Tattoo
Authors: Katlin Stack,Russell Barber
TATTOO
Katlin Stack
TATTOO
By Katlin Stack
Copyright 2015
Amazon Edition
Edited by Russell Barber
Amazon Edition, License Notes
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For hopeless romantics everywhere. Never stop believing in love
I could swear up and down it was the pounding in my head that woke me up that morning. The tell tale sign that the winner of the fight between me and the booze was definitely not me. My mouth was fuzzy and stuck together, dry. My eyes felt filled with dust and were still barely seeing straight. And I quickly knew that if I didn't make it to the bathroom in the next few moments, I was going to see the remnants of the fight right there on the fading green carpet. I could say until the day I die that it was this feeling of hell hitting me like a brick wall that woke me up. But that's not the truth.
The truth is that at 1:00 pm, life and hope were leaving me for good. And no matter what I did to try and make myself forget, and judging by the smell of straight alcohol that was seeping from me, I'd tried hard, my mind wasn't letting me off the hook. It was 11:00 am, two hours to go. I sighed and heaved myself out of bed. If the world was going to crash down around me in two hours, I might as well shower.
The water hit my body like a thousand needles, hot and sharp. The steam filled my lungs as I stood under the spray. I watched as my body was scorched, left with angry red marks. I welcomed the pain, anything for another moments' distraction. As I turned off the water and let my skin cool from the burns, I wondered to myself what one wears on the day their life ends? Do I wear sweats, tell the world they can go fuck off and I don't care? Or do I dress nicer, as if to say yes, my world has ended, but I will be just fine.
I draped the towel around my waist and walked to the closet. I figured I'd dress somewhere in the middle, something to say this was any ordinary Saturday, when it was really far from that. Still slightly damp, I pulled up my jeans and checked the clock. 12:00, one hour to go. Was it a coincidence that I picked a blue t-shirt? Her favorite color on me. Probably not. I slipped on my black jacket and brushed over the tattoo on my wrist. A permanent reminder of the greatest love and the greatest hurt I've ever known.
With my head still pounding I decided I needed a date with some coffee, so I grabbed my keys and started to head out of the house. At the last minute I went back to my room and grabbed that damn little black box. I shoved it down into my pocket. There was no intentions of needing it but I somehow couldn't leave the house without it.
I stepped out into the middle of the perfect Saturday. The sun warmed you from the outside in and made you melt away just a little. It wasn't too cold, but a little late spring breeze blew through the air. I breathed it in. I loved my town. The cobbled streets, the small shops, the country feel. It was perfect, it was home. It was also as small as my left foot. The moment I started walking down the street I felt the sympathetic stares which were then accompanied by the knowing head nod. I had the distinct feeling of getting sick again, but this time not from the booze. They knew, everyone knew, of course they did. Even my regular barista at my coffee shop gave me that stupid sad smile. She was cute, not from around my town. On every other day of the year I'd tried to get in her pants. Every morning while I got my usual coffee I had hit on her, except for this one. I'd asked her on dates and flashed her my best smile, but it was all in good fun. She'd never accepted, even though we both knew she wanted to. In this town where the gossip flies like bees in the summer, irritating and loud, she'd heard of my past. The truth solidified when she'd seen the tattoo on my wrist.
People told me I was nuts for getting my tattoo. They asked why I'd ever want to permanently remind myself of what I'd gone through. To remember the gut wrenching heartbreak of it all. And in the beginning I'd told people it was because I never wanted to forget her. Later, I simply became annoyed with the question and told everyone I was just a masochist. But on that Saturday, I wondered which story was actually true. Or maybe it was both.
I attempted a casual, aimless walk in the sunshine, with my coffee tight in hand. I pretended that I didn't feel the ticking of my watch, beating in time with my own pulse. I also tried to pretend that I wasn't checking my watch every couple of minutes. 12:20, 12:27, 12:34. I wanted to go home, or at the very least go find something else to do then walk. But my mind was all spun like a kitten's tangled ball of yarn. My memories were knotted together into a cheesy movie montage playing incessantly.
Out of everyone I knew walking the streets that Saturday, no one stopped to chat with me. In fact most people stayed their distance. It was as if they thought misery could be contagious. Don't let me cough on you, I might give you a broken heart. Truth was I wouldn't have had anything to say to anybody if they did want to talk. I probably would have lost my shit on someone if they had tried to stop and chat up the afternoon.
"Good morning Eric, how are ya?"
"Dying inside. And you?"
Everyone would understand and be sympathetic, but no one would really understand. I mean, how many people would really get that, after all that time, it still hurt inside, as if the bandage had just been ripped off? Not many.
12:55. I found myself outside of the doors I had been praying I'd be able to avoid. I had told my feet to go anywhere else at all, just not to be outside of these double wood doors. But with the movie montage playing non-stop it was as if my feet forgot the simple task I'd asked them to do. I fleetingly wondered if it was too early to find myself a bar. But there'd be plenty of time for that after I supposed. I dumped my empty coffee cup in a sidewalk trash can and walked laboriously up the concrete steps. When I got to the top, I took a deep breath. This was really it. I opened the doors and slipped inside.
The candle light bounced off the walls. Stained glass took the place of windows in the walls and this was accepted like a God given pairing. It was beautiful, everything I knew she would have wanted. I slid quietly into a pew in the back, off to the side, where I figured I wouldn't be seen.
The music started to swell, I hung my head and took deep breaths. In that moment, those first few notes, I couldn't understand why I was even there. It seemed to go on forever, I couldn't watch. Then the notes switched, just a little bit, enough to make me pick up my head, I knew what was coming.
God, she was truly beautiful. An angel in white, a radiance surrounded her. Her gown flowing behind her, her veil just slightly brushing against her face. I had dreamt of her so many times, but my dreams hadn't done her justice. I don't think any bride had every been so lovely. I wondered if she felt me there, I was hoping she did. But if she did, she hid it well. Her eyes never left his. Her smile was true and perfect. It felt like an entire lifetime ago that I had been on the other end of that smile. She reached the end of her aisle, her father lifted her veil and kissed her cheek. He gave her hand away.
I realized I hadn't been breathing, but I couldn't seem to remember how that was done. Something so simple, breathing, an everyday, every moment mechanism, and I couldn't seem to remember how it was done. I thought I should slip out, it was stupid to come, what had I been thinking? Yet, I couldn't take my eyes off of her, I couldn't get my legs to get up and leave her.
So I watched. Tears stayed brimming in my eyes, clouding her every once in a while. I'd brush them away but those damn tears kept coming back. I wasn't listening to the priest, wasn't even thinking, time just simply stopped. I watched her hand her flowers back to her maid of honor. She took his hands, and they recited their vows. It was torture to listen to how much she loved him, how much she needed him. That used to be me. I didn't listen to his vows. I knew that nothing he could ever say would convince me that he loved her more than I do.
The priest began to speak again. She started to look around the church, smiling at her guests, pure bliss across her face. Then her eyes found mine. After all these years, I could still read her like a book. I saw all of my own feeling reflected in her. Hate, pain, love. I could see how much she wanted to look away, but I knew, just like me, she couldn't. Was it possible, that after all these years, I wasn't the only one still completely in love?
"If there is anyone here who thinks these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."
Forever is a very long time
JANUARY- 6 YEARS EARLIER
Senioritis- the illness you accrue when you become a senior. By January of my senior year of high school, I probably had the worst case in documented history. Just the thought alone of sitting through one of Mr. Pasely's science lectures was enough to make me itch with hives. It's not that the last three years of high school hadn't been great, but it was just time to move on.
I'd been with the same group of people ever since primary school. My graduating class was only about 150 students. That's not a whole hell of a lot. Same faces, ten months out of the year, for the past twelve years. Yea, I'd say it was definitely time to get out of there. I would settle my senioritis hives by constantly reminding myself of where I was headed when this chapter of my life finally came to a close. I was going to accept a baseball scholarship from the biggest school that would offer me one, and drive on out of here. I'd kick some ass in college ball and head straight to the pros. No stopping, and no looking back. I was ready for the big time life.
But you know what's funny about plans? They suck. In truth, how many plans ever work out exactly as you want? In my case, just about never. But when there's a swift change of wind and your sails start to push you in a new direction, no matter how surprised you may be, you have two choices. Ride it out or fight the whole way. Lauren Cole was that change of wind.
From the moment I saw her, I knew there'd be no chance of fighting against her.
On the first day back from winter break, Lauren walked into my homeroom and slipped into a desk so quietly, you could tell she was hoping to go unnoticed. Too bad for her, I noticed. I noticed her hair first. It fell down her back, long and dark, shining like glass. Her body, well that alone could have sent any guy into a frenzy. But I wanted to see her eyes. I silently begged her to turn so I could look into them. I knew, somewhere inside, they'd be eyes I would never forget. As luck would have it, she dropped her pen and she happened to finally glance my way, I was right. Her eyes were the color of the deep part of ocean, a deep blue that would take you miles from where you were.
I'd never had these types of oddly poetic thoughts about a girl before. Hair like glass, eyes like the ocean. Usually I resigned to normal thoughts, hot, sexy, cute. But those words all felt short of what she was. There didn't seem to be a word I could find that would describe how much she took my breath away. She was beautiful. Amazingly beautiful.
"Hey, mop it up," my friend Blake said referring, to my mouth being wide open. There was a possibility of a little drool.
"Oh, sorry," I said, as I followed his actions and started gathering my things to head to my first class.
"Do you know who she is?" I asked him, giving a head nod in her direction.
"Nope, looks new. But man look at that ass."
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to punch him right in the face. But I refrained. How the hell could I be so defensive of a girl I'd never met. She could be a bitch, she could be psycho, she could be any number of horrible things. And I tried to convince myself of this, all day in fact. I was not a guy that liked to get hung up on a girl. In fact, I'd only had two real girlfriends, and if I'm being honest, even those two I hardly cared about. The rest of the girls, they were just for fun. Girls to drink with, pass a joint, and hook up with at the end of a party. That's the way I liked it. No reason to get attached to anyone when I was going to be getting the hell out of Oakwood as soon as I could.
I kept an eye out all day for her. I waited for her to walk into any of my classes, or study hall, or lunch. I couldn't even find her in the senior hall at a locker. It was like she disappeared. A figment of my hopeful imagination, although I knew she was real because of Blake's comment about her ass, (even though he was without a doubt right about it, just thinking about what he said still made me want to punch him). I couldn't get my mind off her all day, not even during my work out that night at home. Every time I tried to do a bench press, all I could see was her. In the two minutes that she had been in homeroom she had completely taken over my mind. I was pissed.
It made me work out harder, push the weights faster, anything to try to block her image. I was not a guy who got attached. I was not a guy who fantasized, (unless we are talking about celebrities, then I fantasize to no end). I was a guy who partied, hooked up, and then partied some more.
"God Dammit," I yelled as I slammed the bench press down back into its holder.
I didn't even know her name yet and I knew she would be nothing but trouble.
My plan of attack the next day was nothing. Ignore her to no end. Don't look for her, don't learn her name, pretend she doesn't exist. Maybe I thought too hard, because she didn't show up for homeroom. I was disgusted with myself that I actually panicked about her, where she might be and why she wasn't there. I was walking out of homeroom both silently yelling at myself for wishing her away so hard, and yelling at myself for wishing she was still there when I ran into someone small and strong, and that smelled like fresh strawberries. I looked down and thought I'd never find my way out of her eyes.
"Um, excuse me, I just need to get into the room," she said to me, motioning she wanted to get past me and into homeroom.
"Homeroom is over, didn't you hear the bell?" I asked her. Yea, I know, I'm an ass. But ya know what? In my defense, being an ass had worked for me on every girl before, how was I supposed to know better?
Her cheeks pinked like a rose. There I am being poetic again.
"Yes, I know, but Mr. Rocks knows I will be late some days. I still have to sign in."
She pushed past me, a little harder than I'd expected.
"Dude, we gotta go, you remember that thing called class?" Blake asked. He tugged my arm in the direction of our first class.
Don't think about her. Do not think about her. DO NOT THINK ABOUT HER.
Too late.
By the time I sat down for my first class, I already had tomorrow's plan in mind
Friday morning I lingered at my locker. My friends came up and talked, girls came up and flirted. I pretended to be interested in all of them, all the while watching the homeroom door closely. The halls started to empty and I knew the late bell would be ringing my tardiness any minute, but I just waited it out. At last I saw her come up the stairs and hurry herself into the room, squeaking in just as the bell rang. I, however, was not so lucky and was about ten steps behind the bell.
"You're late Mr. Daniels," Mr. Rock said from behind his paper.
It always amazed me that teachers have a sixth sense for getting students in trouble. I swear you couldn't have even heard my shoes as I slipped into the room.
"Sorry Mr. Rock, it won't happen again."
He let the corner of his paper droop as he glanced at me from behind his thick glasses. Ah, to give me detention or not give me detention, that was the question. I gave him my best, aw shucks smile accompanied with a tiny I'm sorry shrug. It really does pay to be charming, or maybe it pays that he was retiring at the end of the year. Regardless, I was let off the hook with a flick back up for the corner of his paper. I signed in and looked at the name ahead of mine. Lauren Cole. Yea, she looked like a Lauren. I decided to take it one step further. I sat down in the seat next to her.
She sat at a desk writing in a notebook, fast and furiously. Making it obvious she had no time for me. I waited patiently until after announcements and until after the bell. When she stood up to leave, I stood in her way...again.
"Um, excuse me," she said as she tried to pass me.
I realized I had thought up a great plan, a successful plan, until that moment. It was then I realized I hadn't planned what to say.
"I'm Eric," I blurted. Yes, I know, I'm very smooth.
"I know," she said.
"Don't you want to tell me your name?"
"You already know it. I saw you look when you came in." She was standing with her arms crossed, almost ready for a rumble. She was feisty. Most girls gave in to whatever I said, she seemed to be a bullshit detector. I liked that.
"Can I walk you to class?"
"I don't seem to have the charm you do, I will get detention if I'm late, so you better hurry." Her cheeks pinked as we started down the hall.
I met her after each class that day, like a secret agreement we'd made even though the words were never said. We talked in little five minutes bites, me counting down the class time until I would be given the next taste of who she was. She talked about the town where she came from, and that moving senior year sucked. I talked about how small Oakwood was and that she couldn't have picked a more boring place.
She told me she was an advanced placement student, taking college classes already. That kind of intelligence could have really intimidated a C student like me. Instead, I told her I could throw the best curveball in the county and I was taking my first scholarship out of that town. She was a little shy, but quick witted, a fascinating combination. She'd throw a joke at me like a 90 mile an hour fast ball, and then her cheeks would pink as if maybe she shouldn't throw so hard. I loved the game. By the time the last class bell rang, I knew I was only getting the icing on the surface of who she was, and I craved to know more.
"The only good thing about the first week back from break is, it's only three days long," I laughed as I walked her to her locker. "What are you doing this weekend? Any good plans?" I asked her casually. For the first time I could ever remember, I was actually nervous around a girl.
"Well, since I just moved here last week, and you are the only person I've spoken to, I plan on hanging out at my house and reading."
"What would you do for fun if you had someone to do something with?"
"Well, I suppose that would depend on who that someone was," she answered. She was trying to look busy gathering her things, but I could see the red creep into her cheeks. Not pink this time, but a real red.
"Well, what about me?" I let my dirty blonde hair fall in front of my green eyes just slightly. It was a move that I knew made my boyish good looks stand out.
"What do you usually do for fun then?" she asked.
I thought about the party Blake had told me about in lunch. It was supposed to be the "best party of the year!" But in truth, every party that school year had been called the "best party of the year". It all got a bit monotonous after a while. I could take her. Have some fun, have some drinks. But as I pictured us at the party together, I realized I wanted nothing to do with taking her there. I wanted better.
"How about dinner and a movie tomorrow night?"
"That sounds great," she said. "Pick me up at 8." She gave me a blazingly bright smile and walked away.
I had a feeling that would not be the last time her smile would leave me at a loss for words.