by Lane Hart
“There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there? I overreacted and should have kept my mouth shut. Something about him just… ugh… he pushes all the wrong buttons.” I sunk as low in the booth as I possible could without landing my ass on the floor. My cheeks bloomed with heat behind my mop of hair as I waited for the impending tongue lashing from the handsome psychologist sipping his coffee.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with you, Michelle?” Hank countered while he casually dabbed his upturned mouth with a paper napkin. I hated when he answered a question with a question. Typical headshrinker bullshit.
“Don’t give me that crap, Hank. This is important. Just tell me what to do, please. Do I ignore him? Bake him a cake and leave it in front of his bedroom door? Just tell me, for Christ sakes,” I pleaded desperately.
“When was the last time you reached out to your parents, Michelle?” He changed the subject.
“Just before Rome moved in. My mother basically told me to get lost, not that I expected anything different. She’s already made it clear that I was no longer part of the family and I was one hundred percent on my own. But hey,” I joked, “at least she still picked up the phone.”
“I see.” Hank removed his glasses and wiped them off with a fresh napkin. “Still seeking their validation after three years that what happened to you wasn’t your fault? That you were the victim and not the cause of that wretched incident?”
“Of course I am. I want my parents to be proud of me, not embarrass or ashamed. As long as I keep trying, there’s always a chance that they’ll forgive me, and I can be happy again.” Tears pricked the back of my eyelids, but I refused to let them well forth. This wasn’t cry-me-a-river time; it was get-my-ass-in-gear time.
“And what do you plan to do until that time? Keep running and hiding, refusing to let people in because you’re too afraid of what might happen if you let them get too close?” Hank shook his head in disbelief. “Not a great way to live, Michelle. We’ve talked about this in group.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can we get back to my overbearing housemate now? I didn’t call you here to talk about my parents, Hank.”
“Sure, Michelle.” He gave me a knowing smile. “Whatever you need.”
I’d pay for that one later.
“Talk to me about him, his likes and dislikes, what he does for a living, that sort of stuff,” he casually asked with a wave of his hand.
“I don’t really know much about him, Hank. He’s big, brooding, tattooed, and obviously likes women a whole heck of a lot judging from the revolving door to his bedroom. I don’t know, he seems… different than most men I know, more secure.” I ended my spiel on a whisper, my face flamed bright red for the second time without my permission. Hank was a smart guy. If I kept talking, he’d figure out soon enough that I found Rome extremely attractive, and he’d certainly give me shit about it.
“Tell me something. Were you afraid that he might hurt you in some way when he asked you to leave his room? Did he threaten retaliation the next time he bought a guest home or try to belittle your concerns in any way?”
“No, I wasn’t scared of him. I was…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. “I… He…”
“Aroused? Turned on? Hot under the collar? Let me know when I get to the right adjective, Michelle,” Hank joked.
“Alright, I was, okay? Rome’s a good-looking man. Any woman in her right mind would want a go at spending time with him tangled beneath the sheets. Last time I checked, I was still a woman, Hank, and my girly parts haven’t completely withered up and died.”
“Yes, but we’re not talking about other women. We’re talking about you. When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel anything but fear and loathing when it pertained to the opposite sex? Well before you went away to college, I’d wager. Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why this man, and why now?”
Why indeed?
Hank leaned his elbows on the table and got serious. “What happened to you when you went away to school was beyond reprehensible, Michelle. It was downright fucked all the way up. That’s not the clinical term, but you get what I’m saying.”
We shared a smile.
Hank continued.
“This person you’ve been forced to share a home with awakened something within you that might’ve been lost after your hazing incident. Natural curiosity of the opposite sex, the willingness to try a hand at making friends again, even if that meant making a fool of yourself wielding a lava lamp.” Hank chuckled.
“Yep, that’s me, alright,” I deadpanned.
“I meant what I said the other day in group, Michelle. I’ve never known you to be so enthusiastic about any subject. It opened a threshold to so many possibilities, all of which are perfectly natural for young adults such as yourself. I’m not condoning his behavior in any way, shape, or form, don’t get me wrong. Roommates have to get along if they hope to live harmoniously and without incident. I don’t know enough about him to garner an opinion as to whether or not he’s trustworthy; that’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself. Don’t rush it. Trust is earned, not forced, remember that. I’m anxious to see how this all turns out, Michelle. Very anxious.”
“So, you don’t think there’s something wrong with me?” I asked again.
“No, Michelle, for once, I think there’s something very right with you, and it’s about time.”
Hank and I finished our coffees and went our separate ways knowing we’d see each other again in a few days for group. The rest of the afternoon passed by without the usual fanfare mainly because Mrs. Brooks decided to leave work early and get a jumpstart on her fantabulous weekend. Her words, not mine. Her absence couldn’t have come at a better time. The last thing I needed to hear was her hounding me about something unimportant such as checking the library’s mousetraps or washing down the air vents. I took advantage of the peace and quiet and formulated what I thought was a winning game plan on how to deal with Rome going forward.
The whole jerking off thing? Yeah, just going to ignore that little faux pas for now. Like that old saying goes, ‘If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ I think not. By the end of the day, my recollection of what happened the night before was a lot simpler. I knocked on Rome’s door and politely asked him to keep the noise down. He wasn’t happy with my interruption, so he kicked me out and ordered me to never come back. I agreed, and that was that. I’m sure he wasn’t the type to sit around gossiping about his sexual conquests like a lonely old lady. What man in his right mind would brag about jerking himself off while everyone else swaggered about screwing a real woman? I could almost guarantee that what happened in Fight Club stayed in Fight Club. My secret was safe, for now.
Rome was THE most hostile, gruff, foul-mouthed individual I had ever met in my life, which brought me to the second part of my plan. Over the last three years, I’d gone through three stages of traumatic stress recovery, so to speak. Initially, I hid from everyone and became this shell of a person I used to be before my hazing incident. Stepping outside the comfort of my own room was a definite hell no. In fact, I barely spoke for those first few months. Good thing I’d had leftover grant money to pay for my rent, or Mrs. Lafontaine surely would’ve evicted me. Once I started attending the survivors group, I fooled myself into thinking I could go headfirst back into dating and socializing, which ended brutally after one lousy pizza lunch. The third stage, which I happened to be stuck in currently, was the willingness to explore and break out of this shell, but I didn’t have the proper tools to commit to the undertaking.
That’s where Rome came in.
If I could survive his ill temper while being ridiculed and talked down to, then perhaps I could gradually work my way back to being a third of the person I was as an overzealous teen. Baby steps and all that. The way things stood, I needed to either learn how to relate to people from all walks of life, or invest in a lifetime supply of running shoes. Rome was the steppingston
e I needed to navigate my way through awkward social situations without feeling the panic and uncertainty that normally occurred when I attempted it on my own. The best part about my scheme? I’d have the comfort of my own home to fall back on if all else failed. Win-win all around. He would never know the details of my strategy, and I’d have to set a time limit for my little experiment to end. That way, he could keep on being his normal manwhorish self, and I could learn what I needed without stepping on his toes.
With my mind made up, I settled on three weeks starting tonight, or this morning, depending on when he arrived. I sat on the edge of my bed dressed in my pajamas and waited for the slightest noise to alert me that he was home. If he had a woman with him, I’d have to abort, regroup, and try again once he was alone. The mission was simple: Make eye contact and say hello. How hard could that be? I waited and waited until I must’ve fallen asleep. My neck was stiff and my mouth was crusted over with a sticky layer of drool that traveled to just below my ear. EEW! Yuck.
I’d slept soundly throughout the entire night without interruption, but how could that be? It dawned on me then that the answer was simple. Rome didn’t come home last night, and I was suddenly afraid that he never would again.
Dread
I ended up sitting in my car the whole fucking night sketching till I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. The moon sat just high enough in the sky to light up the huge front window of my station wagon, another unexpected perk I loved about my ride. Spending my Friday night alone instead of knee deep inside some wet pussy was doing my head in. Hours after I ran into Fox at the probation office, I couldn’t take my mind off some of the shit he’d had to say. Opportunity was knocking. The bigger question was: What was I willing to do about it? He said I had a gift, but according to my old man, it was a goddamn curse. One day, when I’d felt particularly defiant, I’d asked him what he thought about me taking an art class in school. Bastard hit me so hard in the gut he cracked one of my damn ribs. No son of his was gonna end up as some pansy-ass Picasso barely making ends meet, not on his watch. He was the killer of men’s dreams, the putrid stench on a steaming pile of shit, the example I was meant to follow. Lousy prick didn’t know the first thing about ambition. Fucker gave up on his and never looked back. Turned it in for a rent-a-cop uniform, a flashlight, and a goddamn whistle.
I wouldn’t allow him to destroy mine.
There was more to Masonry Ink than meets the eye. Fox ran that place with an iron hand, took no shit from anyone, yet it was more than that. The patrons respected him and his crew as more than just tattoo artists in a small town. Secret meetings, coded messages spoken amongst the old heads, mad props given from the toughest of thugs. One week in, and I felt that shit. I was a motherfuckin’ rock star, and I’d barely sung a note. They lined up outside that door for me, my vision, my ideas, and it was better than anything I’d ever experienced before in my life. I wasn’t being asked to hide who or what I was. They accepted it and moved the fuck on. Never had that ever happened before, and I wanted more.
I wanted all of it.
The respect. The pride. The freedom.
I stepped inside Masonry Ink late in the afternoon looking like run-over pig guts. Same clothes from the day before, messy-ass hair, and morning breath tamped down by a swig of bottled water. Fox was busy talking to one of the artists. His only response to my sudden appearance was an affirmative chin lift while his chest puffed with satisfaction. The man had confounded me from the start. He was older in years but not by much, yet he carried himself with the maturity of someone who’d seen their fair share of horrors but kept on standing. He hadn’t mentioned a wife or kids, yet he seemed to be very much the settle-down type of guy. If I were a bitch, I’d try and catch him in the pussy trap. I was sure a few had tried. Fox gave his all to running his business, his crew. They were his life. I had it in my mind to get back at it, to earn my place amongst the masses, to be a part of something bigger than myself.
But first, I had to eat crow.
The beer and shit that was served to the guests was kept out back in a small storage shed. I heard knocking around inside, followed by a string of curses the closer I got to the entrance. This was definitely uncharted territory for someone like me. I’d never apologized to anyone in my life for a motherfuckin’ thing I’d done, deserved or not. The tension left a thickness in my throat and caused a bead of sweat to trickle down the side of my temple before I wiped it away. This was the worst idea in the history of dumb-ass ideas. What could I say? Sorry I was a cunt and made you cry, but I’m a hell of a nice guy once you get to know me? What a crock of shit. I turned to leave but stopped short when I heard a loud grunt coming from behind me.
“Ugh… I could use a little help here, Lone Ranger.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I grabbed the large crate full of bottled beer and water and took a step back toward the rear entrance door.
It was now or never.
“I, um… listen, about the other night, baby girl…” The epithet tasted sour coming from my lips, and I stopped walking. “See, what happened was… I didn’t…” I tried again after a deep breath.
“Dude, don’t hurt yourself choking on that apology.” She smiled. “Besides, I know how you guys are when it comes to that sort of thing. Trust me, it’s no biggie. I’m just glad that you decided to come back to Masonry Ink. It’s a great place to work.”
“Appreciate that, baby girl.” Angelica. Call her by name, you dick.
“I’ve seen some of your sketches, and they really are amazing. Mace knows his stuff when it comes to picking new artists, that’s for sure. I know it’s hard being the new guy in town, but everyone here has been where you are before. Don’t let that discourage you.”
“Oh yeah?” I scoffed. “How did you come to be here?”
We stepped back inside the shop, and I placed the crate closest to the refrigerator for restocking, so she didn’t have to lift it again. Angelica had her back to me, placing the items on the racks while she answered my question.
“Everyone has a story, Long Ranger.” Her voice dropped an octave, thick with emotion. “One day, I’ll tell you mine… if you last that long.” She smirked over her shoulder. “Can I give you a word of advice? From one lost soul to another.” I nodded my head. Fuck it, why not listen to what she had to say.
“Don’t be a dick.” She listed them off on her fingers as she spoke. “Get that rather large chip off your shoulders. Carrying that shit around does nothing for your back muscles, big guy. Lastly, listen to Mace. He’s like a brother to me, to all of us here at Masonry Ink. He only wants what’s best, and he’ll never steer you wrong.”
“Good to know.” I turned to leave, seeing as how our business had concluded.
“And Dread?” I paused long enough to let her finish. “I hope we can be friends one day.”
She wasn’t expecting an answer, and I wasn’t trying to give one. To me, being friends with a woman was the same as buying a gallon of ice cream and leaving it in the freezer with no plans on eating it. What was the point? Women only served one purpose in my life, and that was as a warm receptacle for my cock. They couldn’t be trusted with much else. The last time I’d turned my back and depended on a bitch, I got fucked. Now I’m the only one doing the fucking, and I preferred it that way. I could agree to tone down some things, especially during time spent at Masonry Ink. Acting like a douche to the little barmaid was one of them. I planned to pay close attention to this crew and learn how to be the best from some of the best. More importantly, I was gonna prove my old man wrong once and for all.
I was better than him.
In all things.
I spent the entire night and half the morning working with my clients on their designs. I still hadn’t come up with an idea for that original piece I’d been racking my brain over. It needed to be special if I wanted to collect on the cash, no half-steppin’. By five in the morning, Fox ordered me to “get the fuck out” and not to come back until sometime Monday, said
he was sick of looking at my ugly face. I was fine with that. My brain was shot, and I could definitely use some rack. I dragged my weary bones outside and climbed into my car and headed back toward my apartment. All the shit that went down at Masonry Ink, and I fucking forgot about my living situation. Hell, I couldn’t be sure if I even still had a place. Once again, I found myself at the mercy of some bitch, and my roving dick was completely to blame.
When the fuck was I gonna learn?
The last thing I planned on doing was using my housemate as a means to beat my dick like it owed me money. When she’d broken into my room hurling that stupid-ass lamp around, I thought my cock was gonna jackknife from between my legs and hit the damn ceiling. The bitch I’d been fucking wasn’t making it easy to concentrate, with all her loud-ass screaming and overzealous moaning. I’d barely hit that shit, and she was acting like I was killing her or something. When she ran out the door, I didn’t even try and stop her. Good fuckin’ riddance. Saved me the trouble of having to kick her ass out once I got my nut. She definitely wouldn’t have gone quietly.
I stood there prostrate, butt ball naked with a condom strapped to my dick and just watched the little nervous jumping bean work. She’d walked into that scene of debauchery like she owned the fucking joint, talking gibberish and threatening bodily harm to what’s her face strapped to my bed. Chick had a set of balls on her the size of grapefruits. Didn’t know whether to laugh or throw her down on the floor and fuck her senseless. Days before, she’d run off with her tail between her legs before she got a word out. Who knew she had it in her to be so gangsta? Allowing her to leave my room in good order was one option once we were alone. Making her pay for coming inside in the first place was another.
I decided to have a little fun.
Fuck it.
The way her body shook when she realized she had to get past me if she wanted to escape. Her pale skin against the moonlight, scarcely covered with that tiny nightshirt. I barely held on to my control when she closed her eyes and refused to look at my cock even though she wanted to. It was all so easy, demanding that she stand there and watch me stroke my dick while her breath hitched with desire. I didn’t touch her, not a single hair on her pretty little head, yet I felt the warmth of her pussy tight-fisting my cock nonetheless. The minute I heard a soft moan leave her pouty lips, I shot off like a rocket all over her undulating chest. The shit went on forever. I’d been reaching for a come shot like that all night, pounding into the screamer like a battering ram, searching. Never mind that it had to come from my own hand. It rocked the holy fuck outa me. The strength of it as I erupted nearly knocked me on my ass if I hadn’t been leaning against the doorframe. A lesser man would’ve dropped to one knee and thanked the gods for such sweet relief. I nearly had. That shit had felt good.