Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONE
I take a deep breath, swiping at the small tear that has leaked from the corner of my eye, as Mollie, my tattoo artist, wipes away the last of the ink puddled on my skin.
“You okay, little lady?” she asks me.
“Yeah. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.” I puff out a small laugh.
“That spot does hurt like a bitch. I just didn’t want to tell you because then you’ll be anticipating the pain and it makes it so much worse.” She swipes and ointment across the fresh tattoo then hands me a handheld mirror. “What do you think?”
I take it and stare at the reflection in absolute awe at the masterpiece she has painted. It’s a simple line tattoo but it’s elegant and exactly what I wanted. A beautiful rose blooms and the stem consists of elegant writing and words I never want to forget, as insane as that may seem. What type of person wants a phrase branded into them that reminds them of fear?
Me.
Run run run, little mouse takes the place of the stem in a flourished scroll. It stretches between my breasts and there aren’t many people who will know it’s there. I really only got it for one person and one person only.
“Did you want to show your guy? Or do you think that will set him off?” Mollie ponders.
“He may get a little pissed if I walk over there without a shirt on. Maybe I should just wait.”
She winks. “Good idea. Let me get the wrap and then you’ll be ready to go.”
I continue to look at it from different angles until she covers it with a thin almost plastic wrap like film she calls second skin. I carefully pull my bra and shirt on, and Mollie begins folding the screen that she placed around her station to block the view of those around the shop. I can see now why Hendrix didn’t want a man tattooing me. I assumed I could just lift my bra a little, but Mollie told me I would need to completely remove it so that the skin didn’t fold.
“How do you prefer I pay you? Credit card or transfer?” I grab my purse from the chair and pull out my phone.
“Oh baby, it’s taken care of.” I look at her questioningly. “Your man already paid for it. He asked how much then paid me double.”
My jaw drops and I look over to Hendrix who sits in the leather lounger, the artist hunched over his chest, working on a new piece. He looks relaxed like he’s getting a hot stone massage with zen music in the background. I guess at this point for him it is relaxing.
“You almost done there, Mr. Wolf?”
Hendrix opens one eye and looks over at me. “No. I think he has quite a bit more to go.”
“Oh. Okay, well I can just wait over there.”
“Do you want to take a look?” He asks.
“Can I? I mean, I don’t want to be in the way.”
The artist who was originally going to tattoo me looks over and says, “Come take a peek.”
He stops the tattoo gun and I walk over cautiously, like what’s been inked will somehow come to life and attack me. Hendrix outstretches his arm and smooths his hand up the back of my leg, pulling me closer.
When I look down I’m speechless at what I see. It’s mesmerizing and I itch to run my fingers over the lines.
In the empty spot on Hendrix’s chest are the outlines of what looks like his skin being torn back. Underneath is a heart –anatomical heart– sprouting flowers. While his existing tattoos are all colorless, this one is a mix of black and white lines and vibrant flowers. The colors are still being filled, but the pinks and blues and purples are clearly visible.
“Wow. That’s beautiful,” I tell him, letting my eyes trace every detail.
“It’s my Dagen tattoo,” he rasps.
“What?”
With a cocky smirk he explains, “Dagen means to be cut open in Hebrew. And that is what you have done to me, Dagen McCallan. Cut me open and helped my black heart beat again. My world was black and white and now with you in it, there’s a world of color I didn’t know existed.”
I swallow a hard lump but it does nothing to keep the tears at bay. This grumpy man, hardened and jaded by life, just poured his heart out and revealed a side of himself that most have not seen.
“Honey if you don’t marry that man, mind if I take a shot?” I look over my shoulder with big puddles in my eyes and see Mollie standing there with a smile.
She reaches out and squeezes my hand before turning and walking to her station to clean up.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.
Hendrix takes my hand and brings it to his mouth, softly kissing the back of it. “Don’t say anything. Just know it’s true.”
I nod then run my fingers through his golden strands, and place a kiss on his forehead. “Back at ya, Mr. Wolf.”
“I can’t believe we each got a tattoo for the other without knowing it.” It’s Sunday morning and as much as I wish it didn’t have to be over, I know Hendrix needs to get back home.
It’s a long drive from my house in Waco to his, and I worry about him driving so late.
“Great minds,” he tells me with a wink.
Our fingers are laced together and sit on the center console of his car.
After tattoos and lunch, we spent the rest of Saturday wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in the feel of warm skin and tender kisses. And equally, we basked in gluttonous pleasure with moans and lascivious touches. I prayed for it never to end, but reality sat knocking on our door.
Three weeks of this man and I’m ready to sing that I’ve found the one. Maybe my age makes me naive, but a man doesn’t get a tattoo for a girl if she’s a flash in the pan.
“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” I ask.
“One hundred percent. But ask me if I fucking care. No one is going to get in the way when it comes to you and I. Promise.” We pull up to my house and he stops his car, then turns to look at me. “When someone shines a light on the darkness you’ve been living, it helps you see truths that you didn’t realize were waiting for you. Once you see them, it’s impossible to go back to living in a world of black.”
“I didn’t know you were such a sap, Hendrix Dare. I thought I got myself a tough biker when really, it seems I’ve been gifted with a tender poet.” I bite my lip and wait for his response.
It comes in the form of him ripping me from my seat and yanking me to straddle him in the driver's seat.
“You are such a brat, you know that.” His fingers dig into my sides and I screech as he tortures me with tickles.
“Oh my god. No. I’m sorry. You’re gonna make me pee my pants,” I laugh.
He buries his head in my neck and nips at my thin skin, growling and pretending to eat me like the big bad wolf he is. A knock bangs on the window and we both jump. I look up to see my Dad standing very close with a stern look on his face.
“Can he see in?” I ask him, because from the outside, the tint is a dark ebony and I assumed it was impossible to see in.
“If he looks close enough he can. Come on. Climb over and let’s get out. Better to face him now than draw it out.”
My insides shake and it pours out of my fingers and toes as I shakily move to exit on the passenger side of the car. When I emerge from the midnight black car, I find my Dad fuming with my Mom right behind him.
“Get in the house Dagen,” he rumbles through gritted teeth.
“Vaughan. Could I talk to you for a moment? Just to exp–”
“Mr. McCallan. And no, we cannot talk. You need to get back into your car and drive away and don't come back.” Dad’s eyes shoot lasers into Hendrix but the man doesn’t cower.
“Respectfully Mr. McCallan, that’s about as likely to happen as a heifer sprouting wings and floating over us.”
“Vaughan, honey. Why don’t we go inside and wait for Dagen.” Mom touches his arm and he flinches like she’s touched him with hot coals.
“Dad, can you please just listen for a minute before you start freaking out.”
“Dagen! Go inside.”
“Hey, don’t speak to her like that.” Hendrix takes a step in front of me, blocking me from Dad’s view.
“Hendrix, get away from my daughter before I call the cops.”
I place my hand on his back and he chortles. “Call the cops with what reason? Your daughter is twenty-one and with me of her own will. I’m not holding her captive, or forcing her to do something illegal. You can’t just call the cops because you don’t like me.”
I hear the anger building in my Dad’s chest with each breath he takes. I need to snuff out the sparks before this goes up in a ring of fire.
Taking Hendrix’s hand in mine, I tug on him and move to the other side of the car. “Hey,” I whisper, getting his attention. “Maybe you should just go. You need to get on the road anyhow. I’ll talk to him. Okay?”
His nostrils flare and his jaw clicks with anger. My hand touches his chest where his new tattoo is, and it instantly calms him. A large, warm hand covers mine and squeezes. The black in his eyes fades, making way for the blue to shine.
“Okay, little mouse. I don’t want to cause any more problems. I’ll call you in a couple hours.” I nod my head and he steps to the back of his car, opening his trunk and coming away with my bag.
Without a word, he walks up the sidewalk and sets the bag down by my front door, then strides right back to me. With his eyes lasered in on where they stands, Hendrix cups the back of my head and angles in towards me. His kiss is grueling and intense and I can hear my Dad’s knuckles crack as he balls them into fists.
Hendrix releases me from our kiss and taps my nose. “Take care of that tattoo.”
He walks around the car, watching my Dad who watches him, and slides into the driver's seat. The engine roars, shattering the uncomfortable silence around us, and he slowly pulls away from the curb, only to speed off in a cloud of dust when he’s far enough away.
I blow out a breath and ready myself for the blowback that’s about to come.
The three of us stand facing each other, Mom and Dad in the middle of the street and me on the sidewalk, no one making the first move. Dad’s eyes waver between wanting to cry and wanting to shoot fire. I feel a small pang of guilt, but he’s really blowing things out of hand when it really doesn’t need to be anything but understanding.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I finally say. “I’m going to continue seeing Hendrix. There isn’t anythingyou can do or say that will change my mind. I really want you to be understanding of the fact that as an adult, this is a decision that is only mine to make. If you can’t…I don’t really know what there is for us to discuss.”
The palms of my hands sweat and my heart pounds like a bass drum, vibrations pulsing from head to toe. He takes Mom’s hand in his, inhales and exhales with a deep purpose, then turns and walks to where their truck is parked. A truck that I should have noticed when we pulled up, but I was too lost in Hendrix to notice anything else, but him.
Mom looks over her shoulder at me with big tears in her eyes and I just want to run to her and pull her in my arms, but I have to stand on my own. I won’t back down to Dad’s demands and doing that would have me bending to his will.
I stand on the sidewalk, watching Dad help Mom into the passenger seat before moving to his side and driving away.
Nothing speaks louder than words unspoken. And those words cut like a knife.