3. Tobias
Chapter 3
Tobias
" W hen are you bringing Amelia in to meet us?"
It's been a couple of months since Amelia moved in, and so far the only person she's met is Harry. Not because I don't want to introduce her to my world, but because she's been busy settling into the city and fixing up her disaster of a bedroom.
Before we moved in, her mom took it upon herself to redecorate the entire apartment. Kayla turned Amelia's bedroom into a Barbie-inspired nightmare—like someone hate-fucked a glitter bomb and left it for unicorns to snort like fairy dust.
Trauma has a color, and for Amelia, it's pink.
I remember walking into her room a few days after she'd moved in. I found her perched on the edge of her bed, her shoulders curled forward, staring blankly at the walls like she was suffocating beneath them. When I got closer to her, I heard her whisper, "I can't stand it in here."
Those six quiet words were all I needed to hear before I pulled my phone out of my pocket, flung a protective arm around her shoulders, and began calling around for decorators. I didn't need to ask her why—the pink walls trigger painful memories for Amelia—and if I could make the space feel safe for her and change it up so that it didn't remind her of one of the worst days of her life, then we'd get it done.
Now, we've had those pink walls painted a deep, rich shade of purple, leaving her room unrecognizable.
"Yeah, that'll be never, Levi."
"Why not?" He tilts his head to the side as his shoulder-length blond hair falls across his face.
"Because you'll only hit on her."
"She hot?"
"Dude, come on, that's my stepsister." I pause the needle in my hand, momentarily halting the mermaid tattoo I'm inking onto the back of Levi's calf.
"And?"
"And it's weird." I notice Levi flinch as I continue to shade in the ocean-blue tail, focusing on each scale before speaking again. "But if you must know, she isn't horrible to look at, and if you do ever meet her, you'd better keep your hands to yourself because if her mom has her way, she'll end up marrying some preppy lord or billionaire."
"Well, that sounds boring as shit." He pulls out his phone while keeping his leg still, allowing me to continue honing my art on him. "Speaking of marriage, I have a date tonight."
"Yeah?" I respond, trying to keep my focus.
"Her name's Misty."
"Doesn't sound like a real person."
"She's very real when she dances right in front of me."
I still my hand, glancing up from his tattoo. "So when you said you had a date, what you meant was that you were hoping to end the night with a dance from your favorite stripper."
"Sounds like a good night, right? You want in?"
"Hard pass, but thanks."
"There's nothing wrong with the Devil's Lair. I know you've been down there."
"I went once with you because it was your birthday, and Lola made me feel like I couldn't say no."
The first time I walked into Lola's, I felt like I was standing on the edge of something massive. I didn't know it then, but I was walking straight into my future. Lola is technically my boss, but that word doesn't come close to describing what she is to me. She's my mentor, friend, and someone who saw potential in me before I even believed it existed.
We first met one night in a bar when I was definitely too young to be there. I'm pretty sure I tried to hit on her, which was simultaneously the most embarrassing and the most pivotal moment of my life.
After telling her my dreams of becoming a tattooist, she decided, firstly, not to have sex with me, which was probably for the best, and, secondly, to teach me everything she could about tattooing. She gave me the necessary tools to practice and, more importantly, the confidence to believe in myself and to pour myself into my work, and now people pay me to ink their skin.
I love it so damn much.
The older I got, the more fascinated I became by people's tattoos, always wondering what made them permanently mark their bodies.
Was it pain? Love? Something they couldn't put into words, so they had it drawn onto their skin instead?
Now I'm the one covered in ink.
Over the years, intricate black-and-white designs have crept across my skin, blanketing me in artwork. Some pieces have meaning. Others are just there because I like them.
Levi's getting pretty damn close to matching me when it comes to tattoos. He's nearly covered from his neck down to his feet, and this little mermaid I'm working on—well, this beauty has white hair with a dark-blue tail that takes up the last bit of space on his calf.
"That looks awesome!" Lola calls out as she walks back over, having just said goodbye to a girl who came in for a septum piercing.
"Nearly done for today, Lo. Can't do much more when your brother has a date to get ready for."
Lola raises an eyebrow, arms crossed, as she leans against the doorway. "With who?"
"Misty," I say, trying not to laugh as I look up from Levi's leg.
"Give it up already, little brother. Misty doesn't swing your way."
"What? How do you know that?"
Lola shrugs as she pushes off the doorway. "Call it personal experience."
"Nice," I mutter, biting back a laugh while I finish shading the mermaid's scales.
"Do you know how many times she's moved her body on me?" Levi says, grinning like an idiot.
"That's because you're paying her, dumbass." Lola throws her head over and scoops her bright magenta hair up into some kind of messy ponytail with pieces flying out in every direction on the top of her head before turning the sign on the shop door to closed.
I put the tattoo gun down, feeling that familiar ache in my wrist from sitting here for the last few hours. "Right, you're done for the day. Go take a look."
I remove my gloves and stand up from my chair. My muscles are stiff from sitting in the same position, but I stretch them out, straightening my back as I roll my shoulders.
"She's perfect. Thanks, man."
"Hot, right?" I chuckle, watching as he checks her out.
I grab my keys and phone, tossing them into my pocket as I start to head out. Lola gives me a quick wave, while Levi focuses on his leg, still admiring his siren as I reach for the door.
I drive home with the windows down, the wind whipping through the car asThe Neighbourhoodplays out of the speakers.
When I return to the empty apartment, silence hits me like a brick wall. I take a deep breath, allowing the stillness to settle before I turn on the lights and toss my keys onto the kitchen counter.
Mills mentioned something earlier about a group thing with a few of the people from the dance company, so I know she's out. I don't know when she'll be back, but something inside tells me I need to wait up. It's not just about her coming home safely—there's more to it than that. It's this twisted, gnawing feeling that I can't control, a reminder of how much I hate being alone.
Always have.
I suppose that's what happens when your mom disappears without so much as a goodbye, and your dad treats you like you don't exist until you're old enough for him to want something from you. It can mess you up if you allow it to, but aside from having tiny abandonment issues, I think I'm doing okay.
However, this is only the third or fourth time I've been in the apartment without Amelia, and it's quiet. Too quiet. I know she's fine wherever she is, but until I hear the sound of her keys in the lock and her soft footsteps tiptoeing across the floor, I know I'll be wired.