Skin (44 Chapters #1)

by B. B. Easton

  “Is that for passing your licensing exam? That’s so sweet!” My voice echoed off the walls it was so loud.

  Goddamn, I need to rein it in.

  “Yeah. Bobby likes to bust my balls,” Knight said, setting the bottle and glasses down at his station.

  As I took my assigned seat in his cold leather reclining chair my excitement began morphing back into its original form—anxiety. Knight turned around and handed me a shot glass filled to the brim with sweet smelling liquor. Upon further inspection, I noticed a logo etched into the glass that read Terminus City Tattoo.

  “This will help with the pain,” he said. “Cheers.” Knight clinked his matching glass into mine, and downed his drink in one swift swallow.

  I took a little sip of mine and quickly lost all feeling in my lips, tongue, teeth, and throat.

  Jesus, this shit works. Maybe I should just dip my nipples into it.

  As Knight turned back around, his mood turned serious. He was laser focused on whatever he was doing, which appeared to be sanitizing and arranging half a dozen torture implements on a little metal rolling tray. There was no small talk, no music, just me and my drink and my erratic fucking heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

  I felt a drip of sweat slide from my armpit into my bra.

  Shit! I’m so nervous I’m sweating. Oh my God. What if I stink? I’m going to have to take my bra off in a minute and I have no tits and now I fucking stink!

  I brought the shot glass to my lips, which I had been clutching in my lap like a security blanket, but nothing came out.

  No!

  “Um, Knight?” I asked.

  “Mm-hm.” He didn’t turn around.

  “If you’re going to take much longer, I’m gonna need another shot.”

  Knight laughed and looked at me over his shoulder.

  “You nervous, Punk?”

  “Honestly, I’m more nervous about you seeing my boobs than I am about you shoving a needle through them.” I cringed after my accidental admission, thankful that Knight couldn’t see my face. Evidently that whiskey was more of a truth serum than a painkiller.

  Knight turned around and leaned against the tool chest, staring at me with eyes that were the same color and temperature as the cold, hard implements he was arranging on his little tray.

  “Why?”

  “Because nobody’s ever seen them before.” Okay, so maybe the whiskey was equal parts truth serum and painkiller, because I couldn’t feel my blush at all, and I knew that one had to be a doozy.

  Knight raised an eyebrow and asked, “Not even Colton?”

  Goddamn, don’t you ever blink? Stop looking at me like that!

  “He tried, but...” I threw my hands over my face, still clutching my empty shot glass. “Ugh! This is so embarrassing! Turn back around! You’re freaking me out!”

  I felt the shot glass leave my hand and heard the welcome clink of glass on glass.

  “Here.” I peeked through my fingers and saw Knight turned around, his back to me, holding my refilled glass out behind him.

  Okay. That was sweet.

  “Thanks.” I took another tiny sip. The weight of the glass in my hand and the tingly, numbing sensation on my lips immediately brought my anxiety down a few notches.

  This shit really is comforting.

  “Why are you getting them pierced if you don’t want anyone to see them?” Knight still had his back to me and his voice was quiet. Curious.

  “I do want someone to see them! I just need them to, I don’t know, look better first.” I cringed at my honesty and took another sip of my truth-serum-slash-painkiller. “And this is cheaper than a boob job.”

  Knight coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, a surgeon probably wouldn’t accept a forged permission letter from your parents either.”

  I giggled and said, “I don’t know, man. I forge a mean permission letter.”

  Knight turned around and rolled his tray over next to me. “All right,” he said. “Let me see these fugly-ass tits you’ve been warning me about.”

  I laughed and downed the last of my bourbon. Slamming the shot glass on the armrest of the chair, I said, “Fuck it. You ready?”

  “I don’t know. They sound like a freak show.” Knight smiled at me—full-on—and in that moment I had to fight the overwhelming urge to kiss him. To just grab his face and kiss the shit out of him for doing this for me and for making me laugh and for giving me whiskey and buying me dinner. He tricked me when he smiled like that. He made me see someone else—a cute boy with perfect teeth, a hard body, and a smattering of light brown freckles across the bridge of his nose. A boy I might not mind showing my boobs to—after a few shots of cheap whiskey.

  Before I could change my mind, I pulled my Misfits T-shirt off over my head—being careful not to snag one of my earrings or smudge my eyeliner—took a deep breath, and unclasped my red, lacy Wonderbra. It was the heavy-duty model—the one with the squishy cups filled with liquid. It was basically like wearing breast implants on the outside. And back then I wouldn’t have fled a burning building unless I had that thing on.

  Exhaling, and really wishing the lights were off, I squeezed my eyes shut and let the five-pound undergarment slide down my arms and form a puddle in my lap.

  Thank God for whiskey.

  “Hey…Look at me,” Knight said, his tone barely above a whisper.

  What I saw when I opened my eyes made me want to kiss him even more. He was still smiling. At my face. He wasn’t staring at my tits in horror or disgust or pity. He was smiling, at me.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I blinked away his compliment and crossed my arms over my chest defensively, suddenly feeling every bit as naked as I was.

  “Thanks,” I said, a bit too breathily.

  Graciously changing the subject, Knight reached behind him and presented me with a plastic tub filled with dozens of tiny baggies containing jewelry. “Pick your poison.”

  They were all so pretty. There were straight barbells, curved barbells, circular barbells, hoops with different colored captive beads, and these curved pieces that ended in points like devil horns.

  After a minute or two I gave up. “You better pick something for me or we’ll be here all night. I want them all.”

  “Are you sure?” Knight eyed me suspiciously as if it were some kind of test.

  “Yes, just hurry up! I’m dying!”

  Knight chuckled and hunted around in the tub, as if he knew exactly what he was looking for. He selected them quickly, and set them on the tool chest behind him before I could see what he’d chosen.

  I lay down on the chair and covered my eyes with my right elbow, using my left arm to shield my tiny virgin titties from the harsh outside world.

  I could hear Knight’s voice from some faraway place saying something about a pinch and a…I don’t know. I blocked him out, filling my head instead with pleasant thoughts of Lance’s face the first time he saw my beautifully adorned boobies. I felt latex-covered fingers gently move my arm to my side. I felt a metal contraption clamp down firmly, but not painfully, onto my right nipple. Then I heard Knight’s deep voice say, “Three…two…” just before a white-hot pain slashed through my soul.

  Fuuuuuuuck it hurt. I bit my lip and squeezed my face harder with the crook of my arm, fighting back the urge to whimper and gripping the edge of the chair with my free hand as hard as I could.

  “Take a deep breath, and then blow it out slowly.”

  Words. Knight said words. Focus, BB. Focus. He said, um, to breathe? Right. I should do that.

  I took a deep breath through my nose, and as I exhaled Knight pushed the needle out and pulled the jewelry through. The blinding pain was immediately replaced by a dull throb.

  “You did it, Punk.” I went to look down, but Knight shielded my nipple with his gloved hand and scolded me. “Uh, uh, uh. Not ‘til we’re done.”

  “I have to do it again??” I whined, throwing my elbow back over my eyes.

  Five minutes (an
d one more brutal impalement) later I was standing in front of the mirror mounted above Knight’s tool chest, staring at myself in sheer amazement.

  “Oh my God, Knight. I fucking love them. Are those little…wings?”

  Knight stayed on his stool, letting me have my moment, but I could feel his eyes on me. “Yeah. They’re just straight barbells with little silver angel wings that screw on instead of beads. We just got them in a few days ago, and for some reason I stashed them at my station.”

  “Because they’re fucking awesome.”

  Knight hesitated for a moment. “Yeah. They are.” His voice sounded throaty and I got the sense that he wasn’t talking about the jewelry.

  Okay, peep show’s over.

  I wanted to ask Knight to hand me my bra and T-shirt, but then he’d realize it was full of water and weighed eight hundred pounds and I’d had enough embarrassment for one night. I covered myself with one arm and shimmied behind him to grab my clothes. I got dressed with my back turned, then plopped back down sideways on his chair.

  “How much do I owe you?” I was totally bluffing. I didn’t have any fucking money. Twenty bucks, maybe.

  “On the house. Consider it a birthday present.”

  “But it’s your birthday. I’m supposed to give you something.”

  “Oh, you did,” Knight said, leaning against his tool chest. Gripping the edge with both hands, he stared at me as if he were assessing whether or not I could handle what he was about to say. “You showed me the cutest pair of tits I’ve ever seen, and you let me make them bleed. That’s the best fucking present anyone’s ever given me.”

  “Jesus, Knight.” I covered my tender chest with my arm again, feeling so vulnerable I forgot I had clothes on. “That’s fucked up.”

  Knight’s jaw did that thing where it clamped shut, and I could instantly tell I’d said the wrong thing.

  Shit. Cigarettes. I need cigarettes. And air. And darkness, so that I won’t be able to see the look Knight is giving me right now.

  Trying to mask my abhorrence over his last comment, I hopped off the chair and grabbed my purse. “Well, you can at least let me give you a cigarette. C’mon.”

  As we walked to the back door I thought, Well done, BB. You’re alone, downtown, at night, with a violent skinhead, who has a thing for blood play, and you have no way to defend yourself or get home on your own. Super duper.

  Knight pushed open the door into the alleyway and propped it ajar with a chunk of concrete that probably came from the crumbling stairs we were standing on. The air outside was humid, but cool. Summer was starting to release its chokehold on the city, much to my dismay.

  Reaching into my cavernous, button-and-stud-covered, fuzzy tiger-striped shoulder bag, I pulled out a pack of Camel Lights and a lighter—which were immediately plucked from my fingers by Knight. He pulled two cigarettes out, stuck one in each of our mouths, and lit mine first.

  After a long drag, Knight broke the silence. “When do you need to be home?”

  “I told my mom I was spending the night at Juliet’s tonight, so I don’t have a curfew. You can just drop me off at Juliet’s…um…”

  “What?” Knight could tell I was keeping something from him. His tone of voice was accusing, and his undead eyes were boring into me, searching for more information.

  “It’s just…I just remembered that Juliet usually stays at Tony’s place on Fridays, so…she probably won’t even be home.”

  That was a lie. I had actually just remembered that Tony usually spent the night at Juliet’s house on Fridays—and practically every other day for that matter—and I didn’t want Knight to pull up and see his car there. I didn’t know if he’d cause a scene, but…actually yes. Yes, I did know. Knight would totally cause a fucking scene.

  Knight took another drag off of his cigarette and eyed me suspiciously while he exhaled smoke through his nostrils. “So, you have nowhere to go?”

  Shit. Is he pissed? I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I think this through better?

  “Not…until noon when my shift starts?” It came out sounding like a question. “But…you know what? You can just take me home. I’ll just tell my dad that…I don’t know. I’ll figure something out on the way. It’ll be fine.”

  It would not have been fine. My dad was a paranoid insomniac. Not only would he have been wide awake when I got there, but he’d probably be standing on the front porch with a shot gun by the time Knight’s loud ass truck made it to the top of the driveway.

  “You can stay here again, Punk.”

  Oh, thank God.

  Before I could think better of it I attempted to hug him, then screamed and let go because my nipples had just been impaled with steel barbells less than thirty minutes prior to that and ramming them into someone’s hard chest was a terrible fucking idea.

  Knight laughed and said, “This actually works out a lot better for me, because if I don’t have to drive you anywhere tonight, I can polish off that bottle of SoCo.”

  “Can I help?” I definitely needed another drink if I was going to spend the night there…again. Jesus.

  “What do you weigh? Like ninety pounds?”

  Pssh. I wish.

  “No more for you until you eat something else. You’re not getting wasted on me again.”

  Oh, God! The last time I spent the night here I fucking puked and fainted in the alley!

  I pouted to mask my embarrassment, then huffed and said, “Okay, fine. What’d ya got?”

  “Nothing, but there’s a gas station on the corner.” Knight pushed off the railing he was leaning on and grabbed my hand, tugging me down the stairs behind him.

  I thought he’d let go when we got to the bottom, but he didn’t.

  I thought he’d let go when we exited the alley and got to the crosswalk, but he didn’t.

  I thought he’d let go when he opened the door to the convenience store for me, and he did.

  But I kind of wished that he hadn’t.

  Inside Knight stood with his arms folded while he waited for me to choose something. I made my way up and down the aisles of junk food slowly, trying to pick something that would be filling, but with as few calories as possible. I settled on a giant Rice Crispy treat. Knight simply shook his head at me. Next, I picked up a bag of Doritos. Knight shook his head again.

  “Real food,” he said.

  “Look around, man.” I did a little twirl with my arms out. “There’s no real food here.”

  Knight walked past me toward the back wall where the freezer section was and jammed a thick finger into the glass. Inside the case were all kinds of frozen food-wrapped-inside-of-other-food type things. Burritos and empanadas and corn dogs and sausages wrapped in pancakes wrapped in waffles dipped in grits. One glance at Knight’s expression told me he was not going to budge on this, so I sighed and opened the freezer door.

  The cold air instantly made my nipples contract, causing me to wince and suck in a pained breath through my teeth. Knight chuckled and pushed me out of the way. He reached in, grabbed a box, and walked back toward the register without even showing me what he’d selected.

  I called out, “Wait! What is that?” and hustled after him. Without turning around Knight held the box up over his shoulder. Ham and cheese Hot Pockets.

  Damn. Those are good.

  The cashier was a Southeast Asian man who greeted Knight with a look that suggested he’d rather reach across the counter and strangle him than ring him up.

  Oh, right. Skinhead.

  I stood there and watched their wordless interaction. So much animosity between two people who had probably never met before. I didn’t understand why Knight would choose to move through the world dressed in a way that made perfect strangers—even nice ones—hate him. He wasn’t even a racist, which was actually kind of rare where we lived, so why? Why let people form an assumption about you that isn’t even true? Was it because he wanted to be feared? Or left alone? Did he think he deserved to be loathed?

  I wa
s staring at the back of Knight’s head—hoping I would spontaneously develop x-ray vision so that I could figure out what the fuck made him tick—when he turned around, a scowl on his face and a flimsy white plastic bag in his fist. As I followed him out the door I could feel the cashier’s eyes on the back of my head, the way mine had been on Knight’s. He was probably trying to figure out whether or not to call the cops and report a kidnapping.

  Knight held the door open for me again, but this time his energy seemed a little pissy. I guess the staring contest with the cashier had his dander up.

  The crosswalk light said WALK, so we stepped into the street without pausing. Unable to shake my curiosity, I blurted out, “Why do you dress like that if you know it will make people treat you like shit?”

  Evidently the truth serum was still in full effect.

  Without looking at me Knight replied, “I don’t know, Punk. Why do you dress like that if you don’t want to put out?”

  I stopped in the middle of the street and heard somebody say, “Fuck you.” Somebody who sounded a lot like me.

  Shit. Did I just say that out loud?

  Knight turned around, his body completely illuminated by the headlights of a car waiting at the intersection. “Am I wrong?” he asked, raising his voice. “You want everyone’s attention, but once you get it you don’t know what the fuck to do with it.”

  His words felt like a slap in the face. “I don’t want everyone’s attention!” I snapped back.

  Just Lance Hightower’s!

  The light turned green and the car that Knight was standing in front of honked its horn. The sound startled the shit out of me, causing my already racing heart to practically burst from my chest. I sprinted to the other side of the road like a frightened squirrel, but Knight turned and stalked directly toward the little Honda.

  No, no, no, no, no!

  I ran back into the street and grabbed his arm, but Knight shook me off and slammed his palms down on the hood, screaming at the terrified Rastafarian in the driver’s seat.