Nine

  I smirk.

  “All done in honor of my dark hero.” I bite my thumbnail.

  “It’s hot. You’re hot. The whole damn thing is hot.”

  “Let’s get you bandaged up, girl,” the artist says.

  I stand on my tiptoes and give Trig a peck on the lips before I turn to get my side doctored up. I’m in so much awe of my tat and piercing that I can’t stop smiling. We pay before leaving and then we walk down the street, and I’m still running high off adrenaline.

  “It’s just ink on my skin, but I kind of feel free now. Is that weird?” I say.

  “No. You’re doing things that you want do, and these things make you happy.”

  “I feel so alive today. Ohhhh look!” I yell, and point.

  Trig turns to see what I’m staring at.

  “No way. I’m not going in there. It looks very girlie.”

  “Come on, please,” I beg.

  His body slumps forward. I drag Trig over to the shop. It takes even more effort to get him inside. A man wearing eyeliner and glossy lipstick greets us as we approach the front desk.

  “Welcome to Vivi’s hair spa. How can I help you two?”

  His eyebrows look like they were drawn on with way too much fierce this morning, because I can’t tell whether he’s upset or excited. Trig immediately spins around and tries to leave. I grab his arm and pull him back.

  “I need a dye and cut.”

  “Mariella can take you back in just a second. How about that one?” Eyeliner guy says, and points to Trig.

  “I don’t need anything. I’m fine. Thank you,” Trig replies quickly.

  “Yes. You. Are,” eyeliner guys shoots back, as he drinks in Trig with his eyes.

  Trig looks at me. “You’re on your own. I’m going out to get more coffee. I’ll be back later.”

  I laugh at the situation. Trig hurries out of this place like his pants are on fire.

  “Mariella will take you now.” He walks me back to a short, pretty blonde girl with scissors in her hand. I sit down and stare into the mirror. She stands behind me.

  “Are we cutting it today or just styling?”

  “Chop it all off,” I say to my surprise. “Chop it and dye it...blonde.”

  “Do you want to do a shoulder length bob?”

  “That’s perfect.”

  I sit there as she throws the smock around my neck. She leaves to go mix some color and then she returns. My mouth gets dry and part of me wants to jump up from this chair and run. The other part of me reminds myself that this is necessary. I watch her as she paints the dye on my hair with a brush. My fingers tense up and grip the armrest, because my red hair is gone. At least it will be soon. It’s been a part of me forever and now it’s about to be washed down the drain like nothing. When she finishes with my whole head, she then moves me to go sit under a hair dryer to let the color set in.

  Time passes and my hair has been washed out, towel dried, and then I’m back in my original chair. I’ve already been here for about an hour and a half now, and I’m starting to wonder if I should have just stuck with my red color, which is easy to do myself, or maybe that’s the part of me still trying to hold on to the past. I can already see the red has vanished from my hair and it makes my stomach hurt. She raises the scissors to my head and with each snip, I feel like a bad, dirty memory is being shed. The more the hair falls, the lighter I feel. It’s supposed to be just a haircut, but it’s more than that. At this very moment, it’s a life changing experience and the hairdresser has no idea. I feel a tear fall down my face. The stylist stops cutting and looks at me. I know she’s going to ask me if I’m okay, so I stop her before she has the chance to.

  “Keep going,” I command.

  She doesn’t say anything. She does as she’s told and keeps snipping away. She then picks up a blow dryer and starts to style it. Finally, after another twenty minutes or so, she spins me around so I can no longer see my reflection. She’s drying and brushing and I can feel her movements slowing down. She reaches for a bottle of hairspray and spritzes all around my head. I’m hitting the two-hour mark of being here at the salon, and I’m getting impatient, but I know I’m close to being done.

  “What do you think?” She spins me around to face the glass.

  I take a good look in the mirror, and I almost don’t recognize myself. The blonde color in my hair slightly glimmers under the salon lights. I take a strand and run my fingers down it. It’s so short. The ends barely touch my shoulder. I look like a new girl.

  “You don’t like it, do you?” She worries.

  I stare at her and then back to the mirror.

  “No. It’s not that. I look amazing. It’s just difficult to see the actual change.”

  She removes my smock and shakes all the hair off.

  “It looks really good on you. I suppose any color would though. You have a beautiful face, and now with the short hair, it just shows more of it off.”

  “Thank you for everything,” I say.

  “You are very welcome. You can pay up front.”

  “Oh, my boyfriend’s going to pay when he comes back.”

  I freeze up as the words leave my mouth. I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t call Trig my boyfriend just now.

  “No problem. Just flag me down when he gets here.” She smiles.

  I go and take a seat in the waiting area. I see Trig walk in about five minutes later with his cup of coffee. My leg starts to jiggle in anticipation. What if he hates my new hair? I guess the better question is, why am I so worried about what he thinks? I sit up straighter to get his attention. He walks right past me, and then he looks around the salon. Finally, he turns and stares down. I watch him do a double take.

  “Damn,” he says.

  “Is that good or bad?” I smile.

  He sets his coffee down and comes over to me.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “I feel beautiful,” I say. “It’s really short, but it’s nice.”

  “I like it a lot.”

  He drinks me in with his eyes, and I’m glad that I made the decision to do it.

  “Is this the boyfriend?” Mariella shouts, as she works her way to the front desk.

  Trig looks at her and then at me.

  “Yup, I guess it is.” I blush. “Or something close to it.”

  Mariella looks at me strangely. It feels really odd to claim him as mine. We haven’t really discussed what terms to use for each other, and in this moment, I wish we had.

  Suddenly, eyeliner guy pops up.

  “Hello, stranger!” He winks at Trig. “I see you returned. Hopefully to see me.”

  Trig slightly turns and looks at me as if he might just throw up in his mouth.

  “What’s the total?” Trig says to Mariella, ignoring the guy.

  “One seventy five.”

  “For a haircut and dye? Ludicrous.”

  “Oh baby, this ain’t no cuts-for-less type place,” the guy teases.

  Trig takes out money and pushes it toward Mariella.

  “Keep the change.”

  Trig turns toward me and nods for the door.

  “Come back anytime, and bring that stallion with you,” eyeliner guy yells out from behind us.

  Trig just tosses up a hand and politely waves bye in a sloppy kind of motion.

  As soon as we get outside, he looks at me and smiles.

  “Boyfriend?”

  “I’m really sorry about that. It slipped and–”

  “Nine. We’re living together. We’ve slept together multiple times, and last night I just beat the hell out of a guy for you. Let me also mention the fact that some form of deep affection was expressed from both sides. Maybe it was the anger that made me say it, and maybe it was the drugs that made you, but if I’m not your man then I don’t know what else to call it.”

  “So, this is us giving it a go then?” I question.

  “If you’re down, then I’m down.”

  He stops walking, turns and grabs
my waist. His hands are planted firmly on my back.

  “What if we mess this up?”

  “What if we don’t?” he counters.

  I think about it for a few seconds. I look away and nod.

  “Okay.” I say. “Boyfriend and girlfriend. Let’s do it.”

  I now pronounce us two sick and twisted fucks in love. I just know with Trig being the way he is, and me being me, things are guaranteed to get interesting.

  Chapter 10. Point and Shoot

  Three weeks ago, we officially became a couple, and to my surprise, the days have just gotten better. We still argue, but what couple doesn’t? We’re growing and learning and we’re doing this as a unit. And with all of the shit we’ve been through, it isn’t easy, but we’ve managed to make this thing work between us. I didn’t think it was possible, but here we are in love and still arguing of course. Some things never change.

  “It’s easy. You just point and shoot,” he says.

  “Easy for you. You know what you’re doing.”

  “With practice it gets better. Trust me.”

  “Not when my targets keep moving.” I narrow my eyes at him.

  I groan and look down at the heavy object in my hand.

  “You told me that you want a new career. I’m giving it to you. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

  “I don’t think this thing is safe in my hands. I could drop it, and then boom.”

  Trig works his way behind me. He starts pointing out things, and using terms that I have no idea about. I feel frustrated, tired, and hungry. Not to mention the weather today is hot.

  “I can’t do this,” I say, as I shove the object back into his hands.

  “Do you want me to point and shoot? It’s not hard.”

  “I would love to see you do that, since you’ve been barking at me for the last thirty minutes about what not to do.”

  “Stay still then,” he says.

  “Now you want to shoot me? You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Who wouldn’t want to shoot you?”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be shot.” I raise my eyebrows.

  “I’m shooting you. I don’t care what you say.”

  At that very moment, I realize how crazy the conversation sounds, especially when it involves Trig, a prior hitman.

  “Just stand still and let me take your picture,” Trig commands.

  “Fine,” I grumble.

  He starts clicking away and at first, I’m nervous, but after about fifteen pictures later, I’m twirling and moving around to different poses. I don’t even care that a few people have stopped to watch us. He takes several more and then he motions me over.

  “Look at this one,” he says.

  I look down and smile. It’s beautiful, and the way the light falls behind me is perfect.

  “See how the contrast is different in this picture than in this one.”

  I nod. He hands me the camera and then waves his arm just once.

  “I refuse to let you give up. The world is yours for the taking. Start clicking, girl.”

  Two weeks ago Trig finally opened up and told me what he did for a living prior to being The Savior’s hitman. He was a photographer. People would hire him for big events such as weddings, anniversaries, and even birthdays. I didn’t believe him at first. I laughed. He could have told me he was a mechanic or a security guard or even a stripper and I would have nodded, but not a photographer. He just doesn’t fit the mold. He’s a little rough around the edges, and looks more like a professional fighter than a cameraman looks, but maybe that’s because I’ve seen him kill people. He told me he was a gym rat, and loved to work out, and that sometimes he took boxing classes, but that was it. Photography was his thing. Me, personally, I don’t even know anyone that works in that field, but I imagine the artsy geek chic guy if anybody, and Trig is the guy that most mothers warn their good little girls about. But apparently, looks are deceiving, because he was very serious when he told me. Eventually I stopped laughing and forced myself to accept it. Not that it’s a bad thing; it’s just not what I expected. After we talked a little more, he said he had done a few boudoir photo shoots in the past and that something like that might be right up my alley. Boudoir is basically just shooting suggestive pictures of women. Count me in, I thought. I didn’t realize that when I jumped at the idea, I’d have to learn how to use this big ass camera with all of its millions of functions.

  “We could open up our own company here. We’ll call it Krackle Photos.”

  I look at him and start laughing.

  “You have no idea how much I hate that name. Of all the last names, we get Krackle. It reminds me of a plumber’s ass crack.”

  “Whatever then. It can be any name. Besides, Krackle has a legit sound to it.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “I guess we could, once I know what the hell I’m doing.”

  “A few months from now you’ll be a pro,” Trig says. “We just need to build up some clients in the meantime.”

  I perk up at the word clients.

  “That I can do.”

  Trig looks concerned.

  “What? That’s not what I meant. I’m just good at pulling in business.”

  “This is a whole new ball game, Nine. The approach is different.”

  “It’s Angelina. I think we should start using our new names already.”

  Trig smiles.

  “Excuse me, Angelina,” he corrects himself.

  I put the camera to my chest and tap my nails against it. Trig loves photography, and for me, I can learn to love it. I’ve started a business before, I can do it again, but this time it will be something I can brag about. I won’t have to hide what I do, and the best part is that my co-partner is hot as fuck.

  “Krackle Photos Incorporated.” I pause. “Let’s do it,” I say.

  “Yes. My little eagle has taken her flight.”

  “Sure, make jokes. Where did you hear that eagle story from anyway?

  Motivationalspeakers.com,” I sarcastically ask.

  “How did you know?” He wags his eyebrows once. “No. I saw it on YouTube. It was hard-hitting and it stuck in my head. Somebody made it up to inspire others.”

  “Wait. It’s not real?”

  Trig looks at my face, and then he starts cracking up.

  “I did mention to you prior that it was just a myth.”

  “I didn’t hear the myth part. Let me remind you that I wasn’t all there that night.”

  I tap my finger to my temple.

  “That’s your fault. No one told you to go and get all coked up.”

  My mouth falls open.

  “You’re such an asshole. Stop bringing up old shit.”

  Trig grabs my waist and pulls me into him.

  “It’s a great story. It worked. Why are you mad?”

  “I’m not. I just felt really bad for that poor bird.”

  Trig laughs hard. He’s cracking up so hard my body is vibrating in his grasp.

  “Stop laughing at me. You make me feel stupid.”

  He presses his lips together in a smile. He can hardly contain himself.

  “I hate you,” I say with a smirk.

  “Me? Look at this face. You could never hate this.”

  “Cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you,” I joke.

  “You like that side. I know you do.”

  “In bedroom play, yes. Outside in real life, no.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll start by holding back at dinner tonight then.”

  Dinnertime has become an extremely fun event. He tells me all the nasty and vulgar things he wants to do to me while we eat, and then we time how long it takes me to get turned on. We beat record time last night at five minutes. It’s a new game we both enjoy.

  “Wait! I didn’t say you needed to pull back. I was just pointing out the obvious.”

  He nods proudly.

  “See? You like that shit.”

  “I might,” I tease.

  Tri
g leans down and kisses me.

  “I love to see you smile,” he says. “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately.”

  “You should blame it on this stupid little thing called happiness. Who knew, right?”

  “I think you just implied that I make you happy, and if so that means you also paid me a compliment.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Stop. I give you compliments all the time.”

  Trig laughs.

  “Like what?”

  “Like…stuff,” I say, struggling to come up with one exact comment.

  “See?” Trig points at me.

  We both start laughing. He shakes his head at me. The sun starts to beat down harder, so we walk over and sit down in the grass underneath a shady tree. I set the camera down on my lap.

  “You never told me what got you into photography.”

  “I took a few classes in high school. I liked it. It didn’t really feel like hard work when I did it. It actually relaxed me. That’s basically it. Initially I started doing parties for friends and then neighbors, and after a while, everybody was hiring me for something. The events got bigger and the money increased and I just kept on doing it.”

  “Sometimes I wonder what I would have become under different circumstances. Most young girls get their first job at a fast food place or a department store in a mall. I’d like to think I might have worked at the M.A.C. makeup store or inside Macy’s at the perfume counter.”

  “Or maybe you’d be a sexy little librarian at a public library.”

  I laugh. “Have you ever seen me read? I mean, really.”

  “No. I don’t read either, but if the librarian looked like you, I’d be in there every day reading thick-ass books just to check you out.”

  “Aw. The stalker type.”

  “Hell yeah. I would stalk the hell out of you.”

  I grin. He smiles briefly and then he looks around.

  “Okay that’s enough chit chat. You won’t learn anything by sitting on your ass, so let’s go. I see at least twenty kids around. Over there some woman is walking her dog. Across the way, I see cars moving fast on the road. These are what I want you to shoot. If you can catch a fantastic picture while it’s in motion, the rest is a piece of cake to learn. Editing will always be a pain, but it’s the actual art that matters. It’s the timing. It’s the very second you capture an event on the camera and what emotion was happening behind it.”