Solitude (Artistic Pricks Ink #3) (3 page)

“I’m still fuckin’ wiped,” I say leaning on the counter. “Working my shifts, on top covering for Chuck so that he could help Leah with the restaurant, has kicked my ass,” I grumble, knowing that it’s all probably been an excuse for Luke to keep my ass chained to my chair instead of him having to come pick my drunk ass up from whatever bar or strip club I would end up in.

“Between having to close for shop repairs, Shelby being out for a bit with her injuries, then Chuck needing time has made it a rough stretch on all of us. I think it’s safe to say things are getting back to normal,” Luke says, scribbling down something on a piece of paper before handing it to Shelby to key in.

“Famous last words,” Shelby and I say in unison.

“Even with a gunshot wound I was working circles around you assholes.” I wince when she mentions her accident. Just the thought has me picturing her lying on the floor, lifeless. Shelby looks up at me from her computer screen, her blue eyes scrutinizing every inch of me as they rake up and down my body. “You look like shit, Mitch,” she says, her eyes going back to the screen as she types.

“Thanks sweetness,” I reply, bumping her chair with my hip, “but flattery will get you nowhere.”

Ma and my friends treat me like a suicide jumper on a ledge. As if, at any moment, I’m going to leap from the burning building that is my life and end it all.

Everyone, that is, except Shelby.

When she started working here, I wanted to throttle her neck. It’s not that I still don’t want to, sometimes, but we have evolved to a different plane of toleration. Funny how, when you see someone you spend every day with, in close quarters dying before you, it changes things. Losing Becky destroyed parts of me that I’ll never get back; but, being responsible for physically taking a life, even though it was a life and death situation, is a whole other thing completely. I never thought I would feel anything comparable to that pain again.

Wrong
.

I feel guilty, numb and unbelievably alone, even though I rarely am. Sometimes it cripples me to the point that I can’t fucking breathe. Hell, I’m uncomfortable in my own skin more often than not and have no idea how I got here or how to fix it. It sucks when everyone around you is finding their happiness; it takes everything you have to smile, instead of flipping off the heavens at the bittersweet irony.

The only time I don’t feel like my entire world is falling apart is when I’m laying ink, blackout drunk I don’t dream, or when I’m stirring up Shelby. I have to admit, pissing her off is a new highlight to my day. She isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind or call me on being an asshole like everyone else seems to be lately. The woman drives me completely insane; but, usually, fighting with her is the best part of my day.

Yep, I’m a total asshole.

Not waiting for the sassy ass comeback, I know she is dying to give me, I head across the room toward my space to get to work. A smile spreads across my face at the sight of the fucking pink sticky note cock covering the bare blue wall. “Mitch has a nice ass,” I yell loudly, pulling one free, then another. “He is a total God.” I turn and clutch the notes to my chest and bat my lashes dramatically. Shelby seethes and it only fuels me to continue.

“That’s not what they say, shitstick,” she bites out angrily.

“I thought we were supposed to keep our feelings for each other a secret, sweetness,” I continue, ignoring her rage. “I don’t want people to be jealous when you’re givin’ me special treatment.”

“I hate you,” she grinds out through gritted teeth, making me laugh. “Fuck strangulation, the word of the day is incineration.”

“Ding ding!” Luke says with a laugh. “To your respective corners. No blood shed on company time.”

“Come on back, Seth,” I say, waving back my appointment so I can finish the back piece I started two weeks ago.

Standing to his feet, Seth clutches his skateboard under his arm and heads my way. “Hey, gorgeous, you ready to let me take you out?” he asks, eying Shelby from across the room. Setting the board on the chair, he rips his shirt over his head and lies on his stomach on the table.

“I said no two weeks ago, Seth. Answer hasn’t changed. You can’t handle me, baby, I’d ruin you.” Shelby winks at him, giving him a little sexy as hell smile while flipping me off.

“I’ll wear you down.”

Turning to look at him, I narrow my eyes. “Don’t even think about it, man.”

“Dude!” Seth says, pushing up to look at me, his eye brow arching as he grins. “You tappin’ that?”

My fists ball at my sides the minute the comment escapes his lips. “No, I’m not and neither will you,” I ground out quietly, then glance over to be sure that no one has overheard the conversation.

Seth laughs again, shaking his head before lying it back to the table. “Sure thing, man.”

Changing the station on the stereo, I blast Three Days Grace, effectively drowning out his laughter. Once I glove up and grab my gun from the table, I get to work. The buzzing of the gun calms me, clears my head, as I focus on the art I am creating. Every line, every shade of color on Seth’s skin, is his story told by my interpretation.

When Luke and I were apprenticing with Big Dick, I never thought we’d be here all these years later running a shop without him, but here we are. There was a time when the thought of laying ink made me sick to my stomach. It reminded me of Dick and I didn’t want to feel that loss or face that truth.

After a little time, and a lot of love from Becky, I found myself doing work for the guys on base. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. There is an amazing release that comes with helping a sketch transfer from paper to skin. All I need is my gun and willing pincushion. The moment my needle makes contact, art takes on a life of its own through the pain.

What a fuckin’ rush.

By the time I’m done with Seth, my fingers throb. My back and legs ache from sitting in the chair for hours, but the look on his face when he sees the finished product is worth it.

“Damn man,” he says, angling his body in front of the mirror, taking in every detail of the bones that look to be coming out of torn flesh. The words ‘
if you didn’t bleed, you didn’t live
’ written in black and red ink across his shoulder blades. “I never want to cover it up.”

“Thanks man,” I reply, covering the finished piece with ointment and wrap it up before he puts on his shirt. “Aw, damn,” Seth groans, grabbing his skateboard. “Where’s my girl?”

Looking over, I am surprised when I see Shelby isn’t at her desk. “Sorry, looks like you’re have to settle for me,” I toss out, since Ki split once Luke’s appointment showed up. I take Seth’s cash, resisting the urge to bash his face into the counter every time he looks down the hallway for Shelby. Even though he’s not a first timer or anything, I set him up with aftercare instructions just like everyone else. It’s a habit to give the rundown on how not to fuck up your flesh work.

An infection is nothing to fuck with.

Neither is my art work.

Seth waves goodbye, promising to be back soon. Part of me wonders if it’s for more ink or to hit on Shelby. Attempting to push those thoughts from my mind, I turn my focus to cleaning up my station and shutting it down for the night. Once I’m done, I let Luke know I’m heading out so I can get to Ma’s before she paces a hole in the rug.

“There’s my favorite son,” Ma says the second I walk through the door.

“Hi, Ma.” Making my way through the small living room, I collapse into the tiny recliner and stretch out my legs, groaning as I work out the kinks. “Aren’t I your only son?” I ask, cracking my neck from side to side. Every time I see her, we do this.

At least some things never change.

Her eyes dance with amusement and she fluffs her salt and pepper hair with one hand. “Of course, there’s no reason to duplicate perfection,” she winks, giving me a smile.

Ever since I can remember, my mother has been a driving force in my life. She sacrificed so much to raise me alone and that doesn’t go unnoticed by me. Or unappreciated.

When a lot of my classmates were out getting in trouble, dropping out, or getting knocked up and popping out a kid before they could even vote, I wasn’t. Yeah, I’ve pulled my share of stupid shit, what kid hasn’t at one point or another? The difference was my Ma was always there busting my ass and making sure I respected others, especially women.

The dumbest stunt I have pulled, to date, ended up being the best thing I have ever done. Attempting to graffiti a wall downtown with Luke lead to me meeting Richard Matthews, the one and only Big Dick. My life was changed all because he took a smoke break and caught two stupid kids with cans of spray paint behind his shop.

“I can’t argue with you there, Ma.” Flashing her a forced smile, I sit up in the chair.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Moving slowly, she heads into the small kitchenette and brings out a covered serving dish. “It’s nowhere near as good as it would be if I had a full kitchen, but you eat so fast it’s not like you’ll notice.”

Her laughter, as she removes the lid and reveals her spaghetti and meatballs, has me smiling, and this time it’s mostly genuine. The smell hits me and my stomach growls instantly, wanting to dive in. I needed this. I don’t get out here as much as I should, but it’s hard to pretend to be happy when part of you is missing. I don’t want Ma to see that since there is nothing she can do to fix it.

Pushing to my feet, I cross the room and take a seat at the wooden dinette she has angled in the corner of the room, as she dishes out the food onto plates. No matter how small the space is, Ma had no problem making it a home when she moved in a couple years ago. I never wanted her here after she decided to sell the house, but she insisted it was best with her having such trouble climbing the steps and maintaining the yard. Even though it is more of an independent living facility than anything, I have offered several times to move her to an apartment or condo of her own. She simply smiles and shakes her head when I bring it up, saying that she is happy here and honestly enjoys living here alone, surrounded by people closer to her age. Even though I want to, I don’t argue. Hannah Taylor is a stubborn woman. After all, she is my mother.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” she says, sitting down in front of her plate and taking a sip from her glass of iced tea.

“Mhm,” I say around a mouth full of bread and shove another fork full of pasta into my mouth, just as someone knocks on the door. “What’s up?”

“Oh,” she says, checking the watch my father gave her on their wedding day. “He’s early.”

“He?” I ask, only having really heard that one word.

Her eyes meet mine, the deep brown softening immediately. Pushing to her feet, she smiles and glances across the room to the door. “Come on in, William.”

The door opens and in steps a man, who looks way too much like the guy on the fried chicken box for me not to laugh. He has white hair scattered around his shiny, nearly bald scalp. For fuck’s sake, I don’t know what’s worse, his goddamn nineteen-fifty-three blue leisure suit or the shit eating grin plastered across his face. He has to be damn near triple digits and my mother is looking at him like he hung the fucking moon.

Walking over she kisses him on the cheek before he wraps his arms around her. “Evening, Hannah.”

“This is long overdue, I know, but I just never felt there was a right time. William, I’d like you to meet my son, Mitch,” Ma says, slipping from his embrace to take his hand. Leading him to the table, she continues to speak. “Mitchell, this is William Perry. We’ve been seeing each other for the last few months.”

I can’t help the hair raising on the back of my neck when I see his hand slip to the small of my mother’s back, coming to rest just above her ass. My eyes nearly bug out of my head, causing me to do a double take. He looks at me and nods with a smile before looking down into her eyes. I clench the fork in my hand like a fucking shank. Visions of stabbing him like a prison inmate who stole my pie enter my head.

Get your hands off my mother, rumpled foreskin.

I have never seen my mother with a man. If she had boyfriends when I was growing up, she never made it known and that was fine by me. No one wants to see their mother pawed on by a guy.

Hell, I like to live in the lie that my parents only had sex once.

And never with William, the polyester wearing chicken box model.

“How about that? First I’ve heard about it,” I mumble, making her eyes harden.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but lately you seem…”

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” I interrupt, able to tell by the tone of her voice where the conversation is heading.

“Very good,” William says taking the seat beside Ma when she sits down. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mitch.”

Grabbing the empty plate I hadn’t seen before, Ma begins scooping him out a serving of pasta before placing it down in front of him and pouring him a glass of iced tea. “William was a firefighter like your father, Mitch. Isn’t that interesting?” she asks me, shooting him a smile.

Sitting down my fork, I wipe my mouth with the napkin, partially because my mother would rip me a new ass if I forgot my table manners, but also because I need a minute to gather my thoughts on this situation.

“So, you knew my father?” I ask, figuring it’s best to dance around the awkward questions I don’t want to ask, but know they are waiting for.

Ma’s eyes go to her watch, immediately misting over as they usually do. William covers her hand with his, stroking the inside of her wrist with his thumb. Meeting my eyes, he shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. From what Hannah told me, I know he was a great man, Mitchell.” Leaning over, he presses a kiss to her temple. Even though I know the right thing to do is shake his hand and tell my Ma I am happy for her, I can’t. The intimacy between them makes my heart ache. “Your Ma says you’re a lot like him.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I bite out, my eyes locked on their hands now. “He died before we got that whole father-son bonding shit in. Good thing I’m way too old for it now, saves you from goin’ to the unnecessary trouble.”