Blurred Lines: Tattoo Romance (Bodies Ink and Steel)

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Blurred Lines: Tattoo Romance (Bodies Ink and Steel) Page 17

by Scott Hildreth


  “You’ll get pussy all over your face,” I said.

  “Good pussy,” she said with a laugh.

  ‘The best,” I said as I pressed my lips to hers.

  And, in my mind, not only was it the best, but it was the only pussy on this earth.

  RILEY

  Leaving home young and living a life under the watchful eye of someone more concerned with controlling me than loving me left me without any of the friends I had when I was in school. In the four years while I was separated from all of my former friends, they found lovers of their own, some had children, and others moved away.

  Stevie was brash, crude, and annoying at times.

  But she was very easy to like.

  She moved her foot away from the switch, lifted the tattoo machine from his chest, and glared at him. “If you keep whining and squirming around like a little bitch, I’m going to have Riley paint your fingernails, put lipstick on you, and kick your ass out into the street. Fuck, can you just shut up?”

  Lying flat on his back on the table, her client was very thin, pale, and appeared to be not much over the eighteen year old age requirement. He opened his eyes and gazed back at her.

  “It fucking hurts,” he whined.

  “It’s supposed to hurt, it’s a fucking tattoo. Maybe you should have got a dove on your ass instead of an eagle on your chest,” she said.

  He nodded his head and blinked his eyes. “I think I’m okay. Go ahead.”

  She stepped on the pedal. The machine began to buzz, and she pressed the needle against his skin. After a few seconds, he wailed out into the room and waved his hands in the air.

  “Stop, stop, stop…I’m done,” he said.

  She had started the tattoo merely minutes before, and had just begun the outline of the eagles head.

  “You’re fucking kidding, right?” she asked.

  “No,” he said as he sat up in the chair. “I’m done.”

  She stood from her stool, still gripping the tattoo machine in her hand. “Giving up, huh?”

  “Yea, I can’t take it. What do I owe you?” he asked.

  “Hundred bucks,” she said.

  “A hundred for this?” he said as he pointed to his chest.

  “You fucking pussy. Do you think that eagle drew itself? I drew that motherfucker by hand. It took me almost four fucking hours. You didn’t leave a deposit, so yeah. A hundred bucks is cheap,” she seethed.

  He shook his head.

  She pressed her foot against the pedal and leaned forward as if she was going to poke him with the buzzing needle.

  “Fine,” he said as he reached for his wallet.

  After handing her a handful of money, he reached for his shirt. As he walked toward the door, he pulled the shirt over his head, mumbling to himself the entire time. I wondered as he pushed the door open, stepped out onto the side walk, and turned away just how many people were wandering the streets with half-finished tattoos on their skin.

  “Wow, that was funny,” I said.

  “What a twat,” she said as she pulled her gloves off and tossed them in the trash.

  “I can’t believe he didn’t even make it fifteen minutes,” I said.

  “More like five,” she said over her shoulder as she tossed the inkwell into the trash.

  With her hair now colored grey from her roots to the tips, she seemed so much different than when we met. After commenting on her newest choice in color - which I actually liked a lot - she warned me not to become too attached to anything she did with her hair, as she changed the color no less than once a month.

  “I know you said you’re going to change it, but I really like your hair,” I said.

  She glanced in my direction and grinned. “Thanks. I like yours too. It always looks so healthy.”

  “It’s almost brown,” I said.

  She shook her head and stared. “It’s blonde as fuck.”

  “If I didn’t color it, it’d be brown. Like almost black,” I said.

  “No shit? I like it blonde. It looks good,” she said with a nod.

  She glanced around the shop. Thursday mornings were normally busy, but with Stevie’s cancelled appointment and Blake in Winfield with Jackson until noon, the shop was completely empty.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Let me braid it for you,” she said as she reached for my hair.

  “Uhhm, okay,” I said.

  “We’re going to be sitting here with our thumbs in our asses until somebody walks in,” she said.

  “Come over here and sit,” she said as she sat down in her chair and patted the stool beside her.

  I sat down in the stool, and almost immediately she began to run her fingers through my hair. It reminded me of when I was a little girl and my mother would braid my hair before school. On the occasions she chose to do so, I always felt special and spent the entire day believing I was much more beautiful than any of the other girls in my class.

  As she separated each section of hair, I wondered what it might look like when she was done. My hair had grown quite long, and was at least a foot past my shoulders in length. I closed my eyes and smiled as the music played and she quietly continued to tug against my hair and fold it into place.

  “So you and Blake are quite the couple,” she said.

  I opened my eyes. “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re like teenagers the way you look at each other,” she said as she continued to work her fingers through my hair.

  “We’re in love,” I said.

  “Well, it shows. It’s cute. Makes me want to have a guy who’s normal,” she said.

  I turned my head slightly to the side and shifted my eyes until she came into view. “What happened to Vince?”

  She slapped her hand against the side of my head. “Turn around.”

  I faced forward, laughing to myself at her harsh nature and wondering just how much of it was a simply a show and how much was genuine.

  “What happened to Vince?” I asked again.

  “I heard you, hold on a minute,” she said as she worked her way around the back of my head.

  “He came in, got three knuckle tats, and we talked. That was it. Didn’t even offer to take me for a ride,” she said.

  “That sucks,” I said.

  Stevie was beautiful. If she didn’t say anything, most men would be intimidated by her beauty, and probably wouldn’t even think they had a chance of ever being with her. When she opened her mouth, a long string of expletives soon followed, and eventually the conversations always went to the subject of sex, regardless of whether she was in the presence of a man, a woman, or both. I suspected her outgoing personality and her sailor mouth prevented her from finding the man she wanted, but I feared telling her so.

  “Yeah, sucks balls. Oh well, there’ll always be another,” she said as her hands moved along the right side of my head.

  “So, what exactly are you doing?” I asked.

  “About what?” she responded.

  I chuckled lightly. “With my hair?”

  “You’ll see,” she said. “Almost done. You’re a pretty bitch, just so you know.”

  “You’re a pretty bitch,” I said over my shoulder.

  She slapped the left side of my head sharply. “Turn the fuck around.”

  I reached up and scratched my head where she had slapped me. A few minutes and a few tugs later, she tapped me on the shoulder.

  “All done,” she said.

  I stood from my seat, pressed my hands against my hair, and felt the braids. As I stepped in front of the mirror I inhaled a sharp breath.

  “Oh my God, it’s beautiful. What…” I stared at myself in the mirror as I raised my hands to my head. “What’s it called?”

  “Waterfall braid. It’s easy,” she said as she walked up behind me.

  “I love it,” I said.

  “Can you teach me?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Sorry. You’re too much of a ding dong to understand.”

&n
bsp; “I’m serious,” I said.

  “So am I,” she said with a laugh as she turned away.

  “I can’t wait till Blake sees it,” I said.

  “Neither can I,” she responded.

  I turned to face her. “Why’s that?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s just, you know, seeing you two makes me kind of happy or whatever. I almost trick myself into thinking one day I might have something similar. Not with some pinch-faced rat like Blake, but some guy that at least acts like him.”

  I scrunched my nose and narrowed my eyes. “Pinch-faced?”

  She shrugged her shoulders again and grabbed her pink mannequin head, the one labeled “Bad as Fuck.” As she placed it at the front of her drawing table, she glanced over her shoulder.

  “Grab your stool and come here. I’ll show you how to do it,” she said.

  I grinned and turned toward the front of the shop. As I walked back with the stool I realized Stevie wasn’t much different than me, or anyone else for that matter. She was what my mother had always called an M&M.

  Hard on the outside, and sweet once you cracked the outer shell.

  As we wove the pink hair together into a beautiful waterfall braid, I couldn’t help but smile.

  Having Stevie as a friend was best described by the writing on the face of her expressionless mannequin head.

  Bad as Fuck.

  BLAKE

  There were five men standing in a group in front of me, all of which looked like they were ready to go to war. One, a former Marine, one no less than six foot six - and muscle from head to toe, one with his face covered in a long beard - and rocking an awesome southern drawl, Axton, and Jackson.

  “So here’s the deal. There isn’t one of the fellas that wouldn’t go take care of this fucker, but not if you went along. There’s one hell of a brotherhood amongst us, but it is amongst us,” Axton explained.

  I nodded my head.

  “So here’s what we’ve got. Toad, Biscuit, Otis, Big Jack, and me. Well, and you. We’re it. You’re good with Jack, so you’re good with me. These other fellas volunteered because, well, because they’re who they are. This is a damned strange series of circumstances, and normally there wouldn’t be any of us that’d be doing a fucking thing in your presence, but here we are. And Jack may or may not have some things he wants to tell you, I’m not sure, but I need to make good and god damned sure you’re not going to get soft on us, or I’ll leave your happy little tattooing ass here,” Axton growled.

  “I won’t go soft,” I said.

  Axton shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his massive chest. I’d never been in the presence of anyone quite as intimidating as he was. His glare alone was enough to cause almost any man to understand turning away and running was his only viable option.

  “You say that,” he said. “But until the shit gets real, you never know.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Time will tell,” he said.

  I nodded my head and glanced around the garage.

  “Pay fucking attention,” he grunted.

  I shifted my eyes toward him and nodded my head again.

  He sighed and shook his head as if frustrated with me. “So, the clock’s been moved up, and after our own little investigation, we’re going tomorrow mid-day. He’s got a church service in the evening, and we’re going to get him right after that.”

  “I’m good with that,” I said.

  “One of the fellas is renting a Ryder van under his name and staying home with his wife so he’s got a solid alibi, and we’re taking it down there. It’ll be a shitty little ride, but…”

  “We’re not riding?” I asked.

  He sighed, glanced around the group of men, and flexed his massive biceps. “You interrupt me again, and I’ll toss your little ass out in the street.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No,” he said. We’re not riding. Too much risk. And we need somewhere to toss his ass. We’ll go over details tomorrow. Meeting here at two o’clock tomorrow. You good with that?”

  I nodded my head. “Yep.”

  “And what’s said here, stays here. Not even your pretty Ol’ Lady,” he said.

  “Understood,” I said.

  “Big Jack?” Axton said.

  Jackson glanced at me, inhaled a deep breath, and sighed. As he gazed down at his boots, the men all did the same. I felt he’d shared something with them he had yet to share with me, and wondered what it may be.

  “I uhhm…I talked to my sis the other day after we met. You remember Syd?” he asked, still staring down at his boots.

  “Yeah, I remember her,” I said.

  “Well, let’s just say you weren’t the only one. This isn’t just about you anymore, I want to make sure that’s understood,” he said as he glanced up from his boots.

  I swallowed heavily and stared. As his gaze met mine I noticed his eyes looked distant, tired, and every bit of angry.

  I wet my lips and nodded once. “Understood.”

  “This deal will make you or break you,” he said. “I owe you for making me aware of what happened to Syd, I damned sure do. But if you go soft on me, I’ll leave you there right beside that cock sucker. And that, little man, is a promise.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Jackson,” I said in an assuring tone.

  I shifted my eyes to each of the men, making a point to maintain eye contact with each of them.

  “It’s not going to happen,” I repeated.

  And I meant every word I said.

  RILEY

  I dug in my closet, finding every card, note, piece of jewelry, and trinket Stephen had ever given me. Some dated back to the summer of my junior year in high school, and although at the time I received them they meant the world to me, now they meant less than nothing.

  I glanced behind me. A twelve inch high mound of treasures in a pile roughly three feet across. I stood, stared down at the mess, and shook my head. After walking into the kitchen and getting two trash bags, I separated the paper from the jewelry and few articles of clothing.

  I walked back into the kitchen and got the lighter fluid for the grill and the matches. Proudly, I walked into the driveway and poured the bag of clothes and letters into a pile. After dousing it in fluid, I set it afire and walked back into the house.

  A small pile of rings, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and perfume lay on the floor. I scooped the items into my hands and transferred them to the bag. I glanced around the room and grinned at the thought of nothing in my home being a result of meeting him.

  I walked to the garage, got in my car, and backed out over the still smoldering pile of debris.

  Within fifteen minutes, I had driven to a depressed area of town. A Woman waiting at the crosswalk for the light to turn studied my car. A BMW M6 probably wasn’t something she saw every day. I rolled down my passenger window and smiled.

  “Hi, I’m Riley. Want some jewelry?” I asked.

  She walked up to the window and stared.

  “Would you like some jewelry? It’s real. Gold, diamonds, all kinds of stuff,” I said cheerily.

  She furrowed her weathered brow. “Steal it?”

  “Seriously? No, my ex-boyfriend gave it to me. You can go pawn it and get some money. Maybe buy something nice,” I said as I tossed my head toward the bag.

  She shrugged her shoulders, appearing to still be uncertain if it was a trick. I reached in the rear seat and produced the bag. As I hoisted it into the air, it was apparent the bag was filled with twenty ponds of treasure.

  Her eyes widened and she reached for the bag. “Give it here.”

  I handed her the bag and grinned.

  As I rolled up the window and drove away, I laughed at the thought of Stephen actually doing something nice for someone for once in his life.

  And he didn’t even know it.

  BLAKE

  I had never known love. Although I was quite certain both of my parents loved me, I had very litt
le recollection of them being in my life. Most of what I believed I remembered was more than likely false memories manufactured by my mind in an effort to prove to me they existed at some point and time in my life.

  The remaining portion of my childhood was filled with children, adults, and confusion, but not love. As I reached adolescence, I was curious about women, relationships, and sex; but for many reasons I never acted on any of the ideas my curiosity presented.

  When I finally reached a point I felt I was able to be in a relationship and possibly provide a woman with the care, affection, and love a relationship required, the fear of failure far outweighed what I believed the possible gains might be. Time seemed to pass all too quickly once I reached adulthood. The constant searching for whatever it is that we as adults seek, the striving to succeed, and the filling our days with events to reassure us we’re accomplishing exactly what it is we’re supposed to seemed to consume me. And, one day I looked in the mirror, and the failure I feared I may become looked back at me.

  I then chose to tattoo myself heavily, making me seem repulsive to others on the surface, hoping all along that the tattoos would cause rejection by all who exposed only to what their eyes were able to see. It seemed to work, and my life of solitude which followed was confirmation of me being distasteful to those who exposed themselves to me.

  Loneliness followed hand in hand with my life of isolation, so my mind developed a world of fantasy in which I was able to live without repercussion.

  Without rejection.

  Without heartache.

  And without pain.

  If I was forced to look at myself with a critical eye, my alcoholism would be the only true fault I felt I possessed, and it was not as much of a fault as it was a disease. I began drinking when I was thirteen, much earlier than most, but I had always felt it wasn’t quite early enough. I found an odd comfort in knowing once I decided to change my life and stop drinking, I met Riley.

  At almost the exact time I stopped drinking, she packed her bags and left an abusive relationship. Six months later, we met. Be it by happenstance or by some strange twist of fate I didn’t know, but it really didn’t matter in the least. What did matter was that she was able to easily fit into my life where so many others weren’t.

 

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