Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
SUTTON
I don’t think I could feel more out of place if I tried.
Growing up in a small town and then working in that same small town, you learn very quickly that people are going to judge you.
There’s no question about it. It’s just the way it is.
They could wear ten-year-old sweats from when K-Mart was still a thing that have holes in places holes shouldn’t be, covered in bleach stains, and they’ll still have the audacity to judge every single little hair on your head.
Someone always has something to say about someone.
It’s that same small-town thinking that engrained in my brain that people with tattoos, piercings, or hair that is any color other than black, brown or blonde are all convicted criminals.
And if you were seen associating with them in any capacity, you were guilty by association.
Ironic that so far, they’ve been the most welcoming people since I’ve arrived in Ravenna Heights.
I remember my best friend in high school had gotten her nose pierced and got a few pink streaks dyed in her hair for her sixteenth birthday.
She and I had always talked about what colors we would do once we were finally allowed to.
Hers was always pink and mine blue. I thought it was the coolest thing that her mom finally let her do it and mistakenly told my dad about it one night during dinner.
I’ll never forget the way he looked me dead in the eyes and told me no daughter of his will have a nose ring and if I get mine done, the only thing I’ll ever be in life is a prostitute on a street corner.
That friend and I eventually drifted apart. I always got the feeling I was holding her back in a way that she didn’t want to say to my face. I got it. I really did. I wasn’t allowed to go to any of the parties or functions that she was allowed at.
And who am I to hold someone back when they’re trying to spread their wings?
So, it’s safe to say I never got that nose piercing or got that blue streak.
In fact, I have nothing pierced. Not even my ears.
And the only hair color my dad deemed acceptable was bleaching my hair to the most ugly shade of blonde.
Which is what I unfortunately still have on. It’s just extremely grown out.
Which brings me to now sitting behind the reception desk, trying not to make it blatantly obvious that I’m staring at the girl with teal hair, sitting in the lobby waiting to get her belly button done.
Again.
It blew my mind that you could get it pierced twice.
It’s people like her, though, that should be working here. She fits right in and obviously knows her stuff, since she educated me on the whole thing. She’s everything teenage me wished she could be but knew it was never an option.
It could be though, now, couldn’t it?
I mean, what’s really stopping me?
There’s no one here to judge me anymore or flat out tell me I can’t do it.
Except Ink.
I felt a little piece of my heart shatter when he said I looked uptight and would scare people away. He delivered the final blow by saying no one is going to want to put effort into me. I know that all too well .
It’s not my fault I’m shy, and honestly, the thrift store didn’t exactly have a huge selection of receptionist-at-a-tattoo-shop clothes. Although, now I’m thinking jeans and a graphic tee would’ve done the trick.
On the inside, I’m not dressed like this. Inside, I have my hair dyed, the nose piercing I’ve always wanted. Inside, I’m carefree and don’t have to watch over my back.
Inside, I’m not running.
I trapped myself in a vicious cycle of suppressing my wants and desires to meet my family’s standards—and for what?
All it ever got me was my own version of hell that I had to crawl out of.
I still don’t feel close to the top. I’m hanging at the top of the hole, still trying to pull myself fully out.
It hurts too, because physically, Ink is my dream guy. A dream guy that I would never have the guts to approach in real life.
I mean, the man is so attractive he rendered me speechless.
More than I already am.
His hair that’s just long enough for me to run my fingers through had me longing to do just that. It looks like it would be the softest thing I’ve ever touched. His neatly trim beard that his tattoos lead up to gives him this scary edge that makes you want to find out just how bad he can be.
I wouldn’t know what to do with a man like that, but that doesn’t stop the fantasy of me climbing him like a tree.
I wonder if his tattoos cover every inch of skin his clothes conceal.
And that voice.
Gosh, that voice.
Too bad he’s a big fat jerk.
I’ll never tell him outright that he hurt my feelings, but there will be signs. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but he wasn’t exactly being quiet about it either.
One thing I’ve learned since I decided I was done living in hell is that you don’t need to forgive and you definitely don’t need to forget. It’s okay to just move on and forget that someone ever existed.
That’s going to be a little hard to do with Ink, considering he’s my boss, but I figure I can keep the interactions between us short.
“Bailey?” Tommy calls out to the girl with the nose piercing and colored hair. “I’m ready for you.”
I met Tommy shortly after Ink left me to myself. He’s the shop’s piercer and the nicest person I’ve met here. He didn’t bat an eye when he walked in for the day and saw me, the uptight woman in khaki pants, sitting behind the desk.
“I’ll show you when I’m done, girl. You’re going to want one too.” Bailey smiles as she walks past. I say nothing as I give her a small smile in return, knowing she’s probably right.
“You doin’ okay?” Tommy asks.
My smile briefly moves to him. “Yes, thank you.”
Tommy returns my smile with a genuine one.
See? He’s such a nice guy.
I notice something out of the corner of my eye. Twisting my head to the side to see what it is, I’m greeted with Ink scowling. We barely have a chance to make eye contact before he’s pushing off the wall and stomping off to wherever he came from.
He has a way of making me feel so small. I hate that someone I just met has that kind of power over me. And why? I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. He likes to think he does, but he doesn’t. No one really knows the true me. She hasn’t been introduced, but she will be.
I don’t know what crawled up his butt and died, but lucky for him, I have experience dealing with grade A buttheads. He may be better to look at, but that doesn’t excuse the crap personality.
The rest of the day passed by fairly quickly.
Nothing crazy happened, and I successfully scheduled my first tattoo appointment without needing Tommy or Gage to help me.
I refuse to ask Ink for help. He may be my boss, but there’s other people around that are fully capable of helping me without making me feel like I’m less than.
The best part of all is I didn’t get fired.
Gage was the one who actually asked me to come back.
Ink was nowhere to be found when it was time to close, and I was okay with that.
I think the best move forward is to avoid him unless it’s absolutely necessary to talk to him.
So all in all, I’m considering today a win, even if I have to walk back to the crappy motel.
“Is your ride picking you up?” Gage asks while he finishes shutting off the lights.
“Uh, no. I walked.”
“I get you walked here, babe, but what I’m asking is if you have a ride picking you up. It’s dark out.”
I slowly shake my head, too embarrassed to admit that I can’t afford a cab and I don’t have anyone that would even consider picking me up.
“So you’re walking?” he asks, like I’m crazy.
The look he’s giving me makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m a little kid again, getting scolded by her dad because I wanted to play outside, but that wasn’t a place for little girls.
My thumb absentmindedly spins the fidget ring that’s on my pointer finger. It’s been one of my coping mechanisms when my anxiety feels like it’s about to take over.
Confrontation of any kind and I do not mix.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s a pretty straightforward path.”
“I know it’s a pretty fucking straight forward path, babe. It’s a goddamn sidewalk. But I also know it’s dark out and you’re a woman walking by herself. That’s a bad combination.” Gage shakes his head, looking torn between something.
That’s about the only thing she has going for her. I don’t think anyone coming in here would want to put any effort into that.
Ink’s words play on repeat in my head, making me wonder if Gage’s concern is fake. He’s probably only doing this because that’s what a decent guy would do.
“You sure you’re going to be okay? I’d give you a ride, but I’m already late.”
“I’ll be fine, Gage.” I try to give him what I’m hoping is a reassuring smile, even though on the inside I’m dying for this charade to be over with as I follow him out the door. “Thank you, though.” Your fake concern isn’t necessary.
“Alright, babe.” Gage hesitates before locking the door behind him. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”
For the last two hours, I watched the street vendors walk by with their tables and carts in tow.
This made me a little excited about the walk home because I love looking at items people have made by hand.
I’m hoping walking by them will give me the serotonin my body has been craving, even if I have to get it by window shopping.
“See you tomorrow,” I say to his back.
Most of the vendors don’t pay me any attention as I slowly walk by and try to scope out the items for sale without stopping. They must be able to tell I’m broke as a joke right now.
I’ve passed a table full of knock off handbags that could pass for the real thing, a table of kid toys that looked like they bought them from T.J. Maxx and are flipping the items themselves.
It’s not a bad idea, honestly.