by London Casey
“Flowers?”
He pointed to the dining room table.
There was a bouquet of colorful flowers sitting there.
“I don’t…”
“You left last night. I went to get pizza. I came back. You were gone. You fucking left.”
“I have a client right now,” I said. I was good at lying on the fly. At least, until it bit me in the ass. Or across the face. “I get weird hours.”
“Weird hours? So, leaving was for work?”
“Yes,” I said. “I had some pictures to take care of.”
That wasn’t a lie.
“Do you like the flowers?” Mitch asked.
I looked at them. They were brightly colored.
I nodded. “Yes. They’re beautiful.”
“You fucking hate them.”
“I didn’t say that, Mitch.”
“I see it in your face.”
“I’m…when you show up like this…”
“You don’t like it,” he said. He stepped back to the table. He gently put the camera down. “You hate it. You hate me.”
“I never said that, Mitch. You know what I don’t like. The things you do sometimes.”
Mitch jumped forward. I jumped back. There was distance between us but never enough.
“See? That’s why. You have to stay in line. You have to appreciate me. And sometimes I just like it. So fucking deal with it, Hazel. Just deal with it.”
He started to yell. I felt the panic rippling through me. I envisioned Maddox sitting outside the apartment, then busting in. Saving me. Hurting Mitch the way Mitch hurt me so many times.
No, this was my problem. My battle. I enabled this. I enabled so much of it.
“Stop,” I said. “You have to stop, Mitch. We don’t live together. You can’t come here and break into my apartment.”
“Break in? I was let in. You can’t even call the fucking police if you wanted to. And that’s what you want to do, right? You want them to cuff me and take me away.”
Mitch got closer to me. So close that he was able to reach out and touch me. Which he did. Touching my face. Making me feel ill.
“But here’s the truth,” he whispered. “You can’t fucking stop me. You don’t have the heart or the guts to say anything. Because somewhere inside you…you know you deserve it. If it was that wrong, you wouldn’t stand for it.”
I took a deep breath. “Mitch…”
“You know I gave you this life,” he said. His hand touched my jaw. Slowly, he started to increase his grip. It hurt. “You said you wanted to be a photographer. Who helped you?”
I nodded. “Yes. I know, Mitch.”
“Who fucking helped you?”
“You did, Mitch,” I said. “You did.”
“And then you took off. You left me. You wanted nothing to do with me. You took my money and left. Like a fucking whore.”
Mitch squeezed my jaw tighter.
I started to shiver with fear.
“Ain’t that right, Hazel? Are you my whore?”
I shook my head.
Mitch didn’t like that. He forced my head up and down. “Say yes. Say yes to me, whore. You’re always my whore. Forever my whore.”
He let my jaw go.
“Do it,” he said. “Are you my whore?”
I nodded.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Mitch…I’m your…”
Mitch flexed his shoulders. I let out a yell and jumped back, fearing he was going to hit me. Instead, he laughed.
“Fine,” he said. “You won’t say it? Then I’ll show you it.”
His hands grabbed my waist and he turned me around. I let out another yell but his hand slid across my mouth. He wasn’t big and wasn’t strong, but he was bigger and stronger than me. Pinned against my own door, the path to freedom, I felt Mitch press his body against mine.
“If you scream again, I’ll make it so you can’t scream for a long time, got it?”
I nodded.
His hand slid away from my mouth. I wanted to vomit.
“Tell me you’re my fucking whore, Hazel.”
“I’m your whore,” I said, my voice weak.
“Good girl,” he whispered before he kissed my hair.
Then he broke away from me.
I quickly turned, sliding to the corner of room next to the door.
He backed up, showing his hands. “Hey, I’m not here for that. I’ll get that when I’m ready. And you won’t try anything funny, right?”
I nodded.
Mitch smiled. “See? I knew we were meant to be together.”
He backed up to the table and grabbed the flowers in the small purple vase.
“Mitch…”
“Shut up,” he said. “You don’t want me here. You hate these flowers? Fine.”
Without hesitation, Mitch threw the vase against the wall. Glass shattered. A large wet spot ran across the wall. Flowers fell to the flower.
I let out a whimper.
“And I know how to fix this,” he said. “Take back what’s mine. You left me last night for a client? To take a fucking picture? Fine. Let’s see how well you do now…”
Mitch reached into his back pocket and took out a hammer.
Another whimper escaped me, louder. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I’d had my warning about screaming.
In my head, I pictured him breaking my fingers. Doing something to make it so I couldn’t hold the camera.
But I was wrong.
Really wrong.
Mitch turned and slid the camera to the edge of the table. He brought the hammer up high in the air and looked at me. He snarled his lip with that evil grin of his. Then he brought the hammer down to the camera. A piece of black plastic flew off on impact. He brought it back up and did the same thing again and again…and again.
The thuds were loud and damaging.
I wanted to attack him but couldn’t. I was so mad at myself for letting this happen. But it was all I knew. It was what my mother showed me, whether she meant to or not.
Finally, Mitch hit the camera one more time, and it fell to the floor. He tucked the hammer into his back pocket. Then he stomped on the remains of the camera a few times, just for good measure.
“I guess I’ll be going now,” he said, suddenly calm.
He walked to the door and paused to turn his head and looked at me.
“You’ll never leave me for good,” he whispered. “We both know that. Good luck with your work.”
Just like that, Mitch was gone again.
I slowly lowered myself to the floor, still in the corner. I stared across the living room at the pieces of my camera. That was my career. That was how I paid my bills. That was how I brought myself happiness.
And now it was in ruins.
Pieces.
Garbage.
Way beyond fixing.
Its destiny was to be scooped up and thrown into the trash.
My stomach flipped and I grabbed for my mouth.
At that second, my phone started to ring.
I looked at the screen and saw the name Tate - St. Skin.
I ignored the call and my eyes filled with tears.
The worst part of it all was that Mitch wasn’t the first person to do this to me. I swore to myself he would be the last. But he had just come back again.
How many times would I let him come back and do this?
I didn’t know.
You’re stronger than this, Hazel. I know you are. You are stronger than this. Got that? Do you hear me, Hazel with the green eyes…
My eyes opened wide.
The pep talk voice in my head echoed from me to someone else.
I heard Maddox talking to me…
20
HAZEL
YEARS AGO
The first time it happened, I ran. That was my instinct. Run. Go to a safe place. I saw myself going into my closet, grabbing Wink, fumbling for the flashlight, and waiting. O
r sitting on my head with cheap headphones on my ears, my CD spinning and skipping because it was old and scratched. Looking at picture books. Any pictures. Whatever could take me away.
But this was all directed at me now.
My cheek stung like I had sunburn. The kind you get when you don’t realize you’re burned until it starts stinging. That kind of feeling.
And I ran.
From the living room toward the stairs. I took the stairs two at a time until I stubbed my stupid pinky toe. I yelled in pain, lost my balance, and smashed my shins against the wooden stairs.
Then he was right behind me.
His hands grabbing me.
I wiggled and screamed, but he squeezed tight, put his lips to my ear and whispered shhhh…over and over until I calmed down.
For a second, I thought he was someone else.
That someone had come to save me.
Then I looked back and saw him.
He was the same guy, just a different face. A different version.
“I didn’t want to do that,” he whispered. He held me. “I really didn’t, Hazel. But dammit, girl, sometimes you get so…dammit. I have no choice, okay? You have to realize that. I had no choice. This is how it has to be. You like what I do for you, right? How much I love you? The things I buy you? Right?”
He shook me.
I was scared.
I nodded. “Yes. I…yes.”
“Good. That’s a good thing. That means we’re happy together. This doesn’t have to happen again, Hazel. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
My cheek was on fire.
I sat there as he held me, rocking me, whispering whatever into my ear. I just stared straight ahead. I watched as a small black ant appeared from nowhere, climbing up a step. To me, the step was small. Just a step. But to the ant, it was huge. A massive undertaking. And that made sense. To everyone looking at me and Lance, it was a relationship. This tall, strong, handsome man with his girlfriend. I came up to his chest, we looked good together, and he knew how to make me feel special around other people. I ignored the rough edges for the sake of the man I thought he was. Plus, everyone has a past. Everyone deserves a second chance.
The problem?
I was the ant. Climbing the impossible task. And the second chance? That was the first of many second chances.
When he let me go, he walked halfway down the stairs and stopped.
“I don’t have to tell you this, Hazel, but I will. For your own good. What happens in this house stays between us. This is our fucking business. Got that?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“What was that, Hazel?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Good. If my business leaves my house…” Lance walked to the little stand at the front door. He grabbed my keys. I had a keychain that you looked into, and there was a picture of me and Donna at the beach from last summer. Slowly, Lance took the keychain off and held it up to look through the small hole. He smiled. Then squeezed the keychain as hard as he could, the plastic stood no chance under his strength. When he was done, he dropped the pieces of plastic to the floor and stepped on them. “We don’t want that, right?”
I shook my head.
Lance whistled and walked away.
I sat there for a little while longer and looked for the ant, but it was gone.
When I slid down the stairs, my pinky toe throbbing, my shins in pain, my cheek stinging, I grabbed for the broken keychain.
Right then, I thought of an excuse.
The first of many excuses.
But for as weak as I was in that moment, I was strong in another.
So strong…that I would do something that would forever make me a fugitive.
21
MADDOX
PRESENT DAY
I wiped the ink away and turned my head a little. My neck was stiff from a shit night of sleep. My head was worn out from too much thinking. Battling with myself as to whether I should open up to Hazel a little more than I wanted to do. I never got involved this deep. And to think it was with a woman who invaded my privacy, a woman I hadn’t slept with yet. This was like me from an alternate universe.
I shut my eyes, hit the mental reset button, and went back to work.
A little more shading, and the half-sleeve was just about done.
When I sat back and exhaled, I felt the sweat on my forehead. There were times that I got so deep into tattooing, my body went numb until I stopped and realized I had been hunched over for hours, my eyes working so intently, my brain focused, my hand and wrist sore from staying steady and producing a piece of art that would forever remain on skin.
That was my only work for the day so far. My calendar was open, but that only meant that when a walk-in came in, it was going to be thrown at me.
And lately, the walk-ins had been getting more and more. People were willing to wait hours to have one of us ink up their skin. Tate started to pull back on appointments, which pissed me off. I didn’t like to be put on the spot with things. And I didn’t like when people just picked a tattoo for the sake of having a tattoo. It was supposed to have meaning and purpose.
But I couldn’t argue with Tate.
I couldn’t argue with anyone.
I stood at the front of the shop, breathing in the sounds and the sights of the place.
“What the fuck is running through your mind?” Prick asked me as he leaned over the glass counter. He had a big-ass lollipop in his mouth, and his cheek stuck out like a squirrel stocking up for winter.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Bullshit on you.” He pushed off the counter and pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. “What’s going on with Tate lately? Seems like he’s…”
“About to sell us all out?” I asked.
“Bingo,” Prick said. “You know anything?”
“No. Not my job.”
“Well, it’s all our jobs.”
“Prick, you’d do great on TV. People would eat you up.”
“True. I’d end up getting more ass than I could handle.”
“Is that possible?”
“Nope,” he said with a grin. “What about you? You fooling around with the camera lady yet?”
“No,” I said. “Nothing’s-”
“I call bullshit,” Prick said.
“Fine. You want the truth? I was raised by my great Aunt Ada. Seriously. She was way too damn old to take a punk like me under her wing. But she did. She tried hard and messed up on a lot of things. She’s still alive. But she’s not all that great anymore. She refuses to sell her house and won’t get help. I talked to her last night for a little bit, and I just…I just have this sense of goodbyes. Feel like talking some more?”
“Nope,” Prick said. He slapped me on the back.
“Thanks, asshole.”
He spun around and put his back to the window. He jammed the lollipop back into his mouth and folded his arms. He sucked on the damn thing like a fool, then popped it back out.
I told myself mentally that if he did that one more time I was going to take the lollipop and beat him over the head with it.
“Seriously though, I didn’t know about your great aunt.”
“I don’t talk about her.”
“You don’t talk about anything.”
“Do you wanna share feelings, Prick? Get a bottle of wine and some tissues to cry into?”
“Just trying to be a friend,” he said.
“Yeah, right,” I said.
“Well, if this has nothing to do with our beautiful photographer-on-demand, maybe I should show her something she could really remember. Without the camera. Catch my drift, Maddox?”
I balled up fists. I was well aware he was trying to get me to do something.
Lucky for both of us, Tate came out of his office. He looked pissed. And his eyes were glaring right at me.
“What did you do now?” Prick whispered to me.
“Nothing,” I said. “Tate…”
“Well, t
hat’s one thing out of the way.”
“What?” I asked.
“Hazel.”
“What about her?” I asked.
“She’s not going to be taking pictures here anymore,” Tate said.
“Shit,” Prick said. “You canned her?”
“You fired her?” I yelled.
Everyone in the shop looked at me.
Tate showed his teeth like an angry dog. “My office. Now.”
I followed him as though I was in trouble. But I hadn’t done anything. Shit. Unless he found out about me going to her apartment. And that I went back again. And that I kissed her. But fuck that though, that was my business.
“Hey, Tate, listen,” I said. “Whatever is going on, it has nothing to do with me. I can’t see how you can fire her.”
Tate stopped at his desk and turned, sitting on it. “Jesus Christ, man, first thing you need to do is untangle your panties.”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t fucking fire her,” Tate said. “Her work is amazing. I wanted to keep her on for way longer. She called today and quit.”
“She quit? Why?”
“Said her camera was broken.”
“Her camera is broken? She can’t quit because of that.”
“No camera, no pictures,” Tate said. “That’s like us running out of ink. Speaking of which…fuck…I need to get these orders together. It’s been hectic.”
“Wait,” I said. “How about you tell me why it’s hectic.”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?” I asked. I felt like I just took a one-two blow to the face from a prized fighter. “So you’re planning something right under our noses.”
“Maddox…”
“And now Hazel quits. Great.”
“What’s it to you?”
I stared at Tate. I guess shit around St. Skin floated like rumors in high school. Either that or it was obvious there was a little tension between myself and Hazel. Either way, she didn’t need to quit.
“I gotta go,” I said.
“You’re on the schedule.”
“We have no schedule,” I said.
“Walk-ins.”
“Watch me walk out,” I said.
“Hey, Maddox. I’ve never seen you get this way over a woman before.”