by Nicki Rowe
When Neil died I had became so angry. I hated my parents for not seeing that Neil needed help. I hated Neil for dying. I hated the world for taking away my older brother. I also hated myself for being gay. I turned my anger on Diego, even though he didn't deserve it. He had never done anything, except for being my friend and the boy I had a crush on, and it was that—the crush I had on him that made me so angry.
I bullied Diego for almost two years. I hated myself for it. I had been Diego's friend, and I had turned on him just because I couldn't handle my feelings towards other men. I had stopped bullying Diego when Declan kicked me and my dumbass friends from high school out of his restaurant for beating up Diego on the patio of Fred's BBQ. I had looked at Diego bleeding and curled up into himself on the ground. He looked up at me with so much fear in his eyes, I felt bile rise in my throat. I knew in that moment that I had gone too far. I begged my Mom and Dad to move me out of Glensville even though I only had a few more months left in school, and I finished out my senior year in our new home in Seattle.
I turned shit around after we moved to Seattle. I channeled my anger into writing, and won a few prizes for my sci-fi short stories. I came out to my parents a few days after my eighteenth birthday, they accepted me and told me they still loved me. I met a great guy a few weeks after I graduated from high school, and though things didn't work out we were still friends. I forgave my parents for not seeing that Neil was doing drugs. I forgave Neil for overdosing, and I forgave myself for being ashamed of my sexuality. I just couldn't get the image of Neil dead in our bathtub out of my head.
I trudged up the stairs to my fourth floor apartment as I thought about everything that has changed in my life, and unlocked my door. My apartment was small, and there wasn't much in the way of furniture. There was a couch and TV in the living room. A small kitchen with my coffee pot and microwave sitting on the ugly green counters. I made a mental note to do the dishes in the morning. Off of the kitchen was a narrow hall that led to the bathrrom and my bedroom. It wasn't much, but it was home.
Mom had been upset when I had told her I wanted to move back to Glensville when she wanted me to follow her and my father to Rhode Island, but I wanted to be closer to Neil's grave. Since Diego and I were friends again I wanted to be closer to him as well, and build up the friendship I had managed to destroy five years ago. I didn't want to move so far away from Neil, but I also didn't want to stay in Seattle by myself. I had friends in the big city, but I never considered it my home. Glensville has always been my home, and I felt like I needed to be here right now.
A meek mewing came from my bedroom. I found my cat, Gracie, curled up in her basket. I had found her at the no-kill animal shelter a few months before. She was missing a leg and her tail had been snipped. Poor girl had been curled up in the corner of the kennel at the shelter, and stared up at me with her wide yellow eyes. I knew I wanted to take her home the second I had laid eyes on her.
“Hello, pretty girl,” I said to her, and rubbed behind her ears.
I turned to my desk and booted up my computer. I worked from home, taking freelance editing jobs and tutoring students in English. I didn't make much, but it was enough to get by. If I really got strapped for cash Patrick Vaughn would let me work in his gas station and pay me under the table. I pulled up the book I was working on, and started to get to work. I vowed to myself that I would write 5,000 words a week, and so far I was doing a pretty good job.
I wrote until the sun was beginnning to come up, and the birds were chirping. I stood from my desk, popped my spine, and then crawled into bed. Hopefully I wouldn't dream about Neil. I hated when I dreamed about Neil.
Chapter Two
Axe
Thorns and Roses Ink had been open for about two weeks, and I have had back to back appointments. I haven't had as many appointments as Grizz—he was a world renowned artist, and I was just a kid that walked in off the street four years ago that Grizz took a chance on—people came from all over the world to get tattooed by him. While I was good with black and gray and photo realism, and Mills' specialty was script work and sick horror tattoos; Grizz was well rounded. He could do everything from realism to new school to American Traditional to portraits. The man was a fucking genius. We prided ourselves on cleanly outlined and detailed tattoos. No one ever left our shop with shit work.
I had just finished doing some flowers on a woman's thigh and ass, and was looking forward to the three hour break until my next appointment. I could have gone home, but I preferred hanging in the shop. My apartment was too quiet. I lived alone, and I sort of hated the solace. Man, was I fucked up? I hated being around too many people, and I hated being alone. What the fuck was wrong with me?
The bell jingled over the door announcing that Grizz's three-o-clock was here. I came out of my work station and rounded the corner to find Mason with the hippie that had gotten engaged at Carter and Diego's party.
“Hey,” I said, lamely. Going around the front counter to look at the name of the man getting the tattoo: Edward Knight. “You Edward?”
The hippie nodded. “I have an appointment with Grizz.”
Grizz came around the corner and slapped the man on the back. “Edward! Come on back! Your fiancé is going to love this tattoo.”
I looked at the man's ink and recognized some of Grizz's work. Then I remembered the man was one of Grizz's regulars. He had been coming to Grizz to get work done for years.
“You can go back with them,” I said to Mason.
He was still standing in the doorway looking unsure of himself. He took a step forward.....
Everything seemed to happen so quickly I didn't even have time to react. One second Mason was standing, and the next he was on the ground. I rounded the counter and went to him.
I stuck a hand out and pulled him to his feet.
“Oops,” Mason said, blushing. “That's embarrassing.”
“What the hell did you even trip over?” I asked, looking at the floor to see if there was a loose cord or something. There was nothing. It seemed Mason had tripped over air.
I'm not going to find that adorable. I'm not going to find that adorable. I. Am. Not. Going to find that adorable.
I felt my traitorous mouth quirk into a miniature smile.
“There it is!” Mason said, his eyes lighting up. “I thought you only knew how to scowl.”
I snorted. “I'm a man of many talents.”
Something hot flashed in Mason's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“Speaking of talents,” Mason said. “You accept walk-ins?”
“Not really,” I said. I could feel my stupid fucking mouth trying to smile again. “But for you I will make an exception.”
Mason fanned his hand over his heart like southern women in western movies. “Be still my beating heart!” he feigned dramatically in a horrible Texan accent.
“Are you done screwing around?” I tried to plaster the scowl on my face, but there was something about Mason that made me want to smile. Nothing ever made me want to smile.
“I'm never done screwing around,” Mason replied seriously. “Take me to your lair.”
Amused, I shook my head at him and led him back to my station. We all had individual rooms, and the doors to Grizz and Mills' rooms were closed as they worked on clients. There was a fourth room where we pierced; Grizz was the only one who was certified to pierce, but rarely had time so all piercings had to be made by appointments and he only pierced on Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays between three and eight. Grizz wanted to hire a full time piercer, but it just wasn't in the budget right now.
The walls of my tattooing room were covered in art that I had done: sexy pinups, a picture of a landscape with trees. On one wall I had hung the bisexual pride flag and wrote in swirled script below it: Love is Love.
“You're bi?” Mason asked, settling into the chair. “I'm gay.”
I snorted at him. “Are we just stating our sexualities or is there a reason you're saying this?”
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He blushed, and I immediately felt like shit for being a dick. “No reason. Just something I was thinking about.”
“What were you thinking about?”
I had never been ashamed of my sexuality. Both my brother and I were bi, we came out to each other when I was fifteen and he was thirteen. Our parents hadn't found out until I was eighteen and Austin was sixteen. Father and our uncle had beat the living shit out of us—it was the reason my uncle decided to make swiss cheese out of my face, but it never made me ashamed of who I was. Sure, Ma thought that since both her boys were bi it meant she would still get two daughters-in-law, she had gotten one when Austin married Sally last year, but I had always leaned more towards men. I still loved the ladies, but there was just something about a hard cock that really got my juices flowing.
Mason blushed again. “It's nothing. Just....um....I thought you were straight....but you're not....”
“No,” I said, carefully. Where was this going? “Spit it out, Mason.”
“Do you want to go get a drink after you get off?” he asked in one breath.
His words stirred something in me, and I wasn't sure exactly what the feeling was. I rubbed my hand over my chest uncomfortably. A drink with Mason? It sounded fucking fantastic, but I didn't date. A drink wasn't really a date, but I knew Mason was thinking that's what this was. A date with Mason Dewitt; the thought was fucking tempting.
“I'm sorry,” I said, hating the hurt look that flashed in his eyes. “I don't date.”
“Oh. Well it doesn't have to be a date,” he offered. “You can invite Mills and Grizz, and I'll invite Edward and my friends, and bam, instant hang out.” His eyes lit with hope and excitement. “Don't make me bust out the puppy face and tears.”
God, I bet it's fucking adorable. No, not adorable.
“Okay,” I said on a sigh. “I buy my own drinks and we go home in seperate cars.”
“Whose home?” Mason asked cheekily.
I felt my mouth turning up into a damned small smile again. “You go to your home and I go to mine.”
Mason chuckled. “Fine. You know you're really adorable when you are trying not to smile.”
I groaned. “Has anyone told you that you are a pain in the ass?”
Mason shrugged. “Once or twice. Now are you going to tattoo me or are you just going to sit there gaping at my beauty?”
I shook my head at him again. “What do you want?”
“An alien and the name Neil,” Mason's voice took on a sad quality that made my heart squeeze. “I even brought the picture I want to use.”
Something else clawed its way from my belly. A negative emotion that I hadn't felt since I broke up with my last girlfriend, Tina, when we were nineteen—jealousy.
“Who's Neil?”
Mason must have seen something in my face that amused him. A smirk curved on his lips. “Jealous?”
“No,” I lied. I had no right to be jealous. Mason wasn't mine. We weren't boyfriends. We didn't have sex. He was just the man I was tattooing, and nothing more. Fuck, the man I was getting a drink with after work. A group hang out, and nothing more.
Calm the fuck down, Axe.
“Neil was my brother,” Mason said solemnly. “He died five years ago.”
“I'm sorry,” I replied. I always felt like saying you're sorry when someone died was inadequate, but I had nothing else to offer. I was never good at this feelings thing. “How?”
“Heroin overdose.”
His eyes darted to me, begging me to change the subject. I began getting everything I needed to start tattooing.
“My favorite show is Sabrina the Teenage Witch,” I tell him to change the subject and help calm his nerves. It was one of my guilty pleasures, that and Big Brother. “I love it.”
Mason threw his head back and laughed. “I did not think a scary dude like you would like Sabrina.”
I shrugged. “You think I'm scary?” I asked, redrawing the alien on transfer paper.
“No, not really. I think underneath the scars and the tattoo artist macho attitude there's a big ol' softie.”
I snorted. “I don't know about that.”
Mason nodded knowningly. “We'll see.”
I scrambled to change the subject. I didn't want to talk about me. Once Mason learned about my past he wouldn't think there was anything soft about me.
“So, why an alien?”
I laid the transfer paper on Mason's skin. He had pointed to his forearm as we talked, signaling that was where he wanted the tattoo to go.
“Neil loved them. He was obssessed with anything extraterrestial.” Mason's voice sounded wistful, like he was lost in memory. “He really believed that there was life on other planets. When we were kids we would go out into the yard, and look up at the night sky. He would ask me to tell him stories about the alien beings that lived on Mars that would one day come to Earth and take us away from here. Whenever I would get down on myself he would take me to go get ice cream or candy. He was my best friend.”
“He sounds like a good guy.”
“He was.”
I fired up the tattoo gun and got to work. At the first prick of the needles, Mason jumped. He relaxed back into the chair, only wincing every so often. I was impressed. A lot of people don't have a high tolerance for pain.
“Do you have any siblings?” Mason asked, his face screwing up in pain.
“A brother. Austin. Funnily enough, he lives in Austin with his wife and their daughter.”
“And your parents?”
I brought the tattoo gun away from his skin, and stiffened. I couldn't look at him. The subject of my parents was very personal—too personal to be sharing during a tattoo session.
“Okay,” Mason said, taking the hint. “New question. Favorite food?”
“We don't have to talk,” I snipped out. I hated answering questions about myself. People never wanted to get to know me. I was nothing more than a flirt and a fuck. Why did Mason asking questions feel like we were on a date?
Because you want to go on a date with him.
Shut the fuck up.
“It's distracting me from the thousand little needles stabbing me,” Mason said.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. I got back to work. “I'm easy. Baked ziti with lots of cheese and garlic bread.”
“Yum.”
“What about you?”
I was coming to the end of the tattoo, and I wished I still had more to go. Usually I hated talking during my sessions. I cranked the music and focused on my work, but I actually enjoyed talking to Mason. I wanted to know more about him.
“Waffles with extra butter and syrup.”
“That's too easy,” I replied, holding back a chuckle. When was the last time I fucking chuckled?
“I can't help it!” Mason said, his voice going a little bit higher. “I just like me some syrupy goodness.”
Okay. . .no picturing Mason covered in syrup while I lick it off. My cock stood at attention at the mental images forming.
Down, boy.
“You okay?” Mason asked.
I shook the thoughts of licking syrup off of Mason and continued working.
“I'm fine.”
We sat in silence until I finished and wiped away the blood and excess ink away.
“Make sure you keep this moisturized so it heals properly.” I stood from my stool and went to my cabinets where I kept my favorite ointment. I flung a sealed tube in Mason's direction. “You can keep that.”
I dabbed a bit of the ointment on the five inch alien head, and the letters underneath before wrapping and taping his arm. When I was finished with that I went to the counter by the door and grabbed a paper of care insructions from one of the drawers.
“Eventually it's going to start peeling, don't be alarmed by it. It's all part of the healing process. Don't pick at the skin that comes up, either, just let it peel naturally.”
Mason seemed to be barely listening to what I was saying. He was looking down at the tatto
o with tears streaming down his face. I got the sudden urge to hug him, but I didn't dare move from my spot by the door.
“Is it okay?”
Mason looked up at me and smiled. “It's perfect.”
Mason
I couldn't stop staring at my tattoo. Axe had done such an amazing job. The alien head almost looked life like, and Neil's name was in a really cool almost alien-esque font.
Look at what I did for you, I had thought out to Neil while I sat by his grave after leaving the tattoo shop.
I had been mentally having one-sided conversations with Neil since he died. I had seen a grief therapist after the funeral, and he told me it was perfectly normal to have conversations with someone after they were gone. It was part of the grieving process. I don't know if it was still normal to be talking to your dead brother five years later, but every once in awhile I will catch myself looking towards the sky and telling Neil about my day.
I pulled up to Pattie's bar a little after nine. Everyone else was already inside, but I had got lost in my writing and had lost track of time.
Pattie's was packed even for a Tuesday. Pattie's had two bartenders: Lily and Scott. They were married and had three kids already even though they were both only thirty. The owner, Patrick, usually watched the gas station that was attached to the bar, but sometimes he could be found sitting on the stool in the corner nursing a drink.
I found my friends sitting at a back table, Grizz and Mills were sitting with Edward and Caleb, and Carter and Diego. Edward was showing everyone the tattoo he had gotten for Caleb. It was a stack of books with Caleb's name on one spine and another with Cody's, the other books were blank and so Edward could fill the blanks with the names of their future kids. Axe was throwing darts, and holding on to his bottle of beer pretty tight. I sauntered over to him, and sat on the stool beside him.