“How big?”
“Not that big,” she laughed. “Trust me.”
“I do. Sure you don’t want me or Dad with you?”
“No. I want to do this on my own.”
“Okay.” Mel managed to keep her mouth shut for a few minutes. “But if you want us to come and pick you up…”
“Mom,” Eliza said with a big smile. “I’ll be fine. It’s a tattoo, not an amputation. I think I’ll be able to drive home afterwards. But if it feels like I can’t, I’ll call you. Promise.”
They continued with the clothes, and once the keep clothes were back in the closet and the give-aways were in plastic bags, Eliza came up and gave her a long, tight hug.
“I love you, Mom, and I’m sorry if I don’t tell you often enough.”
“Not how it works, honey,” she said, and gave Eliza’s forehead a kiss. “You’re the kid, and it’s my job to tell you that I love you. Not the other way around.”
“Think I owe you a couple of I love yous anyway.”
“I won’t say no thank you to them,” Mel said.
oOo
Roach
“Can you help me with this?” Eliza asked in an annoyed tone. “And if you tell me how much it weighs and how weak I am, I’ll hit you.”
“Since I now know exactly how weak you are, that’s not much of a threat.”
Eliza stood with a straight back, closed eyes, and clenched fists. Roach bit his cheeks to not laugh out loud. They were cleaning the club gym. He suspected that no one had done that in a long time. When he trained, he wiped off the equipment before and after using it, but he’d quickly realized that he was the only one who did. Since Brick had decided Eliza was at his disposal, he’d cleaned up a lot of places he’d found disgusting—which was all of them—the past few months. She never complained. Or, she complained all the time, but she did what he asked. The gym had turned out to be a problem, though, and a lot of it had to do with the fact that she was feeble.
“Does he pay you extra for this?” she asked as she sprayed 409 over the dumbbell rack.
“Whatta you mean?”
“I mean, that you spend the days cleaning with me, and you work at the strip club at nights, do they pay you for both those things?”
“Maybe your dad thinks spending time with his lovely daughter is payment enough? Or it could be some kind of punishment.”
“I bet 409 in the eyes hurts like a motherfucker,” she muttered.
Roach wasn’t sure how much Eliza knew about the club business, so he never talked to her about it. If he had, he could’ve told her that he made a lot more money than a normal bouncer, and that he in general was pretty well off for a guy his age. The Greenville club made a fortune, so when he had agreed to stay behind to help them out, they’d made sure he was paid well for the trouble. At first, it had felt as if they were paying for his loyalty, but lately he’d just accepted it was their way of showing their gratitude. So the thought of asking Brick for more money just because he was helping Eliza had never even crossed his mind. He’d more seen it as a good opportunity to clean the dump up without anyone commenting on it.
“I think seeing you in those yellow rubber gloves is payment enough. Did you pick the yellow shoes because you knew they would match?”
Eliza’s phone rang before she could answer, and she pulled off her gloves while glaring at him.
“You are so lucky,” she muttered and put the phone to her ear. “Eliza.”
Roach picked up the bucket and went to change the water so Eliza could speak in private. When he came back she was smiling.
“Can we finish this tomorrow? It was Vi, and she said she had an appointment for me. Some guy just called and cancelled, so she said she could do it now.”
“You’re getting ink?”
“Yes.”
“Really? What?” he asked. She hadn’t mentioned planning on doing ink, and even if she didn’t talk about everything, getting one’s first ink was usually a big deal for most people. “When did you decide that?”
“Long time ago, but I haven’t felt ready. But I talked to Vi last week, and she did some sketches for me. I’ll come by and show you when I’m done.”
“Okay. Want some company?”
“No.” She shook her head and took a deep breath. “I need to do this by myself. It’s…”
“I get it,” he smiled. “I admit, I’m curious as fuck. Sounds like a big deal.”
“It is. You’ll see.”
“How much pink is in it?”
Eliza laughed. “None at all. Just black, but that’s all I’m telling you. You’ll see tonight. And I promise we’ll finish here tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about it. Go. I’ll take care of this,” he said and pointed at the buckets and the dumbbells scattered all over the floor. “Not like you can pick them up anyway.”
“Okay, Sweetums. I’ll see you.”
“See you, Princess.”
She gave him the finger as she walked out.
He avoided looking at her ass, and instead he wondered about what ink she was getting. It sounded like a big thing for her, but he suspected it would probably be a flower, or something like that. He just hoped it wasn’t a tramp stamp.
oOo
Eliza
It had taken hours, and I’d thought it was horrible. Vi had told me that since it was all lines she’d used the thinnest needle the entire time, which made it worse, so I didn’t feel bad about thinking it had been pretty horrid. Actually, the first ten minutes were bad, then it got pretty okay, but after four hours it got really bad again. According to Vi, it was because the endorphins stopped pumping through my body around that time. The back of the arm, towards my armpit, had been the absolute worst place. It hit some nerves, and at times it felt like she was in my armpit.
It still looked so fucking awesome, though.
I ran up the stairs to Roach’s apartment and knocked on the door. I knew he was at home, I’d called to make sure, and he’d said he had half an hour until he had to get to work.
“Come on, Princess,” he said when he opened the door. “Flash me that ink.”
“I have to clean it. It’s still wrapped in plastic,” I said and pulled off my sweatshirt. I had a camisole underneath. “I’m borrowing your bathroom.”
“Just give it back.”
“Oh my god. That’s the kind of jokes my dad makes. They’re not funny.”
“Just clean the damn thing so I can see it.”
Vi had sent soap and lotion with me, so I gently cleaned the ink, but waited with the lotion until he’d seen it. The tattoo felt burning hot, and I wondered if that was normal. Before leaving the bathroom, I admired the tattoo in the mirror for a few seconds.
It was Medusa’s head; she had a beautiful face, and the snakes were wrapped around my shoulder. All of it was made out of just black lines, so it had a slight comic book feel to it, but in an arty way. That was how I had described what I wanted to Vi, ‘comic book like, but more arty,’ and it was just fucking perfect.
I knew I had a huge smile on my face when I exited the bathroom and turned to show Roach the tattoo.
“Oh shit,” he mumbled and moved closer for a better look. “That’s really fucking cool.”
“I know. It’s perfect.”
“Is it Medusa?”
“Yes.”
“Gonna tell me why?” he asked while still looking at it, and I was actually pretty eager to tell him.
“According to Ovid’s version of Medusa, and some others, Medusa was the youngest and most beautiful of the Gorgon sisters, and the only one who was a mortal. Her most beautiful feature was her hair. She served as a priestess in Athena’s temple, and had sworn to remain a virgin, but Poseidon desired her. According to some stories, that was actually why she took refuge in Athena’s temple to begin with, because she believed the goddess of virtue would protect her.”
“I have a feeling I know where this is going,” Roach said.
“Yeah.
One night Poseidon found her alone in the temple, and he raped her. Athena was furious, and she turned Medusa into a monster, and her most beautiful feature, her hair, was turned into snakes. Whenever a man looked at her, he would be turned into stone. When her sisters defended her, they were turned into monsters, too.”
“Why? I mean, why did Athena do that?”
“Depends on who you’re asking. Some say she was furious that Medusa had broken her promise to stay a virgin, others that she did it to make Medusa able to protect herself, and then there’s the theory that she was really angry at Poseidon, but when she couldn’t punish him, she instead punished Medusa.”
“Why would she blame Medusa?”
“You are aware of the fact that blaming the victim is pretty damn common even today?” I answered with a shrug. “You know, ‘why did you wear a thong’ and similar stupid questions.”
“That’s true. How do you know this? Is this another thing I missed because I never went to school?”
“No, we did a play about Medusa. I was one of her sisters. I can kind of relate. You know, just going crazy over the injustice and all that. Sort of turning into a monster. Or, I don’t know, your mind being a monster.”
I had decided early on that I wanted a tattoo of her. The beautiful girl who was violated, and then went mad and became a horror—a monster—who hated everyone. I couldn’t blame her, and I could definitely relate. Sometimes I wondered if it was all just a metaphor for how people looked at a person who’d been raped. It had happened quite a few times that people had frozen up and gone quiet when I entered a room. I’d felt like Medusa more than once.
“Didn’t someone cut off her head?” Roach asked.
“Yes. Perseus. That’s when it turned out that Poseidon had impregnated her, and Pegasus and Chrysaor are born. Either from the blood gushing from her throat, or when her blood hit the sea.”
“Isn’t Pegasus a horse?”
“Yes,” I laughed. “It’s not real, you know. Imagination is a beautiful thing, Sweetums.”
He looked at me with a smile. “It’s great ink. It suits you.”
“You thought I’d do a flower, or a cute little tramp stamp, didn’t you?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Ye of little faith,” I said, and reached for the lotion.
Roach laughed and shook his head while taking a step back. “Not to be an ass, but I have to go.”
“I know. I just wanted to show you. I’m gonna go home and show the others now. They’re waiting.”
“It’s great ink,” he said and reached for his coat and the cut. He waited while I finished putting the lotion on, and then he handed me my sweater. “Do you want some plastic on that?”
“No. I think it’ll be fine. I picked a black sweatshirt just in case.”
He followed behind the car until he had to take the turn towards the clubhouse and the strip club, but he waved when he did. I waved back, but I wasn’t sure if he saw me.
CHAPTER TEN
Things Happen
oOo
MAC WAS ALWAYS THE calm one, the quiet one, and he was the one she looked for when she wanted to talk. Everyone in their family talked all the time, but not Mac. He listened. He could sit still and listen to her for hours, and even if he didn’t comment much, she always knew he was paying attention. And he never seemed to think her problems were silly.
He was also the best for reading. His calmness was in his voice, too, so as opposed to when Mitch was reading, it didn’t sound as if Mac was in a hurry to finish. He kept a calm steady pace, letting her ask questions and look at the pictures. He never even held his finger ready to flip the page. She had to tell him it was okay, that she was done, and that was when he did it. He gave her time, took it at her pace, and never hurried along.
oOo
Eliza
I was at my weekly session with Doctor Flores, and even if I liked it better these days, even liked it a lot, the itching ink was driving me insane. She’d just said something, and I’d snapped.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not you. My tattoo is healing and it’s driving me insane.”
“You’ve had the tattoo done?”
“Yes.”
“The Medusa tattoo you talked about earlier?”
Doctor Flores and Vi were the only ones who’d known what tattoo I was planning on doing beforehand. I’d actually mentioned it to Doctor Flores months ago.
“Yes,” I answered.
In my head, I always thought of Doctor Flores as ‘Doctor Nolan,’ Esther’s psychiatrist in The Bell Jar, and she was awesome. There’s a scene in the book where Esther says she hates her mom, and Doctor Nolan just looks pleased and says, ‘I suppose you do.’ I’d really liked that scene before, but now I loved it. Maybe it was just how Doctor Nolan is so okay with how Esther feels about things, even if it happens to be that she hates her mom. She doesn’t write it off, or scold her, or anything. She just accepts it.
Sometimes that was what I liked best about Doctor Flores; she accepted my feelings. Too many people had told me to ‘not think about it too much’ or somehow indicated that what I said I was feeling wasn’t actually what I was feeling, but Doctor Flores never did. There were no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ feelings I could have as far as she was concerned. And they were all valid and real, worth taking notice of if that was what I wanted. And just like Roach, she never let me slip away; she made me deal. I’d been so angry with her, I’d screamed at her, and I’d cried and begged her to stop asking things—but she never let me slip away. Lately, I’d realized that even if she did push, she still somehow followed my lead. I was in charge, and it had been a relief to realize that.
“Did you do it alone?” she asked, because I had mentioned I wanted to do it by myself.
“I did. Mom wanted to come, and Dad, but I wanted to do it alone. I’m honestly not sure why.”
“Maybe you wanted it to be a step you took by yourself?”
“Maybe.” I thought about it. “I think… I was alone then, when it happened, and I know there’s a lot of people who’ve been there when I’ve tried to come back, and I just wanted one step that was mine alone. Does that make sense?”
“It does.”
“I mean, I know Vi was there, but she’s not really present when she works, and it was her job. She wasn’t there for me.” I thought about it some more. “I might just be trying to rationalize this in my head.”
“I don’t think you are. She wasn’t there as your support.”
“Okay. Thank you,” I said, and Doctor Flores smiled. “Do you want to see it?”
“Absolutely,” she answered. I pulled off my sweater and leaned forwards. “That’s… very beautiful.”
“You think?” It sounded honest, but she also sounded a bit surprised.
“Very. That’s a piece of art.”
“She’s very good.”
“I can see that.”
When I’d first mentioned the tattoo to Doctor Flores, it had been more because I wanted to talk to her about if it could become something that was just a bad memory etched into my skin. I didn’t want it to symbolize the actual rape, but leaving it behind me. Which I might not have done yet, not completely, but it felt like I’d reached that ‘new point,’ as she’d called it. A point where I believed I would become well.
“I wanna talk to you about Roach,” I said when the sweater was back on. “I know I talk about him a lot, but…”
“It’s not strange. He’s important to you, and from what I understand you spend a lot of time together.”
“Yeah. Anyway, about him being important, and so on…” I wasn’t sure how to put it. “I read about erotic transference.”
I wasn’t sure how to continue from there, either. Doctor Flores had told me to not google a lot about therapy, that it could just make me confused or make it worse. She’d been right about that.
“Are you attracted to Roach, Eliza?”
“Yes. Or… No… I mean, I
don’t want to have sex with him. I think…” I sighed and looked at her. “I shouldn’t have googled that, should I?”
“Roach isn’t your therapist, Eliza. He’s a friend. He’s been there for you to talk to and to support you, but he’s not your therapist. It’s natural that you’ve developed strong feelings for him.”
“But does that mean they’re not real?”
“Of course they’re real. Is that what you’re worried about?”
“I’m worried about a lot of things, but that’s one of the things. That I’m just feeling this right now because I’m desperately looking for someone who accepts me the way I am.”
“Everyone is looking for someone who accepts them, Eliza. Your case is maybe more extreme than other cases, but that’s still what everyone does. Why has this come up now? Did something happen to make you realize how you feel about him?”
“I saw him with another woman, and… it bugged me.”
“He has a girlfriend?”
“No. It wasn’t…” This was a part of biker life that I would’ve really preferred to not explain to her. “There are girls at the club. Guess you could call them groupies. And… You know.”
She smiled. “I think I get the picture. So she was one of those girls?”
“Yes. She called him Sweetums.” I sighed. “Has he been to see you?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“Just, I know that Mom and Dad have been, and some of the others… So, I thought… You know.”
“I know, but no, he hasn’t been here. If he wants to come, I’ll see him.” She leaned forward. “He’s a person you trust, Eliza, and from what I’ve heard he’s been a good friend. It’s not strange.”
“But could it be bad for me?”
“How would it be bad for you?”
“If it’s just some weird feelings that are coming from… Fuck, I don’t know. If it’s just that I’m super-dependent on him and don’t want to lose him.”
“You know, transference is usually described as a person transferring feelings they have for one person to another person, and not just attraction. For example, if you have a Mom you don’t like, and your boss reminds you of her so you dislike her for that reason alone. The problem with erotic transference when it comes to therapists, and the reason that it’s not real love, is that a person is actually obsessed with the idea that another person can give them something they’ve been missing in their life. And the therapist might be the first person they’ve felt ever fully understood by. It can be a very overwhelming feeling that becomes embodied by the therapist.”
Equilibrium: A Marauders Interlude Page 12