Chapter 43
Tilian
The yawn that escaped me was feral. It made me shudder and was impossible to suppress.
Since I’d spent the weekend at Brooks’ place, I’d been irresponsible and neglected to do my homework. That left me in catch up mode this week. There’d been a test in one of my criminal justice classes this morning and I was pretty sure I passed, but it was also possible that I’d scribbled nonsense on the page. I only had to make it to Friday, then we’d have a whole week off for spring break.
I was too tired to smoke, which was concerning, in and of itself. I’d even told Brooks that I couldn’t hang out. All I wanted to do was lie in my bed and knock out for the rest of the day and night.
But I couldn’t sleep.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the pain in Brooks’ eyes when he opened up to me a couple weeks ago. It probably wasn’t healthy, but I was afraid every time I wasn’t with him.
What if something happened and I wasn’t there to make sure he was okay? What if his parents called and he began to spiral?
The self-hatred terrified me more than anything else. His ability to hide from others was impressive but not in a good way. It made me worry too much. I trusted him, but the fact was, he could still hide things from me and I might not know it. Would he ever stop? Could he stop?
Damnit.
Fuck healthy boundaries. I was at his apartment in ten minutes. It was dark inside, which was surprising since it was only seven. Maybe he was as exhausted as I was. We both slept better together anyway.
When I reached his door, I saw a faint light coming from inside. Maybe I should’ve texted. I was worried that walking in would freak him out. At least I knew that he didn’t have a gun.
“I know you’re out there,” he called.
With a smile, I opened the door. “How’d you know?”
“I heard the door. Maybe I’ve been listening since I got home, hoping you’d change your mind.”
I stopped and stared at him. He was sitting on the bed in a pair of basketball shorts, casually working on the stick and poke tattoo of a moon on his thigh.
He smiled at me, then kept doing it. He really didn’t think this was an issue. It was. Plenty of people had done them in high school, but they weren’t entirely safe. The biggest issue was why he did it.
“Stop,” I said.
“Hold on. I’m almost done.”
Marching up to him, I held my hand out. He looked at it, then at me, wearing a smirk.
“Wanna tattoo me, baby?”
Since he was holding the needle away from his leg now, I quickly swiped it. I turned around and kept walking until I reached the balcony.
“Hey,” he said, coming after me. “What are you doing?”
I threw it over the side as hard as I could. Sports weren’t really my thing, but I wasn’t going for a perfect pitch.
“What the fuck?” he shouted, putting his hands on the railing.
“I’m vetoing this.”
“That could kill someone.”
I put a hand over my mouth and looked down at the street. “Holy shit. Fuck. Do you think I just committed a murder? Oh my god.”
He cupped my face and gave me an exasperated look. “You’re a fucking maniac. What are you doing?”
Pushing away thoughts of accidentally giving someone a surprise lobotomy, I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. I started opening drawers in the kitchen, but all I found were things for cooking.
“Don’t you have a junk drawer?” I asked.
“Excuse me? A what?”
“A junk drawer where you put all the random shit you don’t know what to do with. Pens, unknown cords, paperclips, rubber bands, super glue you bought fifteen years ago.”
“It sounds like you need an office.”
“Do you have a sharpie or not?”
He held up his hands in surrender, then went over to a cabinet against the wall. There was a drawer there, but it was organized and everything was easy to find. It violated all things holy.
“Dishonor on your cow,” I said as I snatched the marker. “Sit.”
He rolled his eyes but took a seat at the island. I pulled his shirt up, then trailed my fingers down his ribs. I held the sharpie cap in my mouth while I made a circle, then added eight spokes. For flair, I made it a little fancy and when it was done, it looked badass.
He tried to look, but I covered it with his shirt. “Come on.”
“I am so confused,” he groaned.
“Don’t look. Don’t argue. We’re going for a drive.”
*****
Brooks looked appalled as he stared at the sign. “I’m not getting a tattoo.”
“You have six already,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but…”
“You know it’s not different. It’s just your perception of it.”
He bit his lip. “Okay.”
We walked inside and waited for one of the artists to be done with another client. The longer we sat there, the more antsy Brooks got. I held onto his thigh and when they finally called us back, I jumped to my feet.
“They’ll kill me,” he said as he settled on the chair.
“I’ll kill them first.”
He laughed and reached for me. The artist, Melanie, brought a chair over so that I could sit next to Brooks, and he noticeably relaxed. When she started up the machine, he knocked his head back against the seat.
“Calm down,” I instructed.
“I don’t even know what you’re making me get.”
I leaned over him and snapped a picture of it before Melanie cleaned off the drawing so that she could start. Brooks took the phone and cocked his head.
“A wheel? It looks dope. Do you draw?”
“I went through a manga phase in high school and taught myself anime art. We don’t have to talk about that.”
“I think we do,” he said with a grin.
“Anyway, it’s a Dharma wheel. In Buddhism, it’s a symbol of the path to enlightenment and each part has a different meaning. I think it’s sort of fitting for you.”
“What does it mean?”
I racked my brain, trying to remember the exact parts. When I couldn’t, I pulled it up on my phone.
“The inside is for discipline because without it, you can’t move forward. The spokes are: wise view, intention, speech, action, livelihood, effort, mindfulness, and concentration. The outside is the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. And, obviously, the point is to free yourself from the cycle. To become… perfect? I don’t know. Don’t quote me on the specifics. This website is sketchy.”
The way he stared at me made me concerned that I’d overstepped. He hated the idea of perfection. Melanie had already started the tattoo. What if he didn’t want it on his body forever?
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked suddenly.
“Uh, purple.”
“Can you make the spokes purple?”
“It’ll fade faster,” Melanie said.
“I’ll just have to keep getting it touched up.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re the only reason I care about all of those things, about making myself better.”
I had no idea how to respond to that without crying, so I just held his hand until the tattoo was finished. As soon as we were back in the car, I opened the sharpie and drew an Umbreon on his wrist.
“You’re such a nerd,” he laughed. “You don’t want me to get another tattoo already, do you?”
“No. I’m gonna draw art on your skin every day and when you get to that place where you need to feel something, you can look at them, which will remind you to text me. I’ll come over and suck your dick until you don’t hurt anymore. Or just talk or whatever.”
His smile was so wide as he pulled me into a kiss. “What if I want to call you?”
I shuddered. “I guess you’re out of luck, then.”
“You’ve talked to me on the phone twice .”
“And if you try for a third time, I’m breaking up with you. It’s literally abuse.”
“Mhm. Let’s get home so that I can abuse that ass. I bet my naked body looks damn sexy with this tattoo.”
“Drive fast.”