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“Why not?!” she shouts.

  She’s beginning to attract attention… more than usual. Grabbing her arm, I pull her close “Before today I was content with thinking Blaine Shaw no longer existed. I don’t want to go back down that road again. I’m getting drunk tonight; and tomorrow, I’ll return to my ignorant bliss.”

  “But you, at least, have to hear Ashes” she begins fumbling with her phone again.

  I snatch it from her hands, placing it in my pocket “No, Rissa. Move on to another conversation.” Her mouth opens for what I can tell is another argument, but I stop her saying, “Now” I emphasize my point.

  Holding up her hands, she mumbles, “Fine, I’ll drop it… for now.”

  I shake my head, “I guess I’ll have to take it.”

  The rest of the night passes with ease – no more questions or conversations about Blaine Shaw. Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal; and my life will resume as if this day never happened.

  Chapter Four

  “Let’s get tattoos!” Marissa shouts.

  We stumble down the sidewalk leaning into each other for support. A tattoo parlors sign hangs over the sidewalk, lighting our path in orange like a drunken yellow brick road.

  “Hell yeah!” I shout back, clutching her arm tighter as the world around me tilts.

  We work together to make it down the cement path, the orange light as our beacon. Each of us have plenty of tattoos, neither of us bothered by needles. I don’t have as many as Marissa – her right arm alone has about twenty. Her sleeve is almost complete, and it looks incredible. Flowers and lace designs decorate her skin; only a few blank spots remain. Angel wings lay on her shoulder blades stretching the length of her back resting right above her hips. Lastly, a watercolor lily runs along her ribs on her left side.

  The door dings when we push it open. Standing at the counter is a man with every visible piece of skin inked. His thick red beard hangs off his face, almost touching his chest. He has a rugged look to him, I know you expect that when coming to a place like this, but there’s something different about him. The hair peeking from under his beanie is a tad darker than his beard. The top button of his blue and black flannel shirt fastened tightly at the deep red rose tattooed on his neck.

  “Hello, ladies,” his deep voice welcomes us.

  Marissa immediately turns on her charm, flashing a smile no man can resist “Hello yourself sexy.”

  “What can I do for you tonight?” his copper-colored eyes roam over both of us. They’re close to the same color as his beard but not quite the same.

  “I can think of plenty of things you can do for me,” Marissa replies, licking her lips. She leans onto the glass countertop, squeezing her busty cleavage together in plain sight for him to see. “But for the time being, we would like some ink.”

  His gaze never drops below her face despite what she has presented to him, “What do you have in mind?”

  She shrugs, her movements lose and unbothered, “Mind if we look around?”

  “Take your time,” he replies his demeanor never changing from casual.

  Marissa flicks her long rose gold hair over her shoulder and turns my way staggering slightly “Well bitch, let’s pick something.”

  I don’t have to look. I know what I’m getting. I’ve been wanting to get it for some time and now seems just as good as any; but, I follow her anyway. I flip through several books, but nothing stands out, and I’m still content with my original decision. Closing the book, I jump as Marissa squeals, “Lila, come here, I found it!”

  I run my hand along the wall to give myself a source of stability. My steps aren’t as labored as they once were, but I’m still quite drunk.

  Marissa grabs my free hand, pulling me toward the open book. “Her” she points to a pin-up girl printed on the page. As she looks at me, I can see how her eyes are glazed over from the substantial amount of liquor we consumed not too long ago. I’m concerned the alcohol is the one making the decision, not so much her.

  “Eh, she’s great but what about the pocket watch idea you’ve been talking about?” I ask, hoping I can change her mind.

  “Oh my god! Yes!” She squeals, attempting to jump, but the liquor flowing in her veins keeps her grounded. She walks back toward the counter, “Okay, sexy, we’ve decided.”

  “What’ll it be ladies?” he asks, his inked hands placed on the glass. A screaming skull glares at us from the tops of each of his hands forever marked in anguish.

  Marissa begins explaining the image in her mind. A pocket watch with the time of her grandfather’s death laid atop white roses, which happened to be his favorite flower. Her gesturing is extensive as she’s explaining where she wants it placed – covering her entire right thigh.

  He turns his copper eyes my way raising an eyebrow. Asking what I picked without opening his mouth.

  Holding up my right index finger, I point to the inside of my knuckle closest to my hand, “I want a simple, compact camera right here. I can draw something if you need it.”

  He shakes his head “I can draw something, you let me know if you want to change anything about it. I’ll draw it up, and I’ll go ahead and get you done. Yours should only take a few minutes.”

  “Okay, sounds good.”

  Nodding toward Marissa, he says, “You, on the other hand, are going to be here a while. I may even have to break it up into two sessions. We’ll just see how it goes.”

  “Whatever you think sexy,” Marissa replies, batting her eyes.

  It dawns on me that we haven’t asked his name and I wasn’t calling him sexy. Holding out my hand, I say, “I’m Lila. Sorry we’ve been kind of rude.”

  “Bryant,” he replies, taking my hand and shaking it gently.

  I drop my hand and point to Marissa “This is Marissa, but even if she does know your name, she’ll probably still call you sexy.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” Bryant says, grabbing a pencil and paper sketching my camera right there.

  It takes him a matter of minutes, and it’s perfect. The simplicity of it is precisely what I want. A compact camera is the first one my father taught me about and how to use. No matter what kind of new technology comes out, none compare to a compact camera in my mind. Now, this tiny tattoo will be seen each time I click the shutter button.

  A buzzing fills the room as piercing vibrations remove any trace of disorientation the alcohol provided. Line by line, the camera forms on my finger. Minutes later Bryant applies ointment to my new addition and fastens a bandage over it.

  “There you go,” he begins to explain the after-care instructions, but I stop him before he gets too far into them.

  “Thanks, but I’ve done this before,” I say, holding up my finger “It looks good I appreciate it.”

  “No problem, it’s why I’m here,” he answers, removing his rubber gloves. “Time for your friend. Hers is going to take a while, so the sooner we start, the quicker you guys can leave.”

  “Yeah… she goes big every time,” I stand and head to the chairs outside to retrieve Marissa. No surprise she’s passed out slumped in the chair. She’s about to call the floor her new seat. Bryant comes up beside me, and I turn to look at him “I don’t think she’s getting anything done tonight.”

  “Probably a good thing anyway,” he says, “Do you need any help with her?”

  “No, but thanks. What do I owe you?” I want to get that handled first before I wake the sleeping bear. I hand over some cash and try to get everything situated as I mentally prepare myself for manhandling Marissa back to the house. I stand in front of her staring for a minute. I take a deep breath and bend to grab her.

  “Before you do that, can I get your number?” Bryant asks from behind me.

  “Why?” I straighten and look over my shoulder.

  He smirks leaning against the wall “Thought maybe we could grab some dinner if that’s okay with you?”

  Thoughts automatically assault my mind, and I h
ave to push the pause button. I don’t have time or the energy for any bullshit ideas coming from the dark crevices of my mind. Grinning I saunter over to the counter and jolt it down on the paper my camera is etched on. I hand it to him and lift Marissa up. Mumbling, she leans into me, and we both stagger out into the night and toward home.

  Chapter Five

  My phones incessant dinging wakes me from my drunken slumber. Moaning, I blindly search for it – knocking several things to the floor in the process. I peek one eye open and silence it before tossing it back onto the bedside table. I fling the covers over my face. The sunlight is too much for my sensitive eyes, and burrowing my head is a must. My mouth is dry, no drop of liquid present. My tongue peels from the roof of my mouth, and I smack my lips together. You would think after everything I drank last night dry mouth would be the last thing I would experience. The pressure in my head pounds at my temples. I remain still, hoping it’ll subside, but no such luck is granted.

  I eventually find the strength to heave myself upright in the bed. The pounding intensifies, and I have to cradle my head in my hands as the room spins. “Eh, how much did I drink last night…” I groan slowly making my way to the edge of the bed.

  A meow answers my complaints as Fox, my black cat rubs against my ankles. Yes, I’m aware of how strange it is to have a cat named Fox, but in my defense, I’m a little obsessed with The X-Files. Also, I may have a little crush on Fox Mulder, but that’s beside the point.

  “Yeah, yeah I know. You don’t have to lecture me” I mumble my voice sounding gravelly.

  Using my last bit of energy, I slowly but surely drag myself to the kitchen for water and aspirin. I honestly can’t remember the last time I got this shit-faced drunk, it’s been years. Seeing Blaine must have been more detrimental than I initially thought. I drink every drop of water, relishing as the cold liquid slides down my throat, beginning to wipe away the wasteland. I refill the glass and rummage through the cabinets finding the aspirin. I toss two in my mouth and send them down with the second helping of refreshing liquid. Bracing my hands on the counter, I hang my head. The pounding is still present, but now that I’ve resumed my staycation, I have no plans of leaving this house today. Well, unless there’s a fire – then I would seriously have to consider the possibilities.

  That incessant dinging begins again. Huffing, I make my legs carry me back to the bedroom to retrieve the damn thing. I suppress my murderous rage to throw it out the window. All the texts are from Marissa, each more ridiculous than the one before it.

  Marissa: Bitch, are you dead??

  Lila: Yes, and I would be grateful if you would allow me to rest in peace.

  I hit send and bring it along with me, knowing good and well she’ll text back immediately. The ding sounds seconds later, which only confirms my assumptions.

  Marissa: As long as your dead ass is ready by 8.

  She’s insane if she thinks I’m going out again tonight. I’m not functioning well as it is, I think as my fingers move across the screen, forming my reply.

  Lila: That’s a negative – my body can’t handle any more after last night.

  Marissa: Bitch, don’t even think of bailing on me. We planned this months ago!

  What the hell is she talking about? I wasn’t even supposed to be in town, I think as her next message pops up.

  Marissa: THE ART GALLERY! You promised even before planning your trip!

  “Son of a bitch”’ I groan looking over at Fox “She isn’t going to let this go,” he stares back knowing exactly how right I am, Marissa always gets her way. I decide there’s no point arguing considering I had, in fact, told her I would go.

  Lila: Pick me up at 7:30.

  I toss my phone on the other end of the couch and wrap myself up in a fleece blanket to begin my first nap of the day.

  ×××

  I did, indeed, nap on and off all day. By the time my alarm goes off shouting it’s time for me to get ready, I feel better than I did this morning. The doorbell rings, causing me to look at the clock, 5:20. It’s too early for Marissa. A delivery boy stands on the other side of the peephole. Furrowing my brows, I open the door.

  “Lila Adair?” he asks. Face to face, he’s younger than I first would have thought upon first glance. His messy blond hair falls into his eyes, causing him to flick his head every few seconds.

  “Yes?”

  His baby face morphs with his bright smile “Here you go.” Tucked at his side, he reveals a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

  “Oh, thank you” I reach out taking them from him. It’s a vibrant array of colors, the flowers varying from tulips, roses, and a few daises. Arranged perfectly, so each accentuates the others.

  “Have a good evening,” he replies, flashing that beautiful smile again before turning to leave.

  I close the door with my foot and carry it over to the counter. I hunt for a card my brain drawing a blank when I try to think of who could possibly have sent them.

  “Lila, thank you for gracing us with your presence. It was our pleasure” it’s signed by each of the members of Ashes. I have to read the card several times before it registers. I wonder whose idea this was. I leave the card on the counter with the flowers. Walking over, I fill a small glass with water, placing them there before going to make myself presentable for tonight.

  ×××

  I straighten my necklaces and do a once over of myself in the mirror, “I have to say I do clean up nicely.” My skinny black jeans are ripped in just the right places while my white semi-loose fitting tank plunges deep in the front showing a little skin. Last but definitely not least, my favorite leather jacket complements the entire outfit. The doorbell rings, glancing over at the clock it’s 7:29, right on time. I run my fingers through my hair as I go to let Marissa in.

  “Girl, you look awesome!” she squeals, stepping through the door.

  I turn in a circle, posing in a variety of ways showing off my outfit from all angles. The last one I stop exaggerating my curves. Laughing, I say, “And you, my dear, of course, look beautiful as always.”

  “Thanks, doll,” Marissa giggles, “You ready?”

  “Yep let me grab my bag,” I reach over the couch and sling it over my shoulder as I follow her out the door.

  Chapter Six

  Seattle is full of artists; and the city is electric, whether it be day or night. Being a freelance photographer, you run into all kinds of artists. Each one that you meet has an entirely fresh and exciting take on the world. Opening yourself up to someone and having a conversation can leave you feeling like a missing piece has been clicked into place. Most people just refuse to allow someone new in, let alone their ideas. I love supporting the artists here, and this community, Marissa and I attend as many openings as we can.

  We pull up outside of a grungy looking warehouse with a crowd overflowing onto the sidewalk. We circle the surrounding streets and eventually find an appropriate place to park. Marissa’s quite protective of her Tesla. Not just any parking spot will do. This opening’s a bit more crowded than the others we’ve attended, but that’s a good sign. Paying the admission, we wade our way through the crowd. Glasses of wine are offered by the waiters, and we accept grabbing one as we begin our rounds through the various works of art.

  I met this particular artist, Cypress, at a coffee shop while we were waiting in line. She noticed my camera bag and began inquiring about the work I did, and we became fast acquaintances. Cypress is a painter and chooses to paint abstract work – or more like it chooses her. She paints anything from landscape to splashes of color on a canvas.

  As we walk, I’m taken aback by the sheer beauty and effortlessness of her talent. My steps slowly coming to a stop in front of one canvas in particular. My eyes take in every piece of it, from the colors to the texture filling the space. I’m entirely consumed with this portrait of the night sky. Its rich colors mingle together perfectly. Her use of the dark midnight blue creates a blanket allowing
the full moon to peek out from behind.

  I sip on my wine lost in this piece. You can feel the part of her soul she poured into it.

  “You always did love the night,” a deep voice says from behind me.

  My spine straightens, I don’t need to turn around to know who the voice belongs to. A voice, that before yesterday was lost within the confines of my memories. When turning, my eyes collide with his black shirt, proceeding upward, I find those green eyes once again locked on me.

  “Hi, Lila” Blaine whispers.

  I remain mute unable to bring myself to say anything – my eyes roam over his face. It’s been five years since we’ve seen each other. Really seen each other. I’ve seen him in my dreams many times, but they were never good for him. At this moment, those five years feel like forever and just a moment ago all at the same time. How’s that even possible? He’s changed… but I can still see the guy I’d been in love with. His dark chestnut hair, once long, is now shaved short along the sides while the top is longer draping to one side resting on his high cheekbone. It suits him and the image he now fulfills. His skin is now a canvas in itself, much like the paintings on the walls around us. Tattoos run the length of each of his arms, possibly more that I’m unable to see. My gaze travels back locking on his handsome face, and my eyes zero in on the silver hoop draped over his full bottom lip. That’s new. Definitely a good addition. Lip rings have always been my weakness.

  My eyes dart to his deep green ones that are conveying more emotion than he would probably like.

  I step away from him and sever the connection that had taken hold of me unexpectedly. I set my face in a scowl and draw my eyebrows together “Blaine, what are you doing here?”

  Blaine’s face shifts changing from the open window to a thick brick wall. Impenetrable and conveying nothing. He nods his head toward another exhibit, “Cohen was getting antsy and had to get out of the hotel room.”

  There, across the room, is the mountain of a man. How in the hell did I miss him? Cohen towers over everyone in the gallery and is currently preoccupied chatting with the woman of the night herself, Cypress.