From the Ashes

5. Jade

Jade

I plug my phone into the charger Asher pointed me to and groan when it doesn’t immediately light up. Damn, it’s really dead.

Worry fills my chest as I wonder what exactly I’ve just agreed to with Asher: going to his tattoo shop while I wait to find a way to get home. Hope and pray that my mom will actually make the drive to come get me. I can’t make Asher do that; it’s asking so much, especially after what he’s already done for me. Six hours round trip. Who offers to do something like that? What does he want in return? What will he want in return?

“Sometimes there are decent people in the world, and it’s okay to accept their help when you need it,” he’d said.

My hands go to my hair. I want to rip it out. Everything I’m thinking and feeling is a contradiction. I want to trust him, but I can’t. My gut says to, but my head screams that I’m being na?ve again. I want to believe he’d simply drive me and drop me off at my home, but what if he has some other sinister plan? Last night I was completely out of it, and maybe that was enough to deter him from something more he wanted to do… I don’t know. Pushing the heels of my hands into my eyes, hard enough so that the questions stop, I groan loudly.

I’m between a rock and a hard place.

Sighing, I rub my forehead in worry. I have no other choice but to rely on Asher right now. My bag sits basically untouched at the foot of the bed, and I open it to try to remember what I’d packed. Pulling the items out one by one, I thank my past self for being organized. I have a toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush, my small makeup bag, clean underwear and a sports bra. I also packed comfy clothes because I thought I would be driving home today.

Flared leggings and an oversized T-shirt, it is.

Changing quickly and shoving my nasty, torn outfit into my bag, I stop. Holding the ruined clothes in my hands, it dawns on me: I’m never going to be able to wear that outfit again without being traumatized. That makes me really sad because I actually felt confident in that outfit. It made me feel attractive and sensual; things I don’t usually feel. Biting my lip to keep the tears and frustration at bay, something catches my eye. The sweats and shirt Asher let me borrow, which I’d tossed onto the bed. He wouldn’t mind, would he? I ponder and quickly make the choice to stuff the gray shirt into my bag as well.

A soft knocking makes me turn, and I quietly open the door to see Asher standing there with wet hair dripping down his face.

“Are you ready?” he asks kindly. “I want to pick us up some food on the way there.”

“It’s okay,” I protest, shrugging my shoulders. I don’t have any money to pay for anything, courtesy of Sarah—discovering she had taken my cash from my wallet was the icing on my ‘fuck you’ cake.

“Oh, stop.” Asher rolls his eyes and leans against the door frame. “I’m starving and I ate a snack when we got back here last night— you did not. There’s no way you’re not hungry.”

“It’s okay,” I reiterate.

He sighs and gestures for me to follow him. “I’m going to feed you and you’re going to eat. I understand you don’t have money right now, and that’s okay. I’m good with covering you for a bit.”

I grab my bag and phone, making sure to grab the charger, too.

It still hasn’t charged at all. What the fuck? Maybe it just didn’t have enough time. Although I figured by now, it would at least have one or two percent.

“Asher,” I start to say, but he just waves me off.

“Seriously, Jade, just leave it. I’m buying, you’re eating. You need anything, you let me know.” Raising his eyebrows, the look in his eye tells me that he is not going to argue with me.

“But,”

“No, Jade. No! You need something, you tell me.” His hand reaches out and grabs the keys on the entry table, before turning and looking at me. “You have everything?”

I put my bag over my shoulder, holding tightly to the straps. Nodding to him, he opens the door and holds out a hand.

“Then your chariot awaits, milady.”

* * *

His shop is amazing. Small and artisanal, but through and through, edgy and welcoming. Asher pushes open the unlocked door and I’m hit with the strong smells of antiseptic, coffee, and vanilla; the latter probably coming from the lit candle at the front desk where a girl with black hair sits, tattooing herself .

“Jesus, Roxie!” Asher closes the door, causing the overhead bell to start ringing again. “You’re not supposed to do that at the front desk!”

Roxie rolls her eyes. “Look, your receptionist didn’t show up and I don’t have anyone on my books until later. So, I volunteered—nay, accepted—the job of keeping this place up and running since you’re actually late. For the first time since I’ve known you, I might add. What would you do without me?” She smirks, leaning back and throwing her arms out dramatically. A patch of skin on her upper thigh is raised and red, standing out sharply against the rest of her pale coloring. My eyes are drawn to it; the beautiful snake she’s tattooing weaving through her other existing tattoos. It’s really awesome that she can make something so realistic, while also working around what’s already there. She’s not taking away from the designs, but adding a layer of depth to it. I wish I could do that.

Asher groans loudly. “Thank you for covering. But still, you can’t just tattoo yourself at the front of the shop. At the very least, it’s not sanitized up here.” He runs his hand over his face and shakes his head. “Get back to your station and please, for the love of god, make sure you clean your new ink.”

Roxie smiles, showing off how her black lipstick lines her perfectly white teeth. She uncrosses her legs, the short bright-red miniskirt stopping right where the inflamed redness of her new tattoo sits. “And who might you be?” She hops off the table, waving her fingers at me.

I can’t tell if she’s just super confident or a bitch. Time will tell.

Asher puts his hand tentatively on the small of my back and steps slightly in front of me. “This is Jade. She’s a friend of mine.”

“She’s cute.”

I roll my eyes at her condescending tone.

“Hey, lady. I mean that sincerely.” Roxie holds her hands up in surrender. “Really have a ‘girl-next-door’ vibe going on.” Waving her fingers at me again, she reaches forward and grabs my hand. “Come with me! I need more girl friends in my life.”

Without really meaning to and without knowing why , I look back to Asher.

He nods minutely. The gesture is so subtle I probably wouldn’t have caught it if I hadn’t been looking for any kind of symbol that she’s someone safe.

Roxie squeals and drags me to her little work station. “So, tell me everything,” she gushes. “Who are you? Where are you from? How do you know Asher? Why is he bringing you to work in the morning?” She asks these in rapid fire, plopping into her chair and crossing her legs. She’s got heavy, thick-soled biker boots on and they bob with her movement.

“Um,” I start nervously, putting my bag down and quickly clocking the outlet next to the desk, plugging my phone in. In seconds there’s a vibration from my phone and it seems to finally fucking charge a bit. Turning to face her, I feel inadequate because of how well she’s dressed while I look like I’m in my pajamas. Didn’t even have a hairbrush to fucking brush my hair. Roxie has a mirror on her desk, and I groan when I see my reflection.

I look… exhausted. Scared. Rattled. The circles under my eyes are dark and deep. My skin is paler than normal, like I’m sick, and my shoulders are curled in with the weight of the world on them.

“I’m Jade,” I finally say. “I met Asher last night at a fucking horror of a frat party and he saved my life. End of story.” I shrug and sit down on a chair beside her desk so we’re facing each other.

Her mouth drops and she looks stunned. “That does not sound like an ‘end-of-fucking-story’ statement, Jade,” she replies in question.

“That’s all I want to say right now.” I push my matted hair out of my face wishing for a diversion.

“But—”

Roxie starts to demand more, but Asher walks over and puts his hand on her shoulder aggressively. He looks over at me with a gentle smile, and I can see him tighten his grip on Roxie’s shoulder as he speaks. “What would you like from a little diner down the street? I like that it serves breakfast all day. That sounds pretty good right about now. Is that okay with you?” Roxie stays quiet, her eyes jumping between us as we speak, taking it all in like a detective.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I answer with a soft smile. “Are you sure about…”

“I’m very sure. What would you like?” Asher asks, and I watch his hand leave Roxie’s shoulder. Why does that make me feel better?

“You buying?” Roxie raises an eyebrow at Asher and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Not for you,” he scoffs, “just her.” Guilt immediately fills my chest, but then he winks at me and crosses his arms over his chest, his fists pushing up his biceps. Not that he needed to—they are already fucking huge. “Just Jade,” he repeats pointedly.

My guilt and embarrassment somehow lessen with his words, especially when I see the look he’s giving me.

“Whatever you’re having is good with me,” I answer. “I’m really not picky when it comes to breakfast foods.”

“My kind of girl,” Asher says with a smirk and walks off, pulling his phone out to place an order.

“I hope you know you’re going to end up with at least half of the diner’s menu for breakfast. That boy can eat,” Roxie jokes, and thankfully she seems to have dropped asking about last night.

Once it’s confirmed Asher is out of earshot, Roxie turns back to me with a grin. “So, you met my grump of a boss at a party and spent the night together, huh? Is he as stoic and rugged in the bedroom as he is in real life? I only ask because that particular nugget of information was forced on me without my permission and I’m still healing from the trauma.” Roxie rolls her eyes and makes a puking face, and only then do I realize that because he’s brought me into work and is buying me breakfast, Roxie thinks we’ve slept together.

Fuck, I wish I’d slept with Asher instead of… what happened. I bet Asher would’ve been gentle, kind, but made me feel confident and wanted. I bet he’d have ravaged me, made sure I came and that my legs shook from pleasure. I don’t know if we would’ve done the whole cuddle-after-sex thing, just because I don’t really know what Asher likes outside of taking care of people, but I do know that he would’ve made sure I was cared for. In any way I needed.

“Oh, Asher and I…” I start to say, swallowing the lump in my throat, when Asher himself comes over again.

“Hey, is your phone charged?” he asks, saving me from answering Roxie’s question.

“Goddamnit, Asher! Can I not ask your girl two simple fucking questions without you interrupting?” Roxie throws her hands up in the air in exasperation, rolls her eyes and stands. “I’m going to go use your good wrapping for my thigh. When I get back, you will not keep eavesdropping on our conversation.” She points a finger at him roughly and I giggle. She’s a character, someone I can see myself being friends with. Maybe when I move here, I can be.

“You know I’m your boss, right?” he calls after her, but she just flips him off and starts rifling through what I assume are his desk drawers.

“I’m sorry about her.” Asher cocks his head to the side, gesturing at Roxie. “She’s an entity of her own and there’s no controlling her,” he chuckles. I like the sound and pause to drink him in. He’s a big guy. Super intimidating when he stares; his eyes hard and closed off, his tattoos making his broad muscles look even bigger, the way he talks is gruff too. But when he laughs, it’s magic. I want him to laugh again and again.

“No worries.” I push a lock of hair behind my ear nervously as I’m struck with how attractive he is. This older man, who looks like he’s a big biker covered with tattoos and a stoic expression, is really my knight in shining armor. Standing taller than I am, I have to tip my head back to look him in the eye, and I’m fairly sure that if I tried to put my hands around his bicep, my fingers wouldn’t touch each other.

Asher’s demeanor is calm and observant, but I know he wouldn’t hesitate to fight for my honor if needed. And do I like that? Do I like that he’d turn to violence to protect me?

Yeah, I really do , my mind whispers.

“If telling her we slept together is easier to say than the truth, I don’t mind,” he says quietly. The husk and gravel-like tone to his voice while he’s whispering makes me shiver.

“Thank you, I really… I really don’t want to tell people,” I reply softly. But the thought of people thinking that I got to sleep with this hunk of a man makes me blush.

“If it keeps you from having to relive what happened, I’ll gladly do it.”

My heart skips a beat. I’m so fucking… grateful. So touched. Tears line my eyes, and I do my best not to let any drop.

His eyes widen with worry, and his mouth opens, but I put my fingers to his lips.

“Thank you,” I say softly. He holds my forearm, keeping my fingers where they are. I swear I feel him press his lips against me, but that’s crazy.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers back before taking a step out of my space. I immediately feel the void of his absence. It’s like all the warmth and light leave me as he does.

“Yeah, I can feel the sexual tension here,” Roxie chuckles, popping her hip and smirking at us both. “I think that’s your client, Ashe.” She tips her chin forward, gesturing to an older gentleman who is about to open the door to the shop.

As Asher makes his way to the front, Roxie turns to me excitedly. “Come hang out with me while he’s busy!” she insists, grabbing my arm and sitting me in the chair at her desk before Asher or myself can object again. “Can I do your hair? It’s so long and beautiful, I’d love to do some braids, if that’s okay?" she asks, looking at me in the mirror.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” I answer with a shy smile.

“Hello, Mr. Guzman! Ready to finish up that crest?” Asher smiles politely, holding his hand out to guide the gentleman back to his work station. His area is like his apartment—clean and covered in framed art. He’s got a small bookshelf filled with books and what look like scrapbooks as well. His desk is black metal, and he has a very cushy-looking desk chair which glides around easily against the floor.

Mr. Guzman, who I’d estimate is about mid-forties, is already undoing his button-down so that his upper biceps are free. Etched in his skin is a breathtaking design; fine, clean lines and an amazing depiction of a crest with a griffin on one side of the shield and a snake on the other, with vines and flowers curling around the edges.

“He’s going to get it in color?” I ask, noticing the three rows of mini cups filled with different colors on a small tray, which is next to the reclining seat that Mr. Guzman’s sitting in. Asher puts black gloves on and then begins shaving Guzman’s arm.

“It looks like it,” Roxie nods, pulling a brush out of her desk along with three or four mini hair-ties.

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Does getting a tattoo hurt really badly?” I ask as she starts brushing my hair, surprisingly gentle for how her personality seems.

“I mean, I think it depends on your pain tolerance,” she answers honestly, running her fingers through my hair and lightly massaging my scalp. “My first one shocked me, but I wouldn’t say it was painful. Once you get used to it, it’s not bad at all.”

“How many do you have?”

“Too many,” Roxie chuckles, and starts weaving my hair. “I started early, at sixteen. And I get a few new ones every year.”

“Is it hard to do?”

“Thinking of entering the business?” Roxie asks with a smirk, pulling back two matching braids on either side of my face and tying them together.

“Maybe,” I shrug. “I’m supposed to start school here next month and my major is in business.”

“You sound really passionate about it,” Roxie quips sarcastically.

I frown and reply, “It’s not my plan.” It’s my mother’s .

“Girl, life is too short to do things you don’t want to do.” Roxie steps back and surveys her work. “There, all done!” she announces.

Looking up at the mirror, I gasp at the sight. My hair is twisted and pinned into this Viking-esque style that makes me look powerful, like someone to be feared but who isn’t out of place here. “Wow, this is amazing,” I exhale. Turning my head to the side, I see that she twisted mini braids within the larger braid.

“Thanks! I wanted to be a hairdresser growing up and even went to a few years of cosmetology school. Then I found out tattooing is actually what I want to do,” Roxie explains.

“Wow,” I repeat to myself, unable to stop looking at the intricate design.

“Now the question is,” Roxie starts, sitting next to me in her chair and resting her chin on her hand, “what is it that you really want to do?”

“Choosing… that’s not really an option for me. So, I don’t have anything I’ve ever thought about fully. What I want has never been considered,” I admit. “It’s more disappointing to have dreams and ache for them, than to just do what’s expected of you when you have no other choice.”

“Ever?” Roxie’s hand drops and her mouth opens slightly.

“Ever. Especially recently.” It’s sad but true. And speaking of my mom, I reluctantly realize I need to check and see if my phone is charged.

“Then we need to change that, girlfriend.” Roxie raises her eyebrows, about to say something else, but the front door’s bell rings. “I’ll be right back,” she says and adjusts her boobs in her corset top.

Looking at the door, I see a guy—an attractive, clean-cut, jock of a guy—smile seductively at Roxie as she signs for the three bags he’s holding. She murmurs something and he blushes before responding to her. She throws her head back in laughter; it amazes me how positively magnetic she is. She’s not like Sarah, where you feel a sense of punishment or cruelty waiting to happen if you choose not to give her attention. Roxie simply exudes lightness, sex, and charm. I wish I was like that.

The buzz of the tattoo gun fades, and I notice Asher stand up, taking off his gloves and pointing Mr. Guzman to what must be the bathroom.

“Oh good, our food’s here.” Asher comes to stand next to me with an easy smile.

“That’s all food? How much do you think I’m going to eat?” I ask incredulously.

“Half of it’s for me, sweetheart.” He winks at me and pulls out his wallet. The delivery guy immediately pales as he realizes Asher is paying and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. He thinks Roxie is Asher’s girl, and he’s worried about getting his ass kicked for flirting. Asher must see the terror too, because he chuckles.

“She’s all yours, man. No ties here,” Asher tells him, handing him a stack of cash and turning back to me. “I have my eyes somewhere else,” he says, so quietly that I almost don’t hear him before he looks at the ground. And just like that, my hopes—my stupid hopes—are crushed.

“Time to eat!” Asher says with a smile.

“What about your client?” I point to the bathroom, which Mr. Guzman still hasn’t returned from.

“I mean, it’s time to eat for you,” he teases. “I’m going to grab a breakfast burrito, scarf it down, then wait for our next break in an hour.” He guides me to the back room, which is set up simply but homely. There’s a card table and a few chairs, a small but seemingly efficient kitchenette with a full fridge, and a very fancy coffee machine tucked in the corner. But what grabs my attention immediately are the photos.

All along the fridge—covering it, actually—are pictures: Asher rolling his eyes at Roxie while she’s laughing; Asher with another guy; Asher standing outside holding up keys; Roxie in the arms of the other guy and she’s holding his face lovingly; Roxie standing at the front desk with sleek black hair and a bright neon pink stripe framing her face. They all range in age, but the center photo shows a much younger Asher smiling brightly while sitting at his station—which I’m not surprised to discover looks exactly the same, just with more artwork added now—tattoo gun in hand as he leans over someone’s arm, about to ink them up.

It’s them, the embodiments of the shop, all put together. It’s their stories as they live and grow with the shop.

True family, even if it’s not by blood.

I want that. I…I don’t think I’ve ever had that.

“That was my first paying client.” Asher stands behind me, his hands in his pockets as he tells his story. “I was newly twenty and scared shitless. I had just opened my own business, not knowing if I’d succeed after the shitty upbringing I had. I had absolutely no money; negative balances in every account. But someone walked in off the sidewalk, asking for a Chinese symbol tattoo, and I didn’t even care that it was a small little thing. I jumped at the chance to show my skill.”

“Your smile,” I murmur, tracing his face softly with my finger. “You’re so happy.”

“The shop has really been the only place I’ve ever felt at home.” Asher sighs, turning back to the bags and rifling through them for his burrito. What he brings out is so big it’s like an aluminum covered tree log. He takes an impressively massive bite and I turn back toward the pictures to not stare. It’s an odd pause, though not awkward. It feels like there’s more to his story with that sentence, but I’m not going to pry.

“That must be nice,” I offer and smile back at the Asher smiling in the photo. “I know it’s probably not the place you should’ve found home, but the fact you have one is nice.”

“It was hard fought for,” he agrees between bites.

“I believe it. But all the worthwhile things are, no?” I ask with a shrug.

“That’s been my experience.” He takes another huge bite before wrapping up the rest of it and putting it in the fridge. “I have at least another three hours with Guzman, then I can take you home, or whatever you need to do. Have you heard from your mom or that Thundercunt?”

I burst into laughter at his well-deserved nickname for Sarah, laughing so hard my cheeks hurt. “Oh, god,” I gasp, wiping my face with my hand as I try to regain control.

Asher’s looking at me with… I think with awe? His eyes are wide and sparkling as he watches me laugh.

“You have a really pretty laugh,” he compliments with his own growing smile. He takes another step closer to me and the air is suddenly thicker.

“Thanks.” My laugh dies down, but the smile remains on my face. “I have to say, though, it’s never been my favorite feature.”

“I think it should be,” he whispers, and I realize just how close we’ve gotten. How he’s suddenly in my space again and I can feel the warmth from his body against mine. Asher’s looking right at my lips and, without thinking, I lick them. The movement catches his eye and his crystal blue eyes darken.

“Jade,” he whispers huskily, leaning forward. I let him—I want to kiss him, I want Asher to be the last touch I feel, the last kiss on my lips, from this horrible fucking trip to Carver.

“Asher! Bro, your client’s waiting?—”

Roxie walks into the back room and stops when she finds us standing close together. A knowing smirk appears on her face; she leans her shoulder against the door frame while drumming her fingers together like Cruella de Vil. “Oh, my, my, my. What have I interrupted?” she drawls.

I step back, curling my arms around my waist in embarrassment. But Asher doesn’t move. Instead he sighs, in what my imagination wants to believe is disappointment.

“Tell Guzman I’ll be there in two minutes. And ask him if he wants a drink, please,” Asher requests without looking at Roxie.

“Sure thing, boss man.” She salutes him, winks at me, then walks out of the room.

Leaving us alone. Again.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable,” Asher says softly, rubbing the back of his neck before turning and opening the fridge again. Pulling out a water bottle, he moves towards the door and stops right before he turns the knob. “I never want to make you uncomfortable.” He walks out, leaving me to overthink things.

Why does he think he makes me that way? I… I know I shouldn’t, but I want Asher. And for a moment, it seemed like he wants me, too.

But maybe he just wants us to be friends? Platonic, ‘I found her raped and now don’t want her romantically’ kind of friends.

You know what? I can’t even blame him.