowned. I should know about empty.

  Walking down the hall to the master bedroom, I sighed. The house was too big for me. Two bedrooms, two baths, decent-size backyard. But I got a great deal on the rent, since Karl owned it. So I stayed here, bouncing around the empty rooms.

  Maybe I should get a dog. Or a cat.

  Snorting to myself, I pulled on my socks. Nope, no pets. I’d stay alone, and I’d be fine.

  I glanced at the clock as I sat on the edge of my king-size bed to pull on my black boots. The shop was supposed to open at noon, and we took turns coming in early. It wasn’t my day, but I was there more often than not at opening time. What else did I have to do? Stare at my blank walls? Work, eat, come home, watch TV, and crash. The cycle was never-ending. The only joy I had was in my art, my work.

  And Hailey, my traitorous mind hissed. Despite myself, I smiled as I rose, the soft beige carpet giving under my weight.

  She’d been wonderful last night, volunteering to stay and help me out. She’d watched as I finished up my last tattoo, her bright eyes rapt as she watched me work. Afterward, she’d helped me clean down the station, and I’d showed her some of the basics. We’d talked shop for probably an hour. I couldn’t remember being half as excited to show anyone what I did as I had been then.

  We’d stood close, probably too close for as little as we knew each other, but I hadn’t minded, and neither did she, it seemed. When she’d said goodbye, I’d wanted to kiss her again. Her chin had turned upward, her eyes heavy-lidded, but I’d stepped back and given her a wave instead.

  I glanced at my reflection in the bureau mirror. Maybe today I could get to know her more. Maybe today I could start to forget the past, move on to something more positive. Something that would help me heal. Or, more to the point, someone.

  My boots thunked on the polished wooden floor of the hallway. As I bent to pick up my helmet from the black wicker basket by the back door, my cellphone chimed.

  Wrinkling my brow, I pulled the vibrating phone from my pocket. An unfamiliar number lit up the screen. As my finger hovered over the “answer” button, a funny feeling tightened in my gut. Hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a shiver marched up my spine.

  Shaking off the oddness, I walked into the kitchen as I punched the button. “Hello?”

  “Hi, sugar.”

  The voice that purred out of the phone floored me, and I gripped the back of the nearest chair to keep from punching the wall. “Gretchen.”

  She laughed, a rough sound that used to delight me. Now it just hurt. “Of course it’s me.”

  “Why the hell are you calling me? I thought you were in prison.” I jerked the chair around, sinking into it slowly. My fingers dug into my knee, white knuckles gleaming against the dark denim of my jeans. My heart thumped hard against my ribs, a squeezing pain surrounding it.

  “I was. On parole now. Have to check in with my babysitter every week, but other than that, I’m a free woman. I’ve missed you, sugar.”

  I fought the urge to chuck the phone across the room. “Bullshit. You missed stealing money from me to get your goddamn fix. Forget this number, we’re done.” I started to jerk the phone away from my ear and end the call, but her cajoling voice interrupted.

  “Shit, you really know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you? No, I missed you, Neill. A lot. I’d love to see you later. We could go out, grab some dinner, maybe something more . . . I don’t know . . . fun afterward?”

  The rage built in my chest, mixing with pain and burning through my heart. I slammed my eyes shut against the traitorous part of me that missed her. But it wasn’t really her. It was that desperate longing to be loved, the one that had kept me imprisoned with a user for too damn long. I’d fought it with my dad, and then with her, but I’d be damned if I ever did it again.

  “Gretchen, get this through your fucking head. No. No. Not ever, ever again. You have fucked me over too many times. Last time I saw you, you were buck-naked, shit-faced, and naked on top of another man. I’m done with this, I’m done with your crap.” I suddenly realized I was roaring into the phone. I hoped it hurt. “For your sake, I hope you can pull your shit together before you end up dead in a ditch somewhere, but I don’t think you can. Don’t call me again.”

  As I removed the phone from m
y ear, her thin voice came through the speaker. “Neill, wait!”

  I cut the call anyway, and threw the phone against the blank green wall. It clattered to the floor, probably broken. I didn’t give a shit.

  I cradled my head in my hands. Every breath was a fight, every thump of my heart seemed to echo through my brain. I sat there like that for a long time, until the anger and the hurt had subsided, easing down into a dull, cold lump at the back of my heart. The lump that was always there, just waiting for a chance to flare back to life.

  I sat up and glanced over at the phone. It lay facedown on the polished floor. I’d been right. Alone was the best place for me to be. I couldn’t take another heartache like Gretchen. I scooped up the phone and stalked to the door. With my helmet in one hand, I slammed the door behind me.

  I made it to the shop right after opening time. Frankie’s car was already there, closest to the door. Shiny black flames licked down the sides of the red sports car. Normally, I’d give Frankie a hard time about his fancy car. Today I clenched my fists as I passed the flashy Camaro. Control. I had to keep my shit together today.

  Unlocking the back door of the shop, I pushed through the metal door with one goal in mind. I’d shut myself in my studio, draw until my knuckles ached, then start my shift and get tattooing.

  A long, happy laugh interrupted my planning. “Seriously? I can’t believe that.” It was Hailey. Of course it was.

  “It’s true!” Frankie was standing at the edge of the counter, pointing to his own crotch. “You practice on yourself.”

  “I can understand that, but you pierced your own, well, junk?”

  I had been trying not to look over at her, but her cheerfully horrified question was too much. I chanced a quick look as I walked through the lobby.

  Her cheeks were deep pink and her eyes glittered with humor as she looked at Frankie. Without meaning to, I began to scowl. Jealousy rose from somewhere deep in my chest, clouding my thoughts and tightening my muscles.

  “Well, yeah,” Frankie said with a grand gesture. “How else can I tell my clients that I’m good at this? Now I know how it feels, so I can tell them about it.”

  Fuck. I needed to get out of here. My studio door squeaked as I tried to open it quietly. Frankie heard it.

  “Isn’t that right, boss? Kiddo here didn’t believe that we all practice on ourselves.”

  I dropped my backpack into the studio, placing my helmet atop it before turning to answer Frankie. I could do polite chitchat for a second. “It’s true. My legs have several pieces from when I first got started.”

  Hailey stood, and my mouth went dry. Why did her jeans have to hug her in all the right places? It just wasn’t fair.

  She took a hesitant step toward me, a bashful smile on her face as she leaned against her desk with one hip. “Can I see?”

  I thought about my plans, the surge of memory that carried Gretchen’s phone call leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I’d wanted to draw it out, exorcise the demons of pain in my art. But I couldn’t, not now.

  When I didn’t answer, she spoke again. “I mean, if that’s okay. I came in early, thought maybe you could show me some more apprentice stuff? I brought a book to take notes with.”

  Frankie looked from Hailey to me, his mouth going slack. “Wait a minute, boss. Is she your apprentice?”

  My tight nod earned an incredulous laugh from Frankie. Hailey’s cheeks darkened into a more self-conscious color. I couldn’t stop myself from lashing out at Frankie to defend her.

  “She’s my apprentice, and she’s already a mile ahead of where you were when you’d been here six months. So no complaints, Frankie.”

  Frankie’s eyes went wide. “Hey, man, your choice. No complaints from me.”

  “He’s a great teacher,” Hailey said softly.

  I barked a cynical laugh. “It’s been twenty-four hours. How do you know what kind of teacher I am?”

  Hailey stepped back toward the safety of her chair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Sorry. I know you have stuff to do. I’ll be here, though, if you need anything.”

  I sighed with regret. Dammit, I hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. This was a prime example of why I should stay the hell away from her. “No, hey, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been such an ass. Come in here and we’ll go over some stuff. I’ll be happy to show you my practice ink.”

  When the smile broke across her face like dawn at the sea, I wondered just how long it’d take to screw her up like I had Gretchen.

  It was only a matter of time before one—or both—of us got hurt.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hailey

  I followed Neill into his studio again, clutching my notebook to my chest to try to keep my stupid heart from thumping right out. He’d looked so sad when he walked through the door, strides eating up the floor like he wanted to run away from something. Whatever had upset him had come with him into the studio, I was pretty sure. But now his face had melted from thunderous anger into something like resigned sadness. I wasn’t sure which one was worse.

  As I entered the small room behind him, I made up my mind that whatever was bothering him would be a distant memory by the start of my shift. Neill was much too wonderful to walk around looking like his best friend had moved away.

  Neill had his back to me, digging through the backpack he’d dropped in here earlier. I cleared my throat. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here so early. I know I’m not supposed to start my shift until three, but I kind of missed my class this morning.”

  Neill’s voice was studied, calm. “Why’d you do that?”

  I hated to admit it, but I did anyway. “Overslept. Forgot to set my alarm. You know the drill. Figured if I could get in some time learning before my shift, I could make sure to get back tonight a little earlier.”

  “If it’s too much for you, just tell me. I know it’s a lot, with classes and work, too. The apprenticeship can wait if you can’t handle it.”

  My spine straightened like someone had just laid a hot wire along it. “I can handle it. Don’t worry about that. I made some arrangements to handle it.”

  He turned, and I almost regretted answering so sharply. His eyes were shuttered, sad. “Up to you.” He sat on the small rolling stool and bent down, rolling his jean leg up toward his knee.

  My pulse pounded. Was I seriously getting turned on watching him reveal his calves? I took stock of my body. Breathing shallow; my breasts felt tight, hot; my lower stomach was throbbing. Holy crap, I was! If I wasn’t trying to keep myself from panting, I might be embarrassed.

  He finished rolling, and I didn’t stop myself from looking. His calf was strong, covered with a light dusting of hair. Tattoos lined it on all sides, marching up his shin, covering the outside of his calf. After removing his boot and sock, he propped his ankle up on his knee.

  Pointing to a tattoo just below the bend of his knee, he spoke. “This is the first thing I ever tattooed on a living person.”

  “Waitaminute, living?” I stared at Neill’s face, worry flaring to life. “Don’t tell me you practice on dead people first?”

  Neill barked a laugh, and I wasn’t sure which relieved me more—the fact I wouldn’t be tattooing corpses or that Neill seemed to have lost some of the black cloud that had been covering him since he entered the shop.

  “No, we don’t tattoo dead people. You’ll start out on fruit, oranges, melons, that kind of thing. There is synthetic skin that you’ll work on, too, and then you’ll work on pigskin.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Pigskin?”

  Neill nodded. “That’s the closest you can get to human skin. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

  I shook my head, hoping my blush wasn’t too obvious.

  “Once you’re comfortable with that, you can move up to tattooing yourself.” He tapped that spot on his leg again, and I moved closer to get a better look. It was a swallow done in the classic Sailor Jerry fashion that I’d learned about last night. It wa
s small and simple but well done.

  “It’s great,” I said, and I meant it.

  “It’s okay for a first tattoo, but it’s not perfect. Look here.” He pointed to a wingtip. I moved closer, bending low to see. I was only inches from him now. “I went too deep right here. You see how the ink kind of bleeds from the outline there? That’s called a blowout. You want the ink to stay in the upper layer of skin. You hit the layer beneath, and the fat cells there act like straws, sucking up the ink and spreading it out from the lines.”

  “I see,” I breathed.

  “And here. See how that line is raised? I overworked that section. It scarred, and now the lines are raised.”

  I glanced at his face. “Can I touch it?”

  He nodded. Tentatively, I reached out a hand and traced the tail of the swallow. Under the crinkly mat of hair, I could feel the thickness of the line he’d indicated. It was subtle but definitely raised. Moving my finger along the whole tattoo, I concentrated on my task, doing my damnedest to forget whose leg it was I was touching.

  Blowout there, scarring there. Outlined in black, filled with blue, red accents. A decorative swirl blew below, almost like the breeze carrying the swallow aloft. With the eye I hadn’t been able to ignore ever since I’d been old enough to clutch a crayon in my chubby hand, I thought about what it could mean.

  Freedom. Flight. Fleeing something, some past injury. Or being imprisoned and desperately wishing to escape.

  It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that I realized I’d been rubbing his leg for what was probably an oddly long time.

  “Sorry,” I said, jerking upright. I turned back to the tattoo chair and buried myself in my notebook. “Yeah, I can feel that.”

  I scribbled on the white lined sheets, hoping to get my embarrassment under control before he could see. Once I’d finished writing, I looked back up at him. The question danced on the tip of my tongue, and I wondered whether it would make him angry if I asked. I’d been here only a few days, but I knew how intense, how personal, the meaning behind some of this art was. Would Neill be willing to share his ink’s story?