Falsies (The Makeup Series Book 1)

by Olive East

  I got up from my nest-mess and headed straight for the kitchen and into the silverware drawer.

  After selecting the first knife my fingers touched, one quick yet calculated action destroyed all the progress I’d made. The worst part was it didn’t even make me feel better. If I was going to ruin myself, it should’ve made me feel better for at least a couple seconds.

  I steadied my hand with wildly misplaced determination and tried repeating my mantra. It was infuriatingly useless. My soul was telling me I didn’t want to do it, that it was a mistake, but my heart just hurt too damn much.

  Everything hurt too much and the only one who could ever make me feel better was my daddy. But he wasn’t here, so I did the unthinkable. All I wanted was to feel close to him, even if it was only for a few fleeting seconds.

  It was just one cut, one small cut I could easily pass off as an accident, or at least that’s what I told myself. But it wasn’t an accident. I very intentionally dragged the knife in a line across the transparent skin of my lower arm.

  My mom never should’ve told me that was how he did it. That was information I didn’t need, because obviously I couldn’t handle it, but she didn’t think of that. She was so eager to dump half the burden, or more, on me that she couldn’t wait till I knew too. Moms are supposed to raise their children with love, it even says that in the dictionary—I checked. They aren’t supposed to bang on their daughter’s door at 3:52 in the afternoon to tell her all the gory details of her father’s untimely and self-inflicted passing.

  I’d only ever cut myself one other time. My intention was never to die; I didn’t even want to hurt myself. My intention was only to feel closer to my dad, who I missed so much. One night, when the pain of losing him was too much to bear, the idea to do it struck me. It wouldn’t leave me alone. It nagged at me like my mother.

  Why would I hurt myself? How could that make me feel better?

  It was so dumb, I knew that, but I thought it’d make me feel connected to him. I only cut my left arm in one place in one small line, but it was enough for everyone to think I was suicidal. It’s not like I couldn’t understand; I got why my mom, Sadie, and Aaron would think that, but I just wanted my dad back.

  It didn’t work.

  I cleaned, bandaged, and covered the cut with the efficiency of an emergency room nurse. Then that outside force took over again and I found myself wanting to reach out to Aaron just like I used to do when shit got too real.

  What I really wanted was to go back to Brooks’s like we planned, like nothing happened, but I couldn’t. He was a real man, a grown up with a good job, a nice house, and a luxury car. Not to mention jaw-dropping physical features and a loving soul. I, on the other hand, was sitting on the floor of my dingy apartment’s kitchen, bruised inside and out, with fake lashes ripped from my eyes.

  I belonged with him about as much as mermaids belong in Pittsburgh.

  And that doubt was what kept me from going back to him. The cut, that damn cut, was my literal and figurative scarlet letter. Any small amount of hope I ever had of being with him went out the window when I put that knife to my skin. So I decided to do the most natural thing in the world to me—avoid everything.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I didn’t answer my phone. That wasn’t hard because no one was calling—not even Aaron. It wasn’t clear to me what that meant, because I still had no way of knowing if Sadie had heard us fighting that afternoon. I had even less of a clue why Aaron had such a problem with me spending time with Brooks.

  Ideas of why he wouldn’t like that raced through my mind, but I got rid of them as quickly as possible. My heart hurt to think about the possibilities, so I didn’t.

  I went to class and the shop, which was fine. Working through the pain was my forte and all the guys were happy to see my darker side come out. They had me do a lot of commissions and word of mouth was really getting around. Young and Beautiful was booking appointments months and months in advance for all the morbid tattoo fans out there.

  Career and future plans-wise, I was doing extremely well.

  Unless I had a spare moment.

  My classmates thought I was gunning for first in the class, which I wasn’t opposed to. Maybe I would become a famous artist and get a nicer apartment, and a nicer car, which could lead to nicer friends, which could lead to a nicer life. I’d just keep going and going until I was someone entirely different.

  Except it was never that easy, was it? I’d still always be me and nothing besides a lobotomy would change that.

  My disappearing act went well for two weeks. On Friday night I dragged my feet to stay as late as possible at the shop. I was seconds away from offering the night crew help cleaning when I forced myself to walk out the double glass doors and into the wintery night.

  Young and Beautiful wasn’t in the best neighborhood. Like any tattoo shop worth its salt it was nestled between the hip, up-and-coming neighborhood and the part of town people rolled their windows up when they had to drive through.

  The parking lot was dark, too dark for an unaccompanied young lady to feel comfortable, but not much scared me.

  Brooks was waiting for me at my Accord with what looked like ten thousand roses.

  Maybe some things did still scare me.

  “Hi,” he said in a whisper once I got close enough to him.

  “Hi.”

  “You didn’t leave me much of a choice, Ollie.” He shrugged. “No phone number—which it’s my fault for forgetting to ask for—no address, you stopped coming over. I didn’t know how to find you. So, I’m here.” He awkwardly pushed the bush of flowers into my chest, forcing me to take them.

  “You’re here.”

  “I’m here.”

  I must’ve dropped the flowers to the pavement, because next thing I knew my arms were so tightly clasped around his neck my feet left the ground.

  “I missed you,” I told him before I could think not to. This whole time I couldn’t put my finger on what I missed most about him and that was it. When I was with him I didn’t have to think so hard.

  “I should’ve come sooner,” he told my hair.

  We stood out in the parking lot for so long I almost froze. Or maybe I really did, at least for a little while anyway. I didn’t care and he didn’t move. I could’ve stayed there forever with him, just in that moment before he got angry, disappointed, or over me. I didn’t even want him to speak. Everything was utterly perfect and I was utterly defective, but the silence kept the charade.

  Eventually he said, “Let’s go home.”

  I nodded into his chest and attempted to get in my car.

  “Oh no. I’m not letting you drive away. Get in there,” he said, pointing to his car. Brooks picked up my lovely white roses, which were a bit of a mess, and held open the passenger side door for me.

  “Fine.” I smiled a real megawatt smile.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Being at his house made me wonder why I didn’t just go back in the first place—until I remembered exactly why. Brooks took my coat to hang in the hall closet and I pulled the sleeves of my black sweater down until they covered my palms. I held them in place with my fingertips.

  “Still cold?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.”

  First, I sat on the leather chair, but that quickly became too uncomfortable. Then I moved to the couch, all while Brooks was in the other room. The sound of him shuffling things around in the kitchen let me know I had a few minutes to myself. I took my shoes off and compulsively checked my cut, thinking it’d somehow disappear. But when it didn’t, I grew so disgusted with myself I could’ve just ran away.

  I absentmindedly patted Boden until he got fed up with my neurotic tendencies and moved on to the other room.

  Brooks eventually came back into the living room with two gargantuan mugs. He must’ve gone from the hospital to the flower shop before surprising me in the parking lot. He still had on his Dockers and a dress shirt, and when he handed me the
mug of chicken noodle soup the shirt tugged at him in all the right places.

  He put his mug down on the coffee table before he draped the thick hunter green blanket from the ottoman over my legs. Once I was all wrapped up, he sat beside me.

  We both took a few silent sips of the hot soup.

  “I don’t want to make you talk if you don’t want to”—he brought back his eggshell voice—“but what happened, Ollie?”

  “I don’t know.” I took another sip.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  I laughed without a single hint of humor. “No.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No.”

  The vision of me reflected in his eyes was a scared doe. It was hard to tell if he was holding a rifle, though.

  He took the mug from my hands and I suddenly felt naked. “Ollie.” He cupped my face, gently, so gently. “Do you want to be here with me now?” I nodded but couldn’t manage to look him in the eye despite our closeness. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I curled into his body, just completely fell into him, and he held me tightly in response. It wasn’t lost on me that I fit there completely and totally.

  In that moment I tried so hard to be normal—happy. The girl with the amazing boyfriend and confidence to spare, the girl who had a great best friend and loved deep conversations with her mother, at least the girl with no scars—but I just couldn’t.

  No matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t that girl and I never would be. The only thought I could concentrate on for more than a passing second was how much I loved being with him and that was an unacceptable thing to feel. I could never keep him and his absence would be something I would never survive.

  “It’s okay.” He kissed my hair and clasped my hand. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” He was so naïve he actually believed what he was saying.

  I shook my head into his chest. “Probably not.” He had no idea.

  “You’re back here, aren’t you? That’s already a big step to things being okay…better than okay. Do you have any idea how much I was looking forward to coming home to you? Do you have any idea how much it hurt for you to not be here?”

  “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to be here?”

  “No. Tell me. Show me.”

  I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I wasn’t expecting him to push me back onto the couch. I wasn’t expecting him to pull the blanket off me in a flash, and I really wasn’t expecting him to get on top of me. The second I was under him I knew I wanted him, I always knew I wanted him.

  My hands, my greedy hands, couldn’t wait to feel his skin. I pulled his shirt off, ripping buttons as I did, without thinking of the chain reaction I would be starting. With his hands on me, teasing me, tugging on the hem of my sweater, it was impossible to think of anything else but being with him. All my numbingly awful loneliness was about to disappear in a way only Brooks could make it.

  But then I remembered I’m not the kind of girl who can be easily loved.

  “Don’t,” I told him as he pried my sweater out from under my fingers.

  “Hmm?” he murmured as he continued to touch me all over.

  “Stop it.” I shoved at his solid frame and he stopped touching me, but he didn’t get off of me.

  “What’s wrong?” He was sort of smiling but I could tell he didn’t mean it.

  “Let me go.”

  I was toying with him, wasn’t I? Why did I even agree to come home with him?

  He leaned back but still wasn’t completely off me. “Okay. Was I hurting you?”

  Brooks was trying so hard to downplay the situation. I could see it all over his face, because it was the same expression I always had when I was with Sadie and she was weirdly upset over something stupid like the store not having her size and about to cause a scene.

  “No. I just don’t want you to touch me.” Just like that, I saw his heart break.

  Brooks’s reaction was so strong it physically hurt me. He gasped in a small way, like he heard what I was saying but couldn’t believe it, and his brow furrowed. He took his hands, his perfect long-fingered hands, and pulled them away from me and to his sides while his eyes glistened.

  All I wanted to do was hold him and tell him I loved him, but as soon as I thought the words I knew I had to be even crueler to him. He deserved the best this life had to offer and I was a far cry from the best of anything. It had to stop before he did something crazy like develop an attachment to me.

  “Take me back to my car.” I spoke as coldly as I could, which was pretty frigid.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s what I want.”

  “I’m not buying it.”

  “Fine.” I shrugged. “I’ll just go across the street.” I kicked at him as I got up, but I didn’t think it fazed him. He just sat there watching me, calling my bluff. I could tell he didn’t believe I’d go to Aaron or Sadie. It was the last place I wanted to be, and I was already in the only place I wanted to be, but I’d show him.

  I shoved my feet into my boots, barely, and stomped out the front door. And I really mean stomped. By the time I made it to the second stupid step, my tears tried to escape through my lashes.

  I was so impulsive, so damn impulsive. What the hell was wrong with me? I loved him so I was running away from him. Being around Aaron and Sadie made me miserable, so I was running to them.

  “Ollie,” he called calmly from his front door. My heart sped up to hear my name flutter from his mouth. He said it like he knew I loved him. He said it like he knew I’d stop if he asked me to. He said it like maybe he loved me too.

  That was the moment my almost-on shoe didn’t quite make it off the bottom step. I tried to catch myself, but the patch of ice my other foot hit did not help. I fell hard to the pavement.

  Dramatics I loved, but ice I did not.

  My hands mostly caught me, which saved my head, but my palms stung like hell. I sat on my knees, in the dark, in the front yard, and wished the ground would swallow me whole. Would that be too much to ask for? Sink holes are real and terrifying, and all I needed was an Ollie-sized one.

  It didn’t hurt—well, not that badly—but I felt like shit.

  It took a minute, but Brooks eventually picked me up. It was like it was nothing to him, even though I wasn’t the thinnest girl around. He carried me up the steps, into the house, and sat me on the kitchen counter, all the while being so careful with me.

  Neither of us said a word, and I hoped it’d stay that way. I couldn’t look at him and I didn’t know how he had the stomach to look at me. Maybe he didn’t know what I did, but I had already showed him I was insane.

  “Let me see,” he prodded as he tried to pry my clasped hands apart.

  I shook my head and pulled my sleeves down further, stretching them out beyond repair as well as staining them with my blood.

  “Ollie, I’m a doctor.”

  “Not yet, and I’m not an animal,” I said, meeting his eyes. It was a mistake.

  “Aren’t you, though?” He smiled a real smile and it was beautiful, probably the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I frowned more deeply. “Roll up your sleeves.”

  And that would be when I found my way out.

  Maybe I wasn’t strong enough to end things, but I knew I could make him want to end them. I always had a knack for making a bad situation worse, but this time my talent would be useful. My past would never leave me; the mistake I made when I was younger and foolish and full of emotions I didn’t know what to do with would always be with me. And not only that, I’d just done it again because I was still full of emotions I didn’t know what to do with.

  Slowly I pushed my sleeve up. I was surprised by how much blood there was on my palms, but it didn’t bother the doctor. Even though the lighting in his kitchen was soft and subtle, my cut buzzed neon.

  The old one was mostly a dull line, barely visible and just a hair lower than th
e new. So invisible I thought that he wouldn’t have noticed it before when we were having sex. But the newest one was so obviously what it was. Anyone, everyone, even without previous knowledge, would know what I’d done.

  He pulled me off the counter, and for the briefest second I thought my plan worked and he was going to escort me out. I tried to imagine leaving his house knowing I’d never return. The idea was so painful it was like I was being gutted.

  But instead of that nightmare becoming a reality, Brooks wrapped his hands around my waist and turned me around, guiding my hips to the sink. He stood behind me and pressed himself into my backside as he adjusted the water temperature to a warm trickle.

  I was trapped between him and the granite counter, not sure which was harder, but I knew I didn’t want to escape. He thoroughly washed my palms, using only his hands as a cloth, and I didn’t know what to make of his actions.

  When he was satisfied with his work, he turned me around, lifted me back up on the counter, and then left the room. If I was smart I would’ve taken the chance to run, but I didn’t. He came back pretty quickly with a box of bandages, nudged my legs apart with his, and stood in between them as he gingerly and expertly covered up all the scrapes.

  Brooks could’ve been a people doctor. The way he worked was so hypnotic and methodical. I knew they were just everyday scrapes, but his surgeon hands were so nimble and wise.

  Looking down at my battered palms made me realize I should be careful with my instruments. My hands should be treated with the same regard as my pencil or my machine at the shop, but instead I beat them up.

  After he was finished, he took both my bandage-covered palms in his. Because I didn’t want to meet his gaze, I kept my focus on our hands. His, all long-fingered, unscathed, and immaculate even though he’d been working on me. Mine, stubby, with chipping nail polish, and now scratched to hell. I didn’t need the metaphor to beat me over the head.