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  © 2016 RaShelle Workman

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  ISBN 978-1-62007-050-5 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-047-5 (paperback)

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  Maddie

  he tattoo studio is covered in art. It’s on the walls, the worktops, everywhere. Two patrons are sitting in black chairs while the artists do their work. The repetitive buzz of the guns jabbing needles into skin over and over fills the room.

  One of the clients is getting a word tattooed on his left bicep. Not sure what it says, but the artist has completed an F and is working on the U. The other guy’s ink is nearly finished, a blade with a snake winding around it. Both men have blank, faraway expressions.

  I know that look, and I envy them momentarily.

  “Come on,” Tony says, eyeing the others. “Let’s go back here.”

  I follow Tony through the open area and down the hall. He closes the bright yellow privacy curtain and faces me. “Maddelena, right? Take off your shirt and lie back.”

  “It’s Maddie,” I say chewing on the inside of my cheek.

  I’ve done this before, but I’m still edgy, mostly because Tony’s a new guy. Raffie, the guy who did my other tattoos, is on a required leave of absence and won’t be back for three to five years—two with good behavior. I can’t wait that long.

  He grunts his acknowledgement.

  Taking the scrunchie from my wrist, I pull my dark hair into a high bun. Yank off my gray tank, exposing pale skin and a white bra. I grimace at the cold air. It makes my skin tighten, prickle with goose bumps.

  I’m grateful. Because I know what happens next. I’m anxious. Excited, even.

  Today is an anniversary, and not one filled with cake, balloons, and good feelings. Seven years ago today I found their bodies. Seven years ago I found them dead. It feels like yesterday. The pain is raw and rips at my heart. Scratching. Shredding. My lips and hands tremble at the memory. It’s going to swallow me, eat me alive from the inside, claw through my sinews like a deadly virus.

  I want to shout at Tony. Tell him to hurry. Scream, “I can’t take any more!” I need pain to redden my skin, make the outside hurt as much as the inside.

  His brows crunch together and he’s staring at me, at my already inked-up skin.

  “Is there a problem?” My teeth are clenched. They have to be because if I open my mouth, something other than words will come out. Sobs. Or worse.

  His lips press together in a thin line. “No,” he answers, but his attitude tells me he’s lying.

  I take a deep breath. Lay back in the dentist-type leather chair. By the look on his face I know he isn’t concerned with the pain thrashing inside my body. He can’t see that. He also isn’t looking at my barely B cup breasts.

  His eyes are focused on my other tattoos. I already have four. Obviously he really checked my driver’s license to verify age. I’m barely eighteen.

  He sits on a rolling stool and turns away, muttering in Spanish. He’s a big guy, brawny, and is wearing a white wife-beater with holey faded jeans. His face is all hard lines, bushy eyebrows, and thick lips. On the bridge of his nose is a pair of thick black glasses, and over the tank is a tan, buttoned sweater.

  There’s only so much you can tell about a person from the way they look. Clothes can be deceiving, as can the way a person does their hair, or even the makeup they wear. One thing I’ve learned though: if the eyes are the windows to the soul, then shoes are the official gatekeepers. Tony is wearing black flip-flops.

  It’s like he can’t decide between nerd and hottie. The weird thing is the look works on him. He has a tattoo of a dragon along the back of his neck. It’s breathing fire, one eye staring at me. And I can almost hear the condemnation. The words Tony can’t say because it’s none of his business.

  Plastic tears away from plastic, and then there’s a snap of surgical gloves. More tearing plastic, and he’s pulling out gauze. He squirts rubbing alcohol on it. The smell tickles my nose. It momentarily drowns out the stench of old cigars and Chinese food from the restaurant next door.

  “You want it here?” He presses one gloved finger right below my belly button, in the place we’ve already discussed.

  I look down anyway, to verify. “Yep, that’s right.”

  He rambles something in Spanish as he wipes the area with the wet gauze. It’s freezing, and my body automatically tenses before I allow myself to relax. It’s coming. The bracing, all-consuming pain. Soon it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt so bad that after a while it’ll stop hurting, and I’ll be numb. I’ll be numb everywhere.

  Hurry. Hurry. Hurry, my mind screams.

  He nods, and his eyes rake over my other tattoos.

  The first is a quote inked in calligraphy: I love because I am loved. It sits below my bra on the left side of my torso. The second is in the same place under my right breast. More writing, this time in cursive, but the words are less sweet. I am nothing. The third is below it, on my ribcage. The kanji symbol for hate. I’m hoping he doesn’t know what the character means, but something tells me he does. The fourth tattoo starts at my left hip. My pants cover part of it. Five stars. The first is the largest. They get smaller as they go up, past my waist, the final star resting on a rib.

  The tattoo Tony is doing today will be fully colored. The first tattoo I’m getting with color. It’ll be an iris flower—a symbol of faith—with thorn-covered vines curling on either side.

  More plastic ripping and then he brings over a razor. “I’d walk you through the steps, but it looks like you know the drill.” His words are filled with accusation. He doesn’t approve.

  “I do.”

  I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to spill his thoughts. He wants to, I can tell. He wants to ask me why someone too young to have a single tattoo would already have so many. Why I would subject myself to such permanence at such a young age?

  Instead he grumbles words I don’t understand as he runs the disposable pink razor over my skin. When he’s finished, he tosses it in the trash and wipes the area clean with more icy cold gauze.

  The alcohol dries quickly, disappears. I wish my pain could vanish that easily, but it can’t. It won’t.

  Tony takes the paper transfer of the iris drawing he’s created on his computer and places it on my skin. Then, just like a press on tattoo, he rubs it on. When he pulls away the paper, I glance at the flower.

  He looks at me. “Is that gonna work? Last chance.”

  “It looks great,” I say and lean back, allowing my head to rest against the chair. I could tell him to put it anywhere, as long as it’s on my body quickly. Because the truth is, I don’t care about placement. For me, tattoos aren’t about the art. Inking my body isn’t my form of expression. It’s about pain. They are my medication. When it’s over I’ll be able to breathe easier. It means I’m healing. Getting better. Another year of living while my parents haven’t.

  At least that’s what my shrink says. I have my doubts, but I want to believe she’s right. She’s the one who convinced me to get a tattoo. I was fourteen the first time. Yeah, she
isn’t the typical therapist, but then I wasn’t the typical fourteen-year-old.

  Tony rips more plastic and mixes the ink, placing different colors of purple, indigo, and yellow in ink caps. He gets a cup and fills it with distilled water, which will be used for cleaning the needles, and turns on the gun.

  “Ready?” he asks, rubbing a little ointment over my skin. It’ll help the needle slide around more easily.

  I stare into his face. “Yes,” I say, and mean it. I’m more than ready. My body is desperate.

  “I guess I don’t need to tell you to hold still.” He stands above me, hovering like a gigantic apparition, his face intense with focus.

  “I won’t move, Tony,” I grit out.

  He looks at me when I say his name and a quiet tenderness softens his features. “Alright, here we go.”

  The first seconds are white-hot pain so intense it takes my breath away. Which is exactly what I want. Because in the next second I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and sink into bliss.

  Kyle

  onight’s been full of surprises. First, two girls invite me to be the third body in their ménage a trois.

  “Ménage a what?” I ask, forking some chicken and sticking it in my mouth.

  Evan, who’s sitting next to me at the table, slaps me upside the head. “Don’t be an ass, Kyle.”

  The one who introduced herself as Baby slides a hand under my t-shirt and says, “You, me, and Beth. You know. A threesome?”

  I set down my fork. Lean back in the cafeteria chair. The room is animated with the excitement of new freshmen. The smell of coffee and garlic bread hangs in the air.

  “Yeah, you know,” Evan utters, smacking my knee with his.

  I’ve known Evan my whole life. He’s my cousin. After my father died his parents took me in, and we’ve been close ever since. He’s an asshole. Likes his own space. We live in side-by-side apartments instead of with each other or ten minutes away with his mom and dad. Which is cool by me, especially at times like these. Fresh meat. The whole reason we decided to have dinner on campus.

  “Right.” Of course I’ve heard of threesomes. It’s not like I’ve been living under a rock. But contrary to what most people think, or at least Evan, it isn’t something I usually care about. Now that the opportunity has presented itself, I’m certainly interested.

  Beth chimes in, “Baby is mine, but she likes guys and girls. We picked you together. You’re our number one choice.” She smiles, her eyes on Baby. Baby’s eyes and hands are all over me. I get the feeling Beth doesn’t want to be a part of this, but she’s doing it for Baby.

  “You chose him because you haven’t feasted your eyes on this.” Evan raises his shirt and touches his rock hard abs.

  A group of girls, each carrying a tray of food, walks by. They squeal their approval in unison for Evan’s nakedness.

  I chuckle. Now he’ll be worse than unbearable. The fact is Evan and I look alike—same dark hair, same square jaw. It’s probably because our fathers were brothers and they looked alike.

  Beth scoffs.

  Baby laughs. “You’re cute, Evan, but I—we,” she quickly glances at Beth, “want Kyle.”

  Evan leans back in his orange chair and snorts. “That’s because you don’t know what you’re missin’, ladies.” He proceeds to stand and make obscene gestures.

  I can’t help but laugh. Evan’s an idiot, and he thinks way too highly of himself.

  Baby and Beth get up from the table. They hadn’t picked up food so they didn’t have trays. “Later tonight? We’ll catch up with you at the Sigma Nu party?” Baby winks.

  I can’t help but wonder why she calls herself Baby. She is nothing like one.

  “We on?” Beth asks.

  I clear my throat again. “Who am I to deny two pretty girls?” Shrug unapologetically.

  “Cool,” Beth adds.

  Baby squeals.

  Beth puts her hand on Baby’s waist and they walk out of the cafeteria. It’s then that I really check out what they’re wearing: short skirts, socks that go to the middle of their thighs, and black shirts. They could almost be twins.

  Evan whistles, following the girls with his eyes. “Holy shit, bro. You’re so lucky.”

  I shrug and take another bite of chicken.

  “Verge is bringing over party favors tonight. Care to partake before we hit the party?”

  I shrug. “Nah. I’ll catch up with you after though.”

  “Whatever, dude. You’re so squeaky clean. Makes me wonder if we’re actually related.” He chuckles. Slaps me upside the head again. “Have you seen Pudgy Mudgy?”

  I drop my fork. Swallow the lump of chicken. It goes down hard. “Maddie,” I correct.

  He snorts. “Yes. Maddie,” he says, his voice laced with sarcasm. “She’s registered. A UBS freshman.”

  I calmly put my hands on my thighs, but I’m not feeling calm, not at all.

  When we were younger, Evan and some other kids called Maddie “Pudgy Mudgy.” It annoyed the hell out of me then and it still does.

  “I mean it. Don’t call her that.”

  “Fine. It looks like she’s going to be taking English with Ms. Spears. How you gonna handle it?”

  He’s smirking, and I want to punch him. I also want to ask him how he knows her schedule, but I’ve learned that with Evan, the less I know the better. Of course, he’s suggested many times that I go into business with him. The thing is, I know that whatever he’s into, it’s shady, and I have no desire to walk down that road.

  “Great. That’s great,” I growl between gritted teeth.

  Because it is great and frustrating and exciting and irritating. I knew she graduated this year, and I hoped she would choose to go to college here. It’s stupid, but I’ve thought about Maddie a lot. Especially lately. She was my best friend. We hung out every day, up until her parents were killed.

  All of these feelings… Shock? Happiness? Anger? All three at once? I can’t even begin to come up with a word to describe what’s coursing through my body. I have so many questions. Like, why the hell did she stop talking to me? Why didn’t she respond to any of my letters? She’d listened to me moan about not having a mother, about what a prick my father was. All the shit he put me through. I stood up for her when other kids were assholes. How could she stop being my friend?

  “I’ve got to go.” Without waiting for a response, I run to my Jeep. Head back to my apartment.

  Inside I walk to the piano. It’s thirty minutes of endless playing before I’m able to calm down. I’ve decided to stay cool. It’s been seven years.

  Maddie

  have a thing for firsts. First day of school. First crush. First tattoo. Once, a long time ago, I made a promise to a boy that all of my firsts would be with him. But that was before…

  “Are you ready to parrr-tayy?” Gina hollers at a random group of girls crossing the dark soccer field next to us.

  They speed up, seemingly desperate to be as far away as possible. I can’t blame them. I want to abandon half our duo.

  Gina is my roommate, and so different from me I wonder if we’ll work out. It’s like the people handling the roommate selection process wanted to mess with my head. I can almost hear two evil senior girls cackling. “Ohh, she likes to read, she’s into classical music, and she likes puzzles? Ha ha.” They high-five each other and pull an application from a pile. “Let’s give her this one. No one wants this one either.” Bam! I get Gina.

  The only music Gina listens to isn’t even music. It’s some guy screaming. The band name is Black Veil Brides. I know this because she has posters of them all over her side of our dorm room. Plus, she plays their songs over, and over, and over. If that isn’t bad enough, she doesn’t own a single book—at least, she didn’t unpack any. Worst of all, she has no idea what Sudoku is.

  “It’s funny,” Gina says, bringing me out of my reverie. “I scare them,” she points at the scurrying girls and continues, “but they’re heading into the lion’s den.” She shak
es her head. “Are you scared, Maddelena?”

  “A little,” I admit.

  The truth is, this whole place makes me nervous. I mean, it’s college and I’ve been here for two days. It blows my mind. I received a full ride scholarship for music. It’s hard to believe I’m not the little girl with the scared eyes finding her parents dead. I’ve gone on living, while they are buried in the earth.

  Gina’s features turn serious. “It’s okay to be scared. That means you’re growing.”

  I’m shocked. Her words are deep. “Well, don’t be surprised if I wake one morning as a giant.”

  She smirks. “Roommate is a comedian. You go.” She pats my shoulder awkwardly.

  “I have my moments,” I say, eyeing her, hoping I haven’t crossed a line. Gina looks scary. Shaggy long blond hair reaches her waist, but the top is spiked. Gobs of black eyeliner circle her blue eyes. A slinky black dress and black ankle boots. Her vibe doesn’t say, “Hey, I’m sweet.” It’s more, “Look at me wrong and I’ll kick your ass.”

  I wonder if the students crossing Asher Field with us are as nervous to be here at the University of Bellam Springs as I am. Gina doesn’t seem to be, but it’s my first time living on my own, without my aunt and uncle. I’m guessing it’s a first for most of these students. And going to a party without parental supervision, with no curfew—another big first—at least for me.

  A part of me wishes the boy I made the promises to when we were younger could share this first, but I quickly push the thought away. It’s been seven years since I’ve seen him. And that’s for the best.

  I gingerly touch the tattoo below my belly button, flinching at the pain. Reveling in it.

  Definitely for the best, I think.

  Millions of stars glimmer overhead. Darkness covers the wild wilderness the University sits on. Gina and I are staying in Irvine Hall, the tallest dorm on campus. It’s across the street from the cafeteria. The smell of overcooked food swirls in the air, as does a feeling of exhilaration.

  “We don’t have to go, you know. I’ve got—” I begin, but Gina interrupts.