Inked: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World)

by Tracy Lorraine

  I can’t help but chuckle. “Ah, domestic bliss. It’s a sight to behold.”

  “Fuck off,” he barks, disappearing out to his room.

  Much like the studios in both London and Manchester, each artist has their own room to work in. Zach has had the place fitted out in exactly the same way as all his other studios, so his Rebel Ink branding is strong despite the differences in location.

  Once I’ve finished my breakfast, I head to my room. It’s much more homely than the flat I’m renting, which is good because if things continue the way they have been then I might be moving into it sooner than I’d like to admit.

  With just under an hour before my first client of the day is due to arrive, I power up my computer to get some admin done before pulling my phone from my pocket. Knowing her number is sitting there waiting for me taunts me. My thumb hovers over the contacts as I debate shooting her a message. I know the wisest thing to do would be to forget and move on, but there’s something about her that’s still under my skin.

  Ignoring my need to reach out, I instead find the number for another woman who occupies a lot of my headspace. Sadly it’s in a totally different way to Harlow.

  “Hey, Son. How’s it going over there?” Mum asks in a joyful voice that I know she’s putting on for my benefit.

  “It’s fantastic.” It’s not a lie, I love my new life here, but speaking to her is always a stark reminder of the disaster I left behind in my quest to escape my past. “And how are things there?”

  “Yeah, yeah. They’re good. The electric company has finally sorted everything out.”

  “That’s great. What about everything else?”

  She pauses and lets out a large sigh. “We’re getting there. Natalie has a new bar job, so that will help. Sadie is looking, but with her studies, it’s not easy. It’ll all be fine though. I’m stronger than I look. I won’t let him break me, Son.”

  “I know you are, Mum.”

  “Plus I’ve got you, my guardian angel.” A smile curls up at one side of my mouth.

  “It’s the least I can do, seeing as I’m not there.”

  “How was I so lucky to get you as my son?” She asks me this often; my constant answer is that I’m only what she made me, but the words are getting boring.

  “It’s how it should be. Anything else from debt collectors?”

  “No, not since the last lot of letters I sent you.”

  “That’s good. Hopefully, they’re coming to an end.”

  “I’m sure they are. There’s only so much bad luck that can land on me, right?”

  I agree, because I’m not sure what else to say. Mum chats away before I tell her that I’ve got to get to work and bring our conversation to an end, promising to ring her in a few days but insisting that if she needs me she reaches out before then. She agrees like always, but she’s stubborn, and it’s usually one of my sisters who ends up ringing with bad news.

  Mum and Dad had been happily married all my life. I often questioned Mother’s choice in men seeing as he was so controlling. He enlisted in the army at fifteen, and every single part of his life was run like it was a military operation, including his marriage. I always assumed Mum was happy with that, because she sure never complained. Although I’m now learning it was more because she was afraid to than anything else.

  Everything was… bearable, I guess, until one day it all came crashing down around Mum’s feet. Dad came home one night and announced that he’d met someone else and that he was leaving. Mum was shattered. Everything about life as she knew it ended with those few words, but she never imagined what was to follow, thanks to my father.

  A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. Shaking my head, I hope that it might rid me of some of my stress as I pocket my phone and welcome my first client of the day inside. It’s a guy who turned up a few weeks ago for a consultation. I’ve been working on finalising his design since, and I’m excited to finally be able to put some ink to skin at last.

  “Corey, man. How’s it going?”

  “It’s good, it’s good,” I say plastering a smile on my face like all is right in my world.

  “I can’t wait to get this started.”

  “You still happy with it?”

  “Yeah, man. It’s perfect.”

  “Shirt off then and down on your front, and I’ll get started.”

  Chapter Five

  Harlow

  “Are you ever going to get that thing done, or do you just intend on staring at it for the rest of your days, wishing you were brave enough?”

  I glance at the sketch tacked to my mirror before lifting my eyes over my shoulder to Bailey, who’s now made herself comfortable in my bed.

  “Something wrong with your room?”

  “Yeah, actually. It stinks of puke.”

  “So you thought you’d spread it to my bed, too. Great, thanks.”

  “I’ve showered, you’re safe.”

  That doesn’t exactly make me feel better, but I look back to my mirror to finish getting ready. My stomach bottoms out the second I remember what exactly it is I’m getting ready for before I have a chance to push it aside.

  “I’ll get it one day,” I mutter, looking at the design I came up with a few years ago for the day I was brave enough to be inked. After all the shit I did in my teen years, you wouldn’t think getting a tattoo would have been all that wild, but every time I thought about it, I chickened out. I even got as far as a waiting room a time or two, but each visit ended with me walking back out through the door with my skin as bare as when I walked inside.

  “You’ve been saying that for years. Pull the Band-Aid off and just do it, H. I guarantee you’ll feel better after.”

  “Says the expert,” I mutter, knowing that her knowledge of tattoos is limited to the tramp stamp on her back.

  “I’m too hungover to argue with you.”

  “And for that I’m truly grateful.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Yet still you love me.”

  “That I do, sista. That I do. You look nice,” Bailey says, her eyes running the length of me.

  “Dress for the news you want, right?”

  “It’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure you’ve had your fill of bad luck over the years.”

  “She’s been called in on a Saturday, do you really believe that?”

  Dread passes through her eyes, and my stomach twists with what I know is coming. I’m about to be told that I’m losing someone else I love. They’re words that one should only hear once or twice in their lives, but for me, it’s a more common occurrence than I’d like to admit.

  Bailey’s slightly green face pales. She knows I’m right.

  “It will be what it will be. I’ve just got to do my best to support her through it.”

  “She’s lucky to have you.”

  I shrug. I can see how Bailey might see it that way, but really, I’m the lucky one. My aunt is my lifeline. She came for me when I was at my lowest, and without her, I’ve no doubt that I probably wouldn’t be here right now.

  Pushing from the stool I’m sitting on, I stand and pull my purse from the bed.

  “Message me when you have news.”

  I nod, suck in a huge breath, and move toward the door. I’ve got to be strong for her. She might be all I have in the family department, but equally, I’m all she’s got, and I need to not fall apart when she needs me most. She didn’t when I was, so it’s time for me to pull up my big girl panties and stand strong beside her.

  My aunt’s waiting at the window when I pull up to her home. In seconds she’s out of the front door and heading my way. A weak smile graces her lips, but she’s just trying to put on a show for my benefit. I can see how she’s really feeling in the depths of her dark eyes. She’s terrified but doesn’t want me to know it.

  “Good morning,” she sings in her usual cheerful voice which normally brings me joy, but right now, all I want to do is cry.

  “Morning,” I force out through the lump in my
throat.

  “You didn’t have to come, you know. I’m a big girl, I could have gone alone.”

  “No chance. We’re a team, remember? We do the hard stuff together.” I repeat the words she said to me time and time again in my late teen years.

  She reaches over and grabs my hand, squeezing tightly. “We both know what he’s going to say, and neither of us wants or needs to hear it. But…” She trails off.

  “The unknown is worse than the reality.” She nods, a tiny smile twitching at her lips.

  “Exactly. Let’s go and find out the reality and see what we’re really facing.”

  My aunt was first diagnosed with breast cancer when I was just nineteen. It was like I’d just managed to sort my life out and hers was falling apart once more.

  She’d saved my life, and now she was going to lose hers.

  Tears burn my eyes as I recall that first appointment when we heard the bad news, and everything that was to follow. The hospital appointments, the treatment, the sickness. She handled it all with such strength. I already knew that she was one hell of a woman, but watching her kick cancer’s butt one day at a time was incredible. I was so proud of her and inspired by her resilience. She’d only recently lost the love of her life, and now she was fighting for her own. It takes a really special kind of person to be able to get through all of that unscathed. Not to mention picking up your wayward niece and bringing her back to life along the way.

  I back out of her drive and force down my fear. There’s no point in me jumping to conclusions. We both know this is going to be bad, but we don’t know how bad. People live with returning cancer for years. Maybe she’ll be one of the lucky ones.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the scans show that your tumors are growing faster than we anticipated. That will account for the symptoms you’ve been complaining of. The headaches, the dizziness, the confusion, the seizures.” I turn to look at my aunt, my eyebrows raised in accusation. All the while, my heart is shattering in my chest.

  “You didn’t tell me—”

  “I didn’t want to worry you unduly.”

  “Unduly? I’m thinking it was kind of important.”

  “It is what it is. There’s nothing you could do to fix it.”

  “Maybe not. But he can,” I say, gesturing to the doctor watching our exchange. “So what next? What’s the treatment plan? What’s the prognosis?”

  He swallows before opening his mouth, and my body turns to ice. “Well, we can discuss treatment options, most likely radiation. But you’ve already indicated on a number of occasions that you don’t want any more treatment, is that right Mrs. Winslow?”

  “But that was before. When you thought it was all over. You can’t still—”

  “That’s correct.”

  “No, no. It might help. It might give you more time,” I beg, reality fast slipping away from me.

  “More time for what, Lo? To be ill and have to be looked after by you, carers or nurses? If this is my time, then I want to go out with dignity.”

  I blow out a long breath, trying to absorb what she’s saying, what she’s always said. “I know you do.” I take her hand in mine and squeeze. It takes every bit of strength I possess to say it, but I meet her eyes and allow the words to pass my lips. “I’ll be there for you, whatever you decide.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers, her own eyes full of unshed tears.

  “So, the prognosis?” I ask again, turning to the doctor.

  “It’s all a guess at this stage, but at best I’d say a couple of months. At worst…”

  “At worst?”

  “Weeks.”

  “Fucking hell,” I say on a sigh, my body desperate to curl up into a ball in an attempt to block everything out.

  I don’t hear another word that the doctor says. The only thing filling my ears is my blood racing through them and my pounding heart that sounds like a drum.

  I’m going to lose her, too, and then who do I have?

  When it’s time to leave, my aunt places her hand on my shoulder. I flinch at the contact, so lost in my own world that I wasn’t even aware the appointment was over.

  “Come on, Lo. I think we should go and get cake.”

  A sad laugh falls from my lips, but I can’t deny that eating my weight in cake right now doesn’t sound appealing.

  She slips her hand into mine and together, with our heads held high and tears in our eyes, we walk toward the car.

  I automatically drive us to our favorite place, a little cake shop on the Malibu coastline. It’s run by an old English couple, and it’s the quaintest place I’ve ever seen. The homemade cakes are displayed on towering stands and the tables are covered in tartan cloths with small vases of fresh flowers.

  My aunt orders us our regular, a pot of English tea for her and a large cappuccino with an extra shot for me, along with two huge slices of cake.

  I poke my fork into the soft sponge, not really having the stomach for it now that it’s in front of me. The silence between us is heavy, but it’s not uncomfortable as we both attempt to come to terms with what we’ve just learned.

  My uncle always promised that, should anything happen to him, my aunt would be looked after. He certainly pulled through. When I took her to her first appointment all those years ago, I was floored by the hospital she directed me to. It was a million miles from any I’d visited in my past. But sadly, it seems it doesn’t matter how much money you have or how incredible the doctors who treat you are. Cancer doesn’t care. It literally doesn’t give a fuck what kind of person you are and what you can offer to the world. It just shits all over you and wipes you out before your time, leaving your loved ones behind trying to figure out how to move on.

  My lip trembles as I think of my future with no family.

  “Everything will be okay, Lo.”

  “I know,” I lie. “I’m just going to be alone. You’re my last—” A sob bubbles up my throat, cutting off my words.

  “Family isn’t just blood, Lo. You’ve got Bailey and her parents.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts, Lo. I’m not going to lie and try to tell you that the world hasn’t handed you a pretty fucked up few years, but you’ve gone through worse than this and you’ve come out the other side stronger. It’s time, once again, to move on, to start your own family, and to think about your future.” At that moment, the song that was playing softly in the background comes to an end and a male British voice fills the space. I’m immediately taken back to last night when Corey was whispering in my ear. My skin pricks and my cheeks heat at the memory.

  “Lo?” my aunt asks, not missing my reaction.

  Shaking my head, I drag myself back to my miserable here and now instead of the small escape I allowed myself last night.

  “It’s nothing,” I mutter, finally lifting a forkful of cake to my lips.

  “My dear, anything that makes you blush like that certainly isn’t nothing.”

  “Perceptive much?” I grumble, making her laugh. “Bailey dragged me out last night and—”

  “You met someone?” Her hopes rise along with her voice. She’s been desperate for me to put myself out there and try to find someone, almost as desperate as Bailey has been, although I think their reasons might be slightly different.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Really?”

  Rolling my eyes at her persistence, I give in, knowing she’s desperate for something to think about other than the appointment we just left.

  “There was just a guy I was dancing with. A British guy.”

  “Ohhh… a British guy. You know what they say about those?” She winks, and my cheeks flame once again.

  “Err… no?”

  “Me either, but any man who turns your cheeks that color is definitely worthy of a little of your time. So, when are you seeing him again?”

  “I’m not,” I mutter, focusing on my now half-eaten cake.

  “He didn’t give you his number?”
>
  “Yeah, he did. I’m just not looking for anything right now.”

  “Harlow, the best things don’t appear when we’re looking for them. They usually hit you upside the head when you least expect it.”

  “I know.”

  “So, call him. He might be the perfect distraction.” She winks, and I pray for the floor to swallow me up. My aunt isn’t naïve to my past—she actually found herself dragging me from the situations I got myself into more than once, so she knows exactly the kind of distraction I used to rely on.

  “I don’t need a distraction.”

  “Harlow,” she sighs. “Stop being so afraid. Meeting this guy again, going on a date, spending time with him is so far from anything in your past. A distraction can come in many forms. You’re a different person now to who you were back then. You’re strong. You know what you want from life. You make good choices. But you’re letting your fear get in the way of really living your life. How many guys have you turned down over the years?”

  “A lot,” I mutter, not all that happy that this has turned into a Harlow therapy session all of a sudden. Shouldn’t I be supporting her right now?

  “Love is worth being brave for, trust me.” Her eyes go all soft as she thinks about my uncle. He was the only man she ever knew, and their love was unbreakable right until the very end.

  “I’m not sure this is—”

  “You’ll never know if you don’t call him and find out. Sure, there’s a chance you’ll meet a few frogs along the way, but some lucky people like me find their prince right away.”

  “I’ve already done the frogs. They’re what I’m afraid of.”

  “Different kind of frog, Lo.”

  I think back to the guys of my past and I can’t deny that what she’s saying isn’t true. Corey is totally different to the wastes of space I remember, who only wanted me for one thing while I craved the mind-numbing bliss they offered in return. My stomach turns over with disgust.

  I mull her words over as I finish off my cake. As much as I hate to consider that she might be right, it’s better than thinking about our reality. In a few weeks, she might not be here to give me any advice, so I’d better enjoy it while I have it.