Chapter Fourteen
Adelaide
The next few months blur with activity.
The very first thing I did was finish moving in with Poe. Then, I restarted my therapy. It was past time to get it done. With a little guidance, a lot of things became clearer.
My need for my family to acknowledge me in any positive way has taken over my life. The therapist suggested taking a break from them. It wasn’t difficult. No one has called me, and I don’t think they’re going to. It somehow made the blow easier to bear, thinking that it was my choice not to get in touch with them either. She was pleased that I had made that decision previously, and I’m sticking with it. But it hasn’t been easy. My heart is still throbbing like I have an open wound there.
I called Damon and had lunch with him and Grace. Neither of them asked me many questions, something I was terrified they would do. Watching Damon guilt-trip himself over an emotional trauma that happened long before I met him was painful. I think it’s going to take a while for him to understand that he isn’t to blame for all the wrongs done in my life.
To help out and prove to myself that the scars would no longer affect my life, I asked if he would tattoo me a garter belt. He cried as he agreed. The look of pride on Grace’s face made me feel ashamed of myself.
Getting that tattoo was one of the most painful experiences of my life. Not physically. Mentally. The way Damon teared up while he did it. My complete, stoic silence through the process. I couldn’t even look at it when he was done.
But that’s ok. I’ll do it when I’m ready.
I focus on moving on. The worst has happened. My shame is out there for anyone to see and judge. My family thinks I’m like my father. My fears came true in the most horrible way. I have to pick up the pieces left and keep going. The thought of William , of all people, crushing me into the dirt makes me mad enough to make that decision stick.
I shouldn’t have stopped Poe from beating him within an inch of his life. I could have been his alibi and helped him clean it all up.
Poe’s lawyers are taking care of my ex. The post wasn’t just about me. It basically accused every person in the photos of cutting. It caused a lot of emotional turmoil to have people’s scars exposed. William is facing a lawsuit with a hefty fine attached and the demand that he take down the post. He’s already removed it, but just to get the last word in, he replaced it with a public apology to me. He made sure to tag me in that, too.
It’s a whiney paragraph about how I’ve rebuffed his concern for my health, but he understands my need to retaliate. Basically, putting all the blame for his current problems on me.
Seeing the hateful comments people left on that post made it harder for me to move on.
It started with a lot of tattoo artists upset that William was getting dragged to court for being ‘concerned’ about an ex-girlfriend. Mutual acquaintances and some people I thought were friends calling me a dramatic attention whore. Then, public opinion weighed in and decided I needed to be punished for suing him.
I had no say in the lawsuit, but that doesn’t mean anything to anyone. They see me as evil, just like my family.
Every social media account I had is closed now. The overwhelming hate people started splashing all over anything they could reach of me took its toll. I couldn’t open anything without being reminded of it all. The sound of my notifications of a comment became a source of instant paranoia.
I chose to cut them off. Without a way to mock my entire life, they’ve become ghosts to me.
I turned off all my automatic emails and texts. After a lot of pain and debate, I moved all of my family’s emails to the junk folder to be blocked. They never reply that way but seeing them blacklisted gave me a little thrill of victory.
With the way I tore through my shop, it took weeks to clean everything up. If anyone stopped by to get a tattoo, I wouldn’t know. The curtains have been shut ever since that night, and I refuse to open them. The heavy piece of wood covering the door Poe shattered to get to me helps a lot.
But William knows a lot of people in the tattoo world. Most of them are right down the street from me, and they aren’t shy about their opinions.
My old landlord called me, complaining that they’ve been hanging around the building, waiting for me to show up at my apartment. They left after he explained that I had moved and hadn’t been back. But they had enough anger to not only come for a visit but to stay all night, waiting for three nights in a row.
It took me a while to get out of the house after that.
The day I finally got the guts to clean up, my windows were spray painted with the words attention whore. I had to leave after that. It wasn’t until Poe had someone remove the words that I could go back. My haven turned into a cold, sterile room after that. One more loss in a string of them.
I let the manager of the strip know that I wouldn’t be renewing the lease. Whisper Ink is officially closed. I’m not sure if I’m going to tattoo again. Right now, the thought of it fills me with dread.
Poe is furious over it. Damon thinks I’m giving up. Neither of them gets a say, though. I’m taking my time raccoon-rolling my way through this one. I feel like I need this to heal, and I’m doing it. If I ever pick up a tattoo gun again, good for me. But that decision isn’t going to weigh heavy on me. I won’t let it.
Instead, I became an informal manager to Poe.
His real manager appreciates my wrangling him into getting work done. I had no idea how much convincing Poe needed to go to other cities for work. I haven’t gotten the courage to go on a trip with him yet, but it will come.
The first few times he got called away for a shoot, he adamantly refused. He was gone when I fell apart, and he wasn’t budging from my side again. Like his leaving was the omen that tipped the scales for my breakdown.
I’m not comfortable enough to be in the public eye right now, so going on a trip with him sounded like absolute hell. I can barely leave the house now. The thought of going to another state is too far out of reach yet.
It took a lot of convincing and constant texts to get him to agree to leave. His manager was ready to skin him alive at that point. I’ve never seen a grown man beg on his knees for me to fix something like I was a god before. It was an over-the-top drama that finally earned a smile from me. Poe agreed to leave just because of that. His damn manager made me chuckle a little, so now he’s dipped in gold and invited to dinner every other weekend.
My man may have perfect words, but he’s a little crazy-obsessed with me. I love every second of it, no matter how down I feel.
I’m trying to calmly get back to a new state of normal when Damon tells me that someone bought the space where my shop once was. All the changes in my life hit me all over again.
My first impulse is to pick up my phone and call Asher. I stop myself before my finger taps his contact.
Why would I think he would commiserate with me? He hasn’t contacted me in months. With how Maman was talking when we last spoke, I’m sure he despises me now. He’d celebrate over the loss. He can do that on his own time, not mine.
The idea of that space being something else, anything else, makes everything feel surreal. Like I’ve been floating around, and this is the first anchor to pull me back to reality.
For some reason, I decide to go check it out. As if I need to confirm that this is my new life.
I make sure to cover up my hair with a beanie, resolved to finally cut it off. I’m tired of seeing the light ends of my hair. I don’t like the brown at my scalp either. I need to pick something just for me. Something that feels right. I’ll get there.
Showing up on that stretch of the strip mall was a mistake. Seeing the shop is painful. A hollow echo of the night that I tore it all apart.
A craft store is opening up. There are shades over the windows, but the glass front door has been repaired for me to peek inside. I can see overflowing boxes of yarn and paints inside the window. Shelves are getting put up. There isn’t anyone there right now. The owners aren’t ready to open yet. They took down the for-lease sign, though.
I stand there for a while, readjusting to the new world I live in. I poured my heart and soul into this place. I’m mourning the loss. I keep thinking there could have been a million ways to save my business. My therapist says it’s a guilt compulsion that I need to break out of. I can’t control everything.
With a sigh, I turn to leave. It’s time to let that go and focus on me. Now that I’m out, I can think about getting my hair done.
“Hey, Addie.”
I pause at Asher’s familiar, cold voice. I don’t want to turn around. Would pretending I didn’t hear him hurt worse than whatever he says next?
“Wait up,” he says, making the decision for me.
I turn to take him in. To see if he’s changed just as much as I’m struggling to.
Asher is the same as he always is. Cold and closed off. He has his hands in his pockets as if he stopped in the middle of a casual walk down the street to say hi.
The old urge to run up and hug him comes and goes quickly. He may not look angry, but I don’t trust his blank expression. Not to mention, he wouldn’t hug me back anyway.
He feels like a stranger despite how familiar he is. All my previous dealings with him are colored over with facts Maman threw in my face. All I can see is his perfect blond hair, dark blue eyes, and the tattoos I used to be proud of. Now, they’re just a reminder that I gave them my all, every decent part of me, and they still hated what they saw. They made me hate myself.
I keep the several feet of distance between us easily after that.
His brows start to go down as if he doesn’t recognize me either. Have I changed on the outside, too? Maybe I should. Become me instead of a Broussard clone. The idea makes me feel strong. I’m my own person. I don’t need to fit in with them.
“How are you?”
My brows furrow at the question. It’s a simple one. I’m realizing that he’s never asked me before.
“Fine,” I reply blandly. I’m a clean slate, and I’m rebuilding myself with a lot of support. Being fine might be a lie right now, but it will get better.
His eyes move to the shop’s doors and look away quickly. My old shop is a place he can barely look at. He’s spent a lot of time on my table. All the bonding I thought we did during that time doesn’t amount to much in his eyes.
“Your shop looks different. Are you remodeling?”
If he took a closer look, he’d know how much of an idiot he is. I know he won’t. I’m not starting that conversation with him. Seeing him in person after so long and knowing Maman has turned him against me is painful enough. I don’t even know if she tried hard to do it or if he latched onto the first hateful thing she said.
“Remodeling. Yeah.” You could definitely say that, so it isn’t a lie.
“That’s good,” he nods to himself.
I nod along without saying anything. No asking about his problems, no offer to help, and no questions about his group. It’s none of my business anymore, no matter how much it hurts. That will fade. I’m used to the poked bruise feeling. It will get there soon enough.
“I was hoping to see you Friday at the diner. To meet everyone.”
I stare at him with a blank expression. I’m suddenly worthy of meeting his loved ones. All I had to do was change everything about myself. To stay quiet and stop asking questions.
Seeing him has made me numb again. I’m afraid that he’s going to make me hate him. Right now, it’s just sadness and disappointment. I don’t want to hate anyone. Life has made it easier for me to see the appeal, though.
“Is six good?” He asks, his eyes moving over my face in confusion.
Before I can answer, his phone goes off with a text. He doesn’t hesitate to look at it or answer it.
If it had been me, he would have dismissed it. I can picture his frigid, angry face when he does it, too.
When another text comes through, he gets a sappy smile. He’s blatantly excited about something. I would usually tease him about it, but that urge is a lot easier to suppress now.
“Sonograms are amazing. I’ll see you,” he says abruptly, not taking his attention from the phone as he walks away.
Just like that, we’re back to being strangers. No offer to show me the baby or tell me if Tera is doing fine. Are the icing and sprinkles holding up at the thought of becoming dads? I don’t know. Maybe I never will.
Going back to my beat-up car in a numb state, I drive home. It isn’t until I walk in the door, my new safe haven, that I cry.