5. Jax
JAX
O ne year later …
“Sign here, Mr Albright,” the real estate agent says, passing me a pen. I can’t describe the feelings I have right now.
I finally did it.
A year after I walked away from my parents’ house, my dreams were finally coming true.
I’ve just purchased a small building in Newtown, and in a few short weeks, I’ll be a business owner when my tattoo parlour, Wicked Ink, opens.
I chose Newtown as the place to start my new life because I fit in here.
I can be myself without fear of retribution.
This is where I want to work and live; the only place that’s ever really felt like home.
Newtown’s close to the University of Sydney, so there are a lot of students, but it’s also home to people with artistic flair.
There’s a higher-than-average population of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people living in the area.
Give me any one of them over the pretentious fuckers I grew up with.
Candice would fit right in here. Especially with her pink hair.
I don’t know why I keep torturing myself by thinking about her. I’ll always regret losing her, but it’s times like this that hurt the most. She was the only one who ever believed in me and encouraged me to follow my dream. I wish she was here to share this moment.
At least I have the satisfaction of knowing I’ve done it all on my own.
I’ve worked my arse off for the past year, saving every penny I could.
It was a struggle at times. I went without so much, including decent meals; I’ve been living off baked beans on toast, two-minute noodles, and toasted cheese sandwiches for far too long.
Tonight I’m going to celebrate with a motherfucking steak.
In the end, all my sacrifices have paid off.
I had enough money saved for a deposit on this building, as well as some left to buy the equipment and fittings I’ll need to get my shop up and running.
It will probably take me the rest of my life to repay the loan I had to get from the bank, but I’m willing to work hard to see that happen.
My only regret is I have no one to share my success with.
When I first arrived back in Sydney, the weight of losing not only my family but Candice hit me hard. They were dark days, but giving in was only letting those fuckers win, so I used all the negatives in my life to inspire me. I was going to succeed or die trying.
It took about a week for me to get my shit together, and the first thing on my agenda when I did was finding somewhere new to live.
My parents had bought me the apartment I was living in, so I had to let that go.
I packed up my stuff and moved into a run-down one-bedroom shithole, but it was cheap, and it was mine.
It was also a long way from where I’d come from and what I was used to, but my freedom and independence was worth it.
The move turned out to be liberating. I posted the keys to my old apartment back to my parents.
They’d stolen the first twenty-one years of my life, and I flat-out refused to let them take one more second of my future.
I wanted to show them that despite what they thought, I would go a long way without them.
After securing full-time work in a popular tattoo parlour in Kings Cross, I set my plan in motion.
I took the time to ask a lot of questions so I could learn everything there was to know about running a successful business.
My new boss was very forthcoming with information.
He was not only impressed by my eagerness to learn, but my natural artistic talent as well.
It helped to propel me forward at a rapid pace.
I continued working weekends at the place I’d worked while I was studying, and I took in all the after-hour cash jobs I could.
I had no life and was exhausted, but in the end, I knew it would be worth it.
Being so busy also helped to keep my demons at bay.
Six months later …
It’s just after 7 pm when I finish with my last client for the day. Some nights I’m here until midnight. I’ve been working seven days a week since I opened five months ago, but I love it. Besides, I have nowhere else to be. Nobody waiting for me at home.
I’m not the only tattoo shop in Newtown, but it hasn’t affected business—it’s booming.
In the beginning, it was just me and a casual artist I called in when I needed him.
Within two weeks I already had more work than I could keep up with.
Now we’re booked out weeks in advance. I’ve taken on three full-time employees: Gus, Shane and Mandy, the receptionist.
After sterilising my equipment and packing it away, I turn off the lights and lock the door to my studio. I groan to myself when I see Mandy sitting behind the front counter in the reception area. She’s supposed to finish at five-thirty. I told her to go home over an hour ago.
“I thought you’d already left,” I say. She looks up from her phone and smiles at me sweetly. I ain’t falling for that shit. There’s nothing sweet about this woman. She’s pretty in an overly made-up, Barbie-doll kind of way, and has a great set of tits, but she’s trouble with a capital T.
She’s been openly flirting with me since the day she started working here.
For the most part, I ignore it, but that doesn’t seem to deter her.
If she wasn’t my employee, would I fuck her?
Hell yes, but that’s all it would be—a quick lay.
I’d have no desire to see her again, so having to work together every day would just make things uncomfortable.
“I thought since it’s the end of the week maybe we could go and get a drink.”
“I’m tired. It’s been a long day, so I’m heading home,” I say, trying to be polite. It may be the end of the working week for her, but I still work weekends.
“We could always grab a bottle and head back to your house,” she practically purrs as she stalks towards me.
“Look, Mandy,” I say when she comes to a stop mere inches from me. “We work together—this isn’t a good idea.”
“It’s just a drink.” She gives me a flirtatious smile and flutters her eyelashes as her fingers twist in the front of my T-shirt.
I’ve seen that look hundreds of times. Just a drink , my arse. I know exactly where it will lead. Does she think I’m stupid?
“No,” I snap, taking a step back when she doesn’t seem to get the message. I’m a guy and I have needs, but even I know sleeping with her won’t end well.
“Fine. Your loss.”
I sigh with relief when she turns in a huff and storms back to the counter to grab her bag. “Enjoy your weekend … boss .”
The sarcasm in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed, but frankly, I don’t care. She might be good at her job, but she’s not irreplaceable. I’m her employer, and she needs to remember that.
I wake up Monday morning feeling somewhat human again.
I went out for a few drinks on Saturday night and ended up picking up some random chick at the bar, who I banged into the early hours of Sunday morning.
The lack of sleep and a monster hangover meant I struggled through yesterday’s shift.
The brunette’s name was Kate, Kristy, or was it Kim? I’m pretty sure it started with a K.
I try to stay clear of blondes. There’s only one blonde in this world for me, and since I can’t have her, I’m not interested in the others.
I’m standing at the front counter going over my appointments for the day when Mandy arrives. I have a busy day ahead, so it’s going to be another late night. Thankfully, I love what I do.
“Morning,” I say, glancing up.
“Hi,” she grunts, slamming her bag onto the shelf behind the counter.
She usually greets me with a smile and a takeaway coffee from the café down the street, but not today.
I guess she’s still pissed at me for knocking her back on Friday night.
I’m inclined to say something to her, but decide against it. I’m not in the mood for her crap today.
As the day progresses, so does her attitude. What’s this chick’s problem? She’s lucky that her bitchy attitude only seems to be directed at me—if she was rude to my clients I’d kick her arse out of here in a flash. I’m not putting up with that shit.
It’s around 1 pm when I finish up with a client. I have a short window of time before my next appointment, so I decide to go and grab something to eat. Usually, I’d get Mandy to duck out for me, but I’m not asking her to do shit for me today. She’ll probably try to poison me.
“I’m going to lunch,” I say as I pass the front counter.
“Oh … you don’t want me to grab you something?” Mandy asks.
“Nope.”
“Okay.” I can hear the surprise in her voice as her tone softens. “Your next client is at one-thirty.”
“I know,” I say, pushing through the door. Now she wants to be normal with me? I swear I’ll never understand women. Mandy’s behaviour only makes me miss Candice more. She was always easy-going and drama-free. I’ve never met anyone who can hold a candle to her, and I doubt I ever will.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I head down King Street.
I walk straight past the café I usually eat at—don’t ask me why, I guess I just need some fresh air and time away from Moody Mandy.
I don’t know what to do about her—I’m too busy to look for another receptionist right now, but on the other hand, I hate feeling uncomfortable in my own place.
Hopefully, her attitude will improve. At least she seems to have gotten the message loud and clear: we’re never going to happen.
I end up at a takeaway joint not far from where I live.
I flat-out refused to use any of the money my grandmother left me to start the business—that was something I felt I needed to do on my own—but I did use my trust fund to buy a two-bedroom terrace house a few blocks from my shop.
The apartment I’d been living in was practically falling apart around me.