by Carian Cole
Tonight, we fall asleep in each other’s arms, like a real couple, not an experiment.
Chapter 17
Talon
I didn't realize being married and sharing my space with someone would change so much of my life, in ways I never even thought about when I signed up for this. It's really no big surprise that so many couples end up divorced, because it's really frigging hard to figure out how you're supposed to act—what's right, what's wrong, what gets you in the dog house for the night, and what makes you Prince Charming. Couples should be given a user's manual when they get together, or there should be some kind of class we have to take in high school or college. I sure as hell ain't ever using Algebra, but I could definitely use Wife 101.
"Where are you going?" This is a very important question when you're married, apparently. And the answer, I've learned, is even more important. Almost as important as knowing when you're coming back.
I learned this the hard way after just two days of living with my new wife, so now I know better.
For the record, "Out" and "I don't know" are not qualifying acceptable answers.
"I'm heading over to Lukas's for my weekly tattoo appointment."
She's sitting in the breakfast nook sipping coffee, with a bunch of fabric swatches splayed out in front of her that the cat keeps lying on upside down, trying to get her attention.
"Oh. Cool," she replies absently.
"Do you want to come with me?" I'm a little concerned that she almost never leaves the house. She seems content, but I've never met a chick who doesn't like to go out and shop or eat or hang out with friends or stand around in a public place sending text messages.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide with surprise, and I see she's got her hair up in a messy ponytail and is wearing purple-rimmed glasses that make her look adorable, nerdy, and sexy all at the same time. It really freaks me out—this inner battle of wanting to both hug her and bend her over the table.
"Oh…no, thanks. I'm going to make you a shirt for your concert on Friday. I noticed when I looked online that in all of your concert photos, you don't have a shirt on." Her fingers touch the fabrics again.
I stifle a laugh. "No, baby. I'm the one who doesn't wear a shirt."
"Huh?" She looks back up at me and crinkles her nose.
"I don't wear a shirt on stage. It's like my thing. The chicks dig it."
"So, you're the shirtless cock star?"
I grin at her. "Yup."
"Not anymore."
Here is where that manual would come in handy. Do I go along with this, or put up a fight to maintain my coolness?
"Asia…baby. Sweetie. Sugar lips. I can't change my stage persona. Do you want the fans to think I'm pussy-whipped?"
She shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't mind if they think that. Do you? I mean, you're a musician, not a stripper." Her smile could melt stone. And those eyes…
Loaded question alert.
Loaded question alert.
Proceed with caution.
"Ya know what? You're right. I don't need to have my abs all over the stage, now do I?" I bend down and kiss her forehead. "Plus, I have a wife now who's going to be dragging her tongue all over me soon anyway. Right?"
"That's the plan."
I love when we tease each other, not that I want her to know that yet. I'm never bored with this chick. She's always got my mind working with her, wondering what she's thinking, rifling witty comebacks at me, and making me ricochet some back at her. And I love how she can laugh at herself. Just yesterday, she tripped on the single step that leads from the porch to the back door and pretty much fell flat on her face and laughed her ass off for about ten minutes. Most of the women I know would have sat and cried or tried to somehow blame me that they fell. She was totally sober when she did it too, which is even better.
"I can't wait to see the shirt you make, actually." I give Pixie's head a little rub and grab my keys off the table by the door. "I'll be back for dinner. Do you need anything while I'm out there in the big world?"
"No, I'm good. I'm making you baked chicken and rice for dinner."
The fact that a vegetarian makes me meat for dinner must mean she's into me, right?
* * *
When I get to my cousin Lukas's tattoo parlor, he's just finishing up Finn's tattoo. Finn seems to be growing into a permanent fixture in our circle because not only did he grow up with Lukas, but he's also in a band called Ever Lust that opens for Ashes & Embers sometimes. I'd never tell Finn, but their band is actually really good and they are getting more and more popular.
"What's up, Tally-Ho?" Finn goads.
"Don't you have a home?" I say to him. "Every time I come here, you're here." I shouldn't be hanging out in Lukas's area when he's working with a client, but since he's my cousin and Finn is his friend, he bends the rules.
"Speaking of home, how's your order-a-wife doing?" he shoots back. "She was looking pretty hot the other day when I was there."
"Don't talk about my wife, Finn. And stay away from my sister too." I turn to Lukas. "Where is Rayne, anyway? She wasn't at the front desk when I walked in." My sister works here as a receptionist, which I'm not overly thrilled about because I think assholes like Finn come on to her all day long. I know Lukas is just as protective over her as I am, but I still wish she'd get a job in an office or a café.
"She ran upstairs real quick to help Ivy do something," Lukas says, rolling his stool away from Finn. "Okay, man, you're done."
I wait while Lukas finishes up with Finn and cleans up his work area, then I flop down into the chair.
He eyes me as he gets his equipment ready.
"What?" I ask. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
He smirks. "You look different."
"Different how?"
"You look kinda happy. Less edgy."
I roll my eyes at him. "Come on…"
He scoots his stool closer and grabs my arm, inspecting the work he did last week. "I'm serious, man."
"Happy and frustrated as fucking hell is more like it."
Nodding and grinning, he starts to go to work on my inner arm. Hopefully, he'll finish off my sleeve today so we can move on to my leg designs.
"So how are things going?" he asks. "You can talk now that Finn is gone."
"Okay, I guess. It's hard."
"Yup, it is."
"We were at it like cats and dogs at first, but now things are getting a little better."
"That's good. I can't even imagine how hard that is, marrying someone ya don't even know."
"You have no fucking idea."
"Well, it's cool you're sticking with it."
"Yeah." I turn my arm for him. "Our biggest problem is sex."
"Bad sex? Man, that sucks."
"No, not bad sex, just no sex. There's definitely something there, but she cockblocks me constantly. She keeps saying she has to have feelings first. And wants me to have feelings too."
"That's understandable."
"Yeah, but I don't know how to do this shit. How did you do it with Ivy?"
"Do you have feelings for her yet?"
"Yeah. I like her. It's getting stronger."
"Tell her. Show her. Bring her flowers, do things with her, talk to her. Make her feel special."
"I don't do that stuff, man. I never have."
"How did you even pass the tests to get into this thing? You hafta open up to her and make her feel like her heart is safe with you."
"Fuck me. I bought her a car and a house. Doesn't that count?"
"Of course, but I'm talking about little, more personal things."
I mull ideas around in my head. "Like that necklace you made for Ivy?"
He nods. "Exactly."
I blow out a breath. "Okay. I guess I can try that. I'm just not used to all this stuff."
"Because you want to use sex to get her, and now that you can't, you're all messed up."
"I don't know how you do it, man. Ivy's been crazy about you from day fucki
ng one. The nice chicks have always chased after you, and the slutty ones crawl all over me. What's up with that?"
"Maybe it's because that's all you've ever acted like you wanted?"
"Yeah. I guess so."
"She's going with you to the club Friday night, right?"
"Yeah. I'm trying to get her to have her hair done and buy some clothes. She's afraid to spend money; I have to force my gold card on her all the time. She seems kinda nervous about going to the club, though. She's like a hermit." I take a drag on my e-cig. "Oh, and she's making me wear a fucking shirt on stage. I'll probably get booed off."
Lukas laughs at me. "Making you, huh? Spoken like a true husband."
"Don't even get me started."
As I watch Lukas work on my forearm, I notice a little tattoo on his thumb I've never noticed before. It's the same exact symbol Asia has on her shoulder.
"What's that?" I ask, pointing at it.
He looks up at me like I'm wacked-out. "Uh, it's the tattoo gun. Same one I always use."
Scowling, I touch his thumb. "No, that, on your hand. That comma thing on your thumb."
"It's a semicolon. I've had it for years; it's one of the first tats I got."
I frown at it, confused. "Asia has the same one on her shoulder."
He leans up and rolls over to the bench to change the needle on his gun.
"Really?" he asks. "Do you know what it means?"
"No, I failed that shit in school."
"It's the symbol of Project Semicolon."
"I have no idea what that is, man."
He puts the gun down and turns to me. "A semicolon is used as a pause in a sentence, instead of using a period. A period means it's over. A semicolon means it's not over; there's more to come."
"Okay…" I say, not understanding why I'm getting this sudden lecture in punctuation.
"So…the semicolon became a sorta symbol for this nonprofit movement that's dedicated to supporting people dealing with depression, suicide, mental illness, all that sort of thing. Wearing the symbol means we decided we're not over, we chose to keep going. It can also show that we lost someone close to us to suicide or know someone dealing with any of those things I mentioned. It's a symbol of hope."
I know my cousin had a rough life growing up due to his father being an asshole. Lukas wasn't raised in our family but was hidden away and raised by his mother's grandparents. I know he battled depression when he was really young and tried to kill himself. But looking at him now, with his great attitude, running his own business, playing amazing music, involved with a terrific woman, you would never know that. He turned his life around.
But knowing that same symbol is branded on my wife sinks my stomach.
"Shit, I didn't know all that, man," I say uneasily. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I'm not ashamed of my past and what I went through. It made me who I am today. Do you have any idea why Asia has the symbol? Has she talked about anything like what I just said?"
I shake my head and start to feel a little sick. "No, not at all. She only mentioned her father was an alcoholic and used to beat her and her mother. He's in jail, so is her brother, and her mother abandoned her when she was only seventeen. She has no family. Just a best friend."
"And you," he reminds me, picking up his gun again.
"Yeah, and me. I'm kinda worried now. I said some mean things to her."
His head snaps up. "What kind of mean things?"
I shift uneasily in the chair. "On our wedding night, I made some remarks about her having small tits and told her I wasn't attracted to her. And she overheard me telling Dr. Hollister that I thought she was too cute to fuck and I thought they only set us up because she had no money and lived in the ghetto. She was really upset."
Lukas looks at me like he wants to punch me, which is rare because Lukas never gets pissed. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Tal? Why would you say that shit?"
"It all just kinda came out. We were both stressed out the night of the wedding. She didn't like the way I looked either."
"Dude, you're a fucking mess."
"I know. Things are a little better now, but she's pretty leery of me."
"Can ya blame her? I'm really disappointed in you, man. She's a sweet girl, and she's beautiful. She looks like Lana Del Rey. Are you fucking blind?"
I rub my face in frustration. "I'm an asshole. I know. I just say shit. You know how I am."
"I seriously cannot argue with that. You have to fix this with her. If she suffers from depression, or has in the past, you could do some major damage to her," he says. "Hell, even if she's the happiest person in the world, that's just nasty to say to someone. Especially a woman."
He's right. I've been a total douche to her, and she doesn't deserve it at all. Right now, she's actually hand-making me a shirt and is cooking meat for me even though she can't stand the thought of eating an animal.
"Not exactly a great start to our marriage," I mutter.
"That's an understatement. You gotta get a filter, man. You can't just blurt out nasty comments."
"You're right. This is why everyone likes you. You're not a scumbag like me."
"Then stop being one." He pulls away, putting his gun on the table and snapping off his latex gloves. "I can't even do any more work on you right now because I want to hurt you. You're gonna have to come back next week. I'm sorry, man, but you gotta fix this like yesterday. Did you forget your marriage has an expiration date right now? She's probably counting down the days."
"Do you think so?" Shit.
"Yes." He stands up and puts some gauze and plastic over my tattoo. "Do you even want her to stay?"
"Yeah, I do. I like her."
"If I were you, I'd get home and start doing some damage control, then."
"Fucking great. More potential for me to screw things up. Thanks for the advice."
He laughs and shakes his head. "Good luck. Maybe I'll see ya Friday, and I hope she's still with you."
On my way back home, I stop at the florist and buy her a bouquet of lavender roses. I didn't even know such a thing existed until I walked in there and told the lady I wanted something light purple to match my girl's eyes. Even I'm not dumb enough to think a bunch of flowers is going to erase my rude comments, but hopefully she'll accept them as a peace offering.
When I get home, I find her in her craft room at the sewing machine, and the smell of chicken is wafting from the oven. She glances up at me in surprise and then looks at the clock.
"Are you okay?" she asks. "I thought you'd be home later than this."
I lean my hip against her sewing table. "Yeah. I brought you these." I hand her the bouquet and she takes it from me slowly.
"Wow…Talon… They're so pretty." She lifts them to her nose, her eyes falling shut as she sniffs them. "They smell nice, too. Thank you." She stands up and hugs me, but when she tries to pull away, I hug her tighter.
"They match your eyes. The florist lady said the color is magical, and I thought that fit you."
"Did you do something?" she asks, her face against my chest. "Flowers and hugs?"
Three weeks in and my wife thinks flowers and hugs are a guilt cover-up. Yeah, I'm doing great here.
"It was a mistake," I reply, and she quickly pulls back to look up at me.
"What was?"
"Me marrying you."
I watch as the words I never meant to say obliterate her smile.
"What?"
"I didn't mean that, Asia. That came out wrong." I close my eyes and shake my head, mentally slapping myself. Why can't I do this right?
She thrusts the flowers against my chest and backs away from me, her arms going around her stomach, like she's hugging herself in pain. "How could that come out right?" she asks. "What did you mean?"
On the table next to her is a pile of fabric alongside some pages ripped from a magazine with pictures of shirts, most likely examples of what she was making for me so I wouldn't be on stage half naked with women screaming s
exual comments and offers at me.
I suck so bad.
"Say something." Her voice wavers with emotion.
"I wanted to apologize, and it came out wrong, as usual."
"Apologize for the mistake of marrying me? Thanks."
I press my fingers into my temples, my head suddenly hurting. How is it possible that I can have a father who wrote hundreds of love songs and a mother who has written pages upon pages of nothing but pure love and romance, and I cannot form one sentence that doesn't make me sound like a dick? Can I not have one gene that gives me the gift of saying something right? I'm starting to think I was adopted. I feel defeated right now and can't even muster up my usual cocky attitude and banter to try to fix this new mess.
"No," I answer. "I wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings."
"Which time?"
Touché.
"All of them."
"Did Lukas put you up to this?"
"No."
She raises her eyebrows at me suspiciously.
"I'm an ass, okay? I'm not sorry I married you; I'm sorry for my nasty, stupid comments. I don't know why they put you with someone like me. You deserve better than me." I hand the flowers to her again. "Please take these. I've never bought flowers for anyone before."
She takes the bouquet from me again, her eyes wet with tears. "I've never been given flowers before," she says softly. "And I don't want someone better than you. I'll admit, you can be a real jerk sometimes and I want to slam you in the balls. But when you're good?" Her voice lilts with emotion. "I can't imagine anything better, and that's the truth."
The raw honesty in her voice brings out an intense need for me to be as close to her as possible. To be inside her, surrounded by that incredible feeling of closeness she makes me feel and want more of. She's like a secret drug that is slowly intoxicating me, little by little luring me into addiction, and that feels very dangerous to me. Once I get a taste of her, I don't think I'll ever be able to stop.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" She breaks in to the fantasy playing out in my head. "Did you even hear what I said a few seconds ago?"
"Yes. I want to be good for you."