Breaking Free

by Winter Page

  The tattoo parlor looked like any ordinary tattoo place from the outside. Clare opened the door for me and ushered me in. The floor was a plush white shag carpet I might’ve expected to see in the sixties—or maybe in my dad’s man cave. There was a tiny waiting room with plastic chairs and a scarred coffee table littered with books of tattoo designs.

  The walls were adorned with everything from anime posters to a painted canvas of a lake surrounded by mountains. Instead of a counter, there was a giant fish tank with a cash register resting casually on top of it. Clare breathed in the heavy incense smell and pretended to get high from it.

  I giggled shakily. “It’s a little retro for my taste, but I like it.” My voice cracked at the end, and I blushed an even deeper hue of red.

  Clare sneaked a peek at me, and we both laughed. Together, we started undoing our heavy winter coats. It was starting to rain outside, little ice pellets bounding off of the asphalt. It was surreal. Just then, a beautiful woman walked in.

  Her hair was black as night and tightly French braided back. Her eyes were like cold fire, the purest blue you could imagine. But where Clare’s were a green-blue-turquoise, this woman’s were violet-blue like fine sapphires. Her lips were full and pink, and she had on cat-eye makeup. I was jealous that she could wear so much makeup and not look like a raccoon slut. She was maybe five foot eight, but it was hard to tell because she had on stiletto boots a lot like Clare did. Actually, she was wearing something very close to what Clare would wear.

  Clare dropped my hand and stood up. “Hey there, Rose. It’s great to see you.”

  Rose just looked at her, tapping her fingers on the top of the fish tank. “Hey there, Clare. It’s… it’s good to see you, too.” Rose paused, like she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about us.

  Clare motioned at me and said, “This is Raimi, my girlfriend.”

  I blushed. It was still weird hearing Clare say “girlfriend.” The word sounded almost foreign to me. Nevertheless, I tilted my lips up in a polite smile and stood.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Rose. How do you know Clare?” I asked.

  Clare and Rose shared a look before Rose spoke.

  “I know her from way back. I was two years ahead of her in school.” Rose chose her words carefully, testing each one out in her mouth before continuing.

  I nodded cautiously. There was something Clare didn’t want me to know. And I had a theory it had to do with why she was so depressed for most of our trip so far. Now I could add Rose to the unspoken mystery. I just wished Clare would tell me and get it over with.

  I shook myself out of my speculations when Rose led us into the back. She and Clare exchanged pleasantries as we walked down a long hallway. Clare had always been good at making small talk with anyone, whereas that was not my strong point. At all.

  Rose finally motioned us to stop, and she opened an oak door. The room inside was painted black with a painted tile floor. The walls were beautiful, hand-drawn silver filigree decorating every available inch. The ceiling was the only plain thing in the room, a clean, sleek white. There were fluorescent lights tucked away throughout the entire room so that there was light, but you couldn’t tell where it was coming from. In the center of the room was a table a lot like you might see in a massage parlor and a chair I recognized from a movie about tattoos.

  Absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary in this room. And yet it still felt like there was something I wasn’t seeing, a hidden layer just beyond my reach of sight. I brushed the thought off. Maybe it was just the tension that was obvious between Rose and Clare.

  Rose pulled several thick books from a short bookshelf and started flipping through pages.

  “Do you girls know what you want?” she inquired. I shook my head. Clare nodded slowly, like she wasn’t sure of it herself until that moment.

  Rose raised an eyebrow. “Clare, you want to go first?”

  Clare laughed nervously and waved her off. “Nah, I’m good with going second.”

  Rose rolled her eyes. “Whatever floats your boat.” Her voice was flat. She turned her gaze on me. “What about you, Rain, is it?” she asked.

  “Yeah, you can call me Rain,” I beamed. She passed me a book, and I flipped through the pages.

  In my head, I went back through all of the tattoos I had seen on people over the years. I knew I didn’t want an animal or skulls or guns. I decided against a flower as I looked through the book. I thought about what a tattoo should mean.

  It should say something about you, considering it’s permanent. It has to be something that’s going to be in you for the rest of your life not just a whim. I closed my eyes and flipped to a random page. I smiled when I saw it and knew that it was perfect. I pointed it out to Rose.

  She smiled at me and said, “That’s one of my favorites. Where do you want it?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “Right shoulder blade,” I said firmly. That way it wasn’t something for me to look at. It was something for other people to see on me. Plus, it would be a good way to sass people if I ever needed to storm out and make a truly spectacular exit.

  I took my shirt off and slid my bra strap to the side so Rose could begin. She laid me down on the massage table. I felt her hands gently, but confidently preparing my skin. Clare glanced at what I had picked and just beamed at me.

  I closed my eyes, content. The sting of the needle was as much a relief as it was painful. This tattoo was what I needed. It truly proved I was out of the closet. I was done hiding that I was gay. I was done hiding that I was trans.

  I was finally me. Not the labels anyone put on me. I was free to be whomever I wanted.

  When Rose was finished, she put up a mirror so I could see the reflection. I thought my cheeks would burst from smiling so big. It was exactly what I wanted.

  The word Free was spelled out in the trademark rainbow of gay pride. The script was outlined in black, making it stand out against my skin. The letters were beautiful, the font not big enough to look garish, but not so small that you couldn’t see it. Clare whistled.

  “Nice job, Rose. That’s gorgeous,” Clare said reverently.

  Rose snorted in response. “Of course it is. I don’t suck at this, you know.”

  I commented dryly, “Just as a rule of thumb, Clare, never piss off a tattoo artist right before they tattoo you.”

  Rose laughed warmly. “You should listen to your girlfriend more often.” Rose snuck me a wink.

  Clare sighed heavily, exasperated with us. “Do you know what you want, drama queen?” Rose sounded like she could be Clare’s older sister.

  My brow furrowed. That thought had occurred offhandedly, but I actually took a minute to think about it. The fit would be perfect, except I knew Clare was an only child. The familiarity between them was startling, though. I filed away my thoughts on the subject for now.

  Clare tapped her chin thoughtfully, obviously drawing the process out for effect. And then she started stripping. She scooted me off of the table and unzipped her jeans. I nearly squeaked. If she was getting a tramp stamp, I thought I was going to just go ahead and end the relationship then and there. But instead, she lay on her back and tugged her pants down and her shirt up. Her fingers traced the line of skin in between her hipbones.

  “I want it to read ‘Everyone gets wet in the rain,’” she murmured. I had to stifle a giggle.

  “You want the word wet right there?” Rose raised an eyebrow, and her voice was stunned.

  Clare face-palmed and laughed lightly. “Would you two please get your minds out of the gutter for like, two seconds? Yes, I want exactly what I said, exactly where I pointed,” she declared sternly.

  Rose threw her hands up in defeat, but she was still smiling brightly. “Do you want anything on the ends?” she asked.

  But Clare had already closed her eyes and just mumbled, “Mmm hmm.”

  I watched with curiosity as Rose prepared Clare’s skin like she had mine. Once Rose began the actual tattooing, it was fascinati
ng to watch unfold. She was completely in the zone, her eyes fixed intently on Clare’s skin. It was almost like watching them both enter a trance. About halfway through, tears leaked down Clare’s cheeks. I didn’t say anything. The tattooing had been pretty painful, but I didn’t think it was enough to bring Clare to tears.

  Confused, I took her hand and squeezed it. For a minute, it felt like she was going to let go of me. But instead, her fingers laced through mine familiarly.

  ROSE ENDED up putting something on the ends—a rose, filigree, and a Celtic knot on both of Clare’s hipbones. Again, her tattoo was absolutely beautiful. Clare silently dressed, wiping away the little bit of makeup that had smudged from her crying.

  I looped my arm around her waist when she was done and hugged her gently. She returned the gesture, her hands gingerly pressed against the middle of my back. We relaxed against each other for a moment before Rose cleared her throat and we stepped apart.

  Rose took us back to the cash register and rang us up. Clare didn’t even let me see how much it had cost.

  I shook my head, thanking Clare quietly. I went out to the car to get the heater started, and Clare lagged back in the store. I pulled up at the curb in front of the tattoo place and waited for her to come out. I squinted through the window and told myself not to get jealous as I saw them embrace. No, I wasn’t going to get jealous. They were probably like sisters back when she and Rose went to school together.

  At least that’s what I told myself as Clare climbed back into the SUV. She winced a little as she buckled her seatbelt, the strap cutting right across where her tattoo was. I let my lips tilt up when she glanced over at me. And I pretended to ignore the fact that her eyes were somehow completely empty and overflowing with emotion.

  Twenty-Three

  WE DROVE silently as far as we could that night before crashing at another motel and eating cheap Chinese food. Clare had nightmares all night long. I heard her tossing and turning the entire time. I shuddered, thinking about what kind of demons she had to be facing to be that scared. I barely slept.

  The next day was almost exactly the same. Clare remained silent unless it was to give directions. Only the weather differed from the other days of endless driving. It snowed the entire day, building from flurries that were pleasant and lazy to a blizzard with howling winds.

  Clare seemed to grow more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by, like she was standing on ice and she could feel it cracking out from under her. I was really starting to worry about her.

  I pulled into our next motel stop early, the clock on the dash showing it to be just seven at night. Clare was too dazed to notice that we had stopped until I tapped her. Sluggishly, she turned to look at me. I gave her a supportive smile, not entirely sure what she needed. The only thing I knew how to do was be with her. So that’s what I did.

  THE POWER went out at around three in the morning. Clare nudged me awake. She slipped into my bed, her feet freezing.

  I squeaked a little. “Oh my God. Your toes are like ice cubes!” I gasped.

  She let out a poor imitation of her real laugh. My gut wrenched just hearing it. I shivered but not from the cold. I sat up in bed, and unable to see what was going on outside, I ventured over to the window, peeking past the curtains. I sucked in a chilled breath, the cold air dry against the back of my throat.

  “Clare, come here! I swear there’s gotta be at least a foot of snow covering everything.”

  “You have to remember, Rain, I grew up in the north, where snow is a common thing. If you wanted to impress me, you’d show me three feet of snow. Now that would be gasp-worthy.”

  I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see them. It was quiet in the room. Finally, I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know what was going on, and I needed to know right then.

  I whirled away from the window and met her blue eyes as fiercely as I could. But before I could say a word, she started talking.

  “I know you’re upset with me for not telling you what’s been going on. But you have to understand, I’ve only ever told one person, and that backfired pretty bad.”

  I nodded, listening hard.

  “But it’s time I told you the story behind the picture Brad had.” Clare’s voice was even and patient. I sat down as her words started to fill the air around me.

  “Do you remember the story I told you about my first kiss? Well, there’s more to it than that. My real first kiss was Andrea. Kissing her was the moment, the night, when I realized I was gay. I mean, I had never felt all that attracted to a guy before. But when I kissed her, I felt alive. Like I was finally doing something right.”

  I knew the feeling. It had been exactly that way when I kissed her.

  She continued. “To say I freaked would be an understatement. I didn’t speak to anyone for a week afterward. I pretended I was sick so my dad wouldn’t make me go to school. I read the Bible around the clock, praying to God that I wasn’t gay. Eventually, it was Brad who got me to go back to school. Brad was one of my closest friends at that point, and I had no idea he had a crush on me.”

  “When I went back to school, Andrea would come up and talk to me in the hall. I avoided her as much as possible. Every time I was near her, I got butterflies in my stomach. I was in complete denial at that point and would throw myself at any guy who wanted me at a party to prove that I was straight. I even made out with Brad one night to prove to everyone else that I was straight, too.”

  Clare had to take a minute before she kept speaking. She took in a wracking breath, her teeth chattering like she was cold. She pulled the comforter tighter around her before she continued.

  “I was in a dark place. When I started cutting myself, that’s when Andrea stepped in.” Clare smiled despite herself the more she spoke.

  “She finally came up to me one day at school and asked what the hell was going on. I almost lost it in front of everyone. But she was in the closet too, so no one suspected anything. She gave me her phone number and said that if I ever wanted to talk to her, or just to someone, to give her a call. And one day, I did. She took me out to dinner, and we got to talking.

  “The more time I spent with her, the more I wanted to know her. I wanted to listen to her talk, I wanted to hear what she had to say, and more importantly, I wanted her to feel the same way. It was so easy to fall for her without even realizing it. We eventually exchanged ‘I love yous,’ and from there, we didn’t look back.”

  Clare met my eyes briefly before her gaze flickered away. Her words grew quieter and quieter until she was speaking only barely above a whisper.

  “It was the middle of winter, and I was over at her house. We had been together for almost eight months, even though no one knew about us. She and I were talking about coming out of the closet together. Andrea was ready to tell people about being gay, but I wasn’t. She didn’t understand my reluctance. We took a drive together and ended up at my house. My parents weren’t home, and things heated up between us. Long story short, we ended up making out. We were so focused on each other neither of us heard the door open.

  “That’s where Brad came in. He saw us together before we heard him. I flipped total shit and kicked him out of my house. Andrea didn’t even care. She was ready for everyone to know and had nothing to lose. Unlike mine, her parents didn’t care. We fought again, and I ended it. I said that she should feel free to come out, but that I wasn’t going to follow her. So she left.”

  Clare stopped, choking back tears. Part of me was screaming to tell her it was okay, that she didn’t have to finish. But I knew she did, if not for me, for her.

  “I called her about an hour after she left. I loved her, and after thinking about it, I had decided that being afraid of everyone else shouldn’t keep me from loving her. When she didn’t pick up, I assumed it was because she was mad at me.”

  Claire took one last, wobbly breath and then plunged ahead. “What I didn’t know was that she had driven off a bridge. They think her car took the tur
n wrong and it fishtailed because of the ice. It had been snowing out, so it would’ve been really hard for her to see any ice on the road.”

  Ohmigod. So much made sense to me, now.

  Clare swiped at the tears running down her cheeks before she resumed talking. The rhythm of her words sounded rusty and unsure, like she didn’t know what came next until she said it.

  “When I saw it on the news the next morning, I called Brad, hysterical. I convinced him to come over. I told him everything about Andrea from our first kiss to her leaving and crashing her car. He was sympathetic. God, he held me! That’s when he showed me the picture he had. He said he would make a deal with me. Except it wasn’t a deal, it was blackmail. He told me that no one had to see it if I did exactly as he said.”

  I had never hated Brad more than I did in that moment. The bastard had taken advantage of her when she was at her most vulnerable, grieving and in pain. What. A. Douche.

  Claire continued painfully, “I was tired, I was distraught, and I was on the verge of a very deep depression. And I was desperate to stay in the closet. I had only been willing to come out if Andrea was with me when we did it. I wasn’t about to do that alone. So I agreed to his ‘deal’ and spent years in a living hell.”

  I realized with some surprise that my own cheeks were wet.

  “The reason I brought you out here to Colorado wasn’t just to get tattoos and escape for a little while. I knew that making this trip would force me to tell you, because Rose is Andrea’s big sister. I knew—well, at least I hoped—that seeing her would give me the strength it would take to tell you.”

  When Clare finished, I closed the gap between us. I didn’t tell her I was sorry for what happened. Because I knew that everything that had happened in her life before had led up to her meeting me. I was sorry that Andrea had to die, but I would never ever be sorry for whatever it took for Clare to find me.

  And I didn’t let go of her, either.

  Twenty-Four