Nine

  Trig squints his eyes. I put my head down, embarrassed.

  “I’d kiss you now, but you just vomited,” he says.

  I laugh, as the moment lightens up.

  He pulls me into his side and we walk back up to the hotel. I run into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. When I come out, Trig is standing there next to the bed. The mattress is still covered in money. We both just start pushing the remainder of it on to the floor. I slip out of my clothes and he slips out of his. We both crawl into bed. He wraps his arms around me and I wrap mine around him. This thing that’s happening is twisted, just like I said, but I can’t stop it and neither can he. I look up to see that his eyes are closed. He’s exhausted and I know I’m the reason why. I look down at his bloody knuckles. He just beat the shit out of a guy for me. I’m such a selfish bitch. I have this amazing guy in front of me and I don’t know what to do with him. I run my fingers over his knuckles and then I look at his face. The moonlight peeks in the window and hits the side of his cheek.

  “Trig,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Trig,” I try again.

  I hear a slight moan.

  “Why don’t you see me the same way I see myself?”

  “What way?” Trig mumbles.

  “Defective.”

  “Baby, broken crayons still color. They still make beautiful art.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

  He rubs his eyes, sits up, and yawns.

  “Have you ever heard the rebirth of the eagle myth?”

  I shake my head.

  “They say at forty years of age the eagle’s talons can no longer grab prey. The beak starts to bend. The wings become heavy and thick from old age, which makes it difficult to fly. So, the eagle is left with two options.” He takes a breath. “Die, or go through a painful process called change.”

  Trig has my full attention. I’m leaning into him, and hanging on every word. I know this is going to be something worth listening to. I just don’t know what it has to do with me yet.

  “The eagle has to fly to a mountain top and sit on its nest. It’s there that it will bang its beak against a rock until it plucks it out. Then the eagle will wait for a new beak to grow, until it plucks its heavy feathers out.”

  “And then what?” I ask.

  “It takes its famous flight of rebirth and it gets to live another thirty years.

  “That is awful. Why even do all of that?”

  Trig lays back down. “To survive and live, change is necessary.”

  I lay down and snuggle up close to him. I place my head on his chest and as much as I want to go to sleep, I can’t. Trig just blew me away with that story. I’m freaking out about life, and here this damn bird is self-mutilating to survive. All I have to do is say yes to change. That’s it. Why is the thought so damn scary? I stare up at the ceiling. Trig said it best. Change is a painful process, but necessary to survive. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing all of these years? Surviving? This next step shouldn’t be hard, but it is. This is the part where I’m left with two options, right? I’m supposed to evaluate my life and choose life over death. Damn it, Trig. I stare at him.

  It’s definitely time. I think I need to break my beak, grow into my new claws, and rip out my own feathers, I just don’t know if I can do this. How do I even start? I’ve been motionless far too long, locked in my own little mechanical world, with heart in a cage, and then he comes along.

  I guess I’ll begin with smashing my face into a rock, which happens to be Trig.

  God help me.

  Chapter 9. Consumed

  We had one hell of a night, and this morning I woke up with a new outlook on life. After I fell asleep last night, I had a dream about Jenny. She was in our old kitchen in Las Vegas and she was making me a sandwich. She brought it over, and then she sat down next to me on the couch. She smiled in the way she used to. I asked her why she was so happy and she said, “You finally get it. You finally understand how to let someone in. Love doesn’t have to be painful, and you don’t have to be afraid of it. ” She held my hand and said, “Everything is going to be okay. Trig won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.” Then she vanished.

  After hearing those words from her, I was definitely prepared to take my famous flight, just like the eagle. It was obvious that I had already accomplished the self-inflicted wounds part.

  “Trig,” I whisper and gently shake him.

  Trig stretches and then opens his eyes.

  “I’m hungry. Let’s go get breakfast.”

  He rubs his eyes and then stares at me.

  “You’re already dressed? What time is it?”

  “Seven.”

  “Give me a few minutes to wake up and throw some clothes on.”

  He looks down at his hand. A white bandage is wrapped around his knuckles.

  “Did you do this?”

  “I woke up really early. Housekeeping had a first aid kit. They let me borrow a few things.”

  He sits up, leans over, and plants a kiss on my cheek.

  “Thank you.”

  He pulls back and examines my face.

  “Your freckles really stand out today.”

  “I didn’t think you noticed that I had them.”

  Without missing a beat, he answers. “I notice every mark on your body.”

  I clamp my lips closed and briefly look away. I’ve never been one to blush, but he makes my cheeks feel hot. Trig seems to have that effect on me. I look back to notice that he’s staring at my hair. It’s probably because it’s the first day I’ve tossed it up into a messy bun.

  “What color is your natural hair?”

  I can see him looking at my roots.

  “My roots are pretty bad, huh?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know much about that stuff.”

  “My real color is a mousey brown, but I’ve had this red color for as long as I can remember. I was thinking of changing it. You know, part of the whole rebirth thing.”

  “You’ll look good in whatever.”

  I play with my fingertips, scared to ask after last night.

  “Do you think I could have some money to go to the hair salon here? I saw one when we checked in.”

  Trig stands up and lets the sheet drop.

  “You don’t have to ask me for money. It’s here. Take what you need.”

  I look down. It feels weird to ask him for cash. It’s not mine. I didn’t earn it, but at the same time, I’m broke. Everything I made in Vegas is gone.

  “Would you want to come with me?” I reluctantly ask.

  “To get your hair done?”

  Trig looks confused.

  “Never mind. I can go by myself later.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and stare down.

  “Do you want me to go with you? I’ll go. It’s just I’ve never been to a chick’s salon before.”

  I look up at him surprised.

  “No girl has ever dragged you into one?”

  “No.”

  “That’s shocking.”

  “Not really,” he says.

  “No. It is,” I confirm. “Most girls love that sort of thing. I used to see boyfriends dragged into the salon all the time when I would go.”

  Trig stares at me.

  “I don’t really date. I don’t do relationships. Not that I haven’t before. It’s just that I never found the right girl, and dating became more like a game instead of an investment. It became easier to just implement the clichéd no strings rule, and keep everything simple.”

  I can’t control the disappointment in my face. I see his expression change.

  “Not to mention my previous job. It’s not really something the ladies look for in a man.”

  “Those girls are missing out,”

  Trig tosses on a shirt and spins around. He smiles at me.

  “You think so?”

  I nod. I’m still thinking of what he said. He doesn’t date. He doesn’t do rela
tionships, but then again, I don’t either.

  “If both of us have a rule about dating, then what are we both doing, Trig?”

  He walks over and squats down in front of me.

  “I’d say we’re breaking the rules, but they no longer apply once the game is over.”

  I lean forward and rest my forehead against his.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I was just scar—”

  He puts one finger up to my lips.

  “We both said what we needed to say last night. Leave it at that.”

  I nod. He stands up and finishes getting dressed and ready. I sit here on the bed and watch him. He’s so fucking hot. I can’t even tolerate it. He glances back at me, and I remember him angry in the sand last night, and how much passion was in his voice. I smile and he smiles back. When he’s finally done, we walk out of our room and down the hall to the hotel restaurant. It’s a beautiful day so we choose outside seating. I watch as a male waiter approaches the table.

  “Good morning! What can I get you?”

  “Pancakes and an orange juice, please,” I say.

  He looks at Trig and smiles.

  “French toast and a black coffee is fine,” he replies.

  “Coming right up.”

  The waiter disappears with the menus. Trig’s head falls back against the booth, exposing his neck. I look at his tattoo.

  “What does your tattoo mean?”

  “Consumed. It’s pretty straight forward.”

  “Come on. There has to be a story behind it. Every tattoo has one.”

  “That, coming from the girl who has none.”

  I toss up my hands.

  “I’m still waiting on a story,” I remind him.

  He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table.

  “My brother used to say this world was built with good intentions, but saturated with so much evil that we’d never see the good if we let life consume us. He’d say, ‘Don’t let life consume you.’ It was his go-to phrase. He said it about a million times to me, and I took his advice. That was, until he died, and then life swallowed me up and forced me to do things I would’ve never done. I was swimming in all the evil he used to mumble about and it was then that I understood exactly what he meant. This tattoo was done in his honor, and to remind me that somewhere out in the world, people with good intentions still exist.”

  “That’s darkly beautiful.”

  Trig nods. He stares at me, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. We’ve both done things in this life that we didn’t want to. We’ve both made choices that were for the best at the time and both of us were completely and utterly consumed by life.

  “Would you be upset if I wanted to get that tattoo?”

  Trig looks down at the table. I can’t tell if he’s bothered or not.

  “I hope that when you’re with me, you don’t need to be reminded that good still exists. Despite what I’ve done, I’m not a monster.”

  I lick my lips. “I used to call you my dark hero. At least, in my head I did. I’d sit there and question if you were good or bad, and then I realized you and me, we aren’t so different. I did things to protect people and you did things to protect people, and we both hurt ourselves in the process. This life has finally given us time to shed our skin, and I see that now.”

  He looks around the restaurant.

  “This tattoo will have a whole new meaning,” I add.

  “I won’t stand in your way if you want it.”

  He doesn’t sound convincing, but I’ve already made up my mind. I’m getting it.

  The waiter brings our drinks and then our food next. We scarf it down while we make small talk about our favorite desserts, places we’ve always wanted to visit and things we’ve never done.

  “You’ve really never had any piercings, beside your ears?” he asks.

  “Nope. I’ve wanted them, but being in the business I was, I kept a clean body.”

  “What about you?” I question.

  “I had my dick pierced once.”

  “Really?” My ears perk up.

  He chuckles.

  “Just messing with you. I’ve never had any piercings either, but look at your face. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

  “It might be interesting. The barbell sliding around. It could make for a good time. I don’t know.”

  He rubs his hands together and gives me an evil smile.

  “Care to play a game – loser has to get a piercing of the winner’s choice?”

  “Depends. What’s the game?”

  “Stare off,” Trig says.

  I smile. “This sounds fun. Let’s do it. You know if I win, the soldier in your pants is getting a little upgrade.”

  “Okay. Ready?” he asks.

  I prep my eyes and then I stare at him.

  “Ready,” I say.

  “I can do this all day. You won’t win.” Trig smiles.

  I don’t reply. I squint just enough to ease the burning sensation.

  “Those eyes must be hurting, huh?” he teases.

  “Shhhhh,” I say. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

  He blows a gust of air my way, and my eyes can’t take it. I blink.

  “Cheater,” I yell.

  He laughs. “I win.”

  “You cheated. That’s not fair.”

  “Take your loss and don’t complain.”

  He motions for the waiter to bring the check. He smiles and comes over with a paper receipt.

  “Enjoy your day!” he says.

  Trig tosses some money down on the table.

  “Come on, loser. We need to find a parlor around here.”

  I frown as he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the booth. We exit the restaurant and just as we turn the corner, there, conveniently located across the street is a tattoo and piercing place. I take a deep breath and grunt.

  “It’s not that bad. I promise.” He grins.

  “Says the guy with no piercings,” I poke fun at him.

  We make our way across traffic and enter the building. I take in all the art on the walls as Trig breaks away to talk to the girl at the counter.

  “He can take her back now if you like,” I hear her say.

  I jerk my head their way and freeze.

  “What did you want done, hun?” She looks at me.

  “Well, he’s picking the piercing and I’m picking the tattoo.”

  “I’ll give you guys a few minutes, while I go get Max from the back.”

  Trig turns to me. “Clitoris piercing?”

  My eyebrows shoot up. He laughs.

  “Relax. I’m joking,” he says.

  He takes a good look at me. I pray to God that he doesn’t pick nipples. I heard it’s extremely painful during and after the piercing.

  “I’ll pick…your belly button,” he finally decides.

  I sigh in relief. Thank God.

  “I was going to say tongue, but then I can’t kiss or do dirty things to that mouth of yours for weeks.”

  “Damn. A piercing and a tat in the same day. You like to torture a girl, don’t you?”

  The tat artist, Max, comes out and smiles at me. He waves me toward him.

  “Come sit here, pretty lady.”

  “In this chair?” I ask, nervously.

  The tat artist nods.

  “So what are we doing?”

  “Belly button piercing,” I say through my teeth as I look at Trig. “And a tattoo on my rib cage.”

  Trig crosses his arms against his chest and winks at me.

  “Do you know what tattoo you want?”

  “The word consumed,” I say, keeping my eyes on Trig.

  I lean in and whisper something to Max.

  “I can do that. I’m good at freehand. I got you, girlfriend,” Max says.

  Trig looks slightly uncomfortable. I show the artist exactly how I want the placement of words. Every so often, I look up at Trig who can’t take his eyes off me. I smile. Max brings me a box of belly jewelry to
look though. I choose a cute little pink butterfly.

  “Let’s do the piercing first. It will only take about a minute,” the guy says.

  He leans the chair back and instructs me to pull up my shirt. I watch as he wipes the skin down with alcohol. He pulls out what looks like a clamp and needle and goes to work.

  “Breathe in,” he says, as the needle pokes through the skin. I scrunch up my face in pain. I feel a little pressure. “Okay, all done.”

  “That’s it?” I look down to see the butterfly dangling. “Oh, that’s pretty.”

  “What do you think?” I say to Trig.

  “I like it. That’s sexy, baby.”

  “Are you ready for the tattoo now?”

  My adrenaline is still running from the piercing. I’m more than ready for it.

  “Yeah.”

  I watch as he pulls out clean needles for the gun. He starts prepping for my tat. I stare over at Trig and wince. He smiles. Max motions with his hands for me to lift up my shirt. He swings his chair closer to me. I lean my head back and close my eyes as the needle dips in and out of my skin. It’s not painful at all, just incredibly irritating. I want to push him away and stand up, but I refrain. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Minutes are passing and after a while, my side becomes numb. I can’t even feel the needles anymore. I look over to see Trig reading a magazine.

  “You are done, baby girl,” Max says. “What do you think?” He points to a mirror.

  I stand up and gawk at my very first tat.

  “Holy shit,” I say, as I swing around.

  I thank the artist profusely and run over to show Trig. I stand above him, with my shirt pulled up. He takes in the gun pointing down toward my hip. It’s partially shaded in on some areas and it’s pretty big in size. It runs about two inches below my armpit and ends right at the bottom of my ribcage. It’s really gorgeous.

  “That’s sexy,” he says.

  He stops to read the words that run slightly above the handle of the gun. “Consumed by love.” He looks at me. “I’m jealous. What man consumes you?”

  He gives me a naughty smile.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “It better be me, or some asshole is getting his dome smashed in.”