Page 11 of Three Reasons

I still see myself walking into the shop, fascinated and intimidated by the big, burly biker sitting alone at the desk, drawing up some design for a client. When I entered and he looked up, he had this annoyed, pinched expression on his face, and I was certain he’d tell me to get lost.

Instead, I was treated with kid gloves, like he could tell something terrible had happened. He saw something in me that told a story he understood, and I’m so grateful for that man.

After that, I became addicted to what that needle represented. It pushed away my pain, it numbed the scorn I received from my parents and teachers. It held back the tears, ever hovering on the edge of falling.

Once my parents discovered my third tattoo, they tried homeschooling me, forcing me to stay home when all I wanted was to figure out who I was. How what I had done changed me, and I constantly felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating, and no one cared.

It took a few months, but they soon realized it wasn’t working because I would sneak out at night. When I turned eighteen, my dad handed me a suitcase and walked away. It was his way of telling me to leave. He had no idea I’d planned to anyway. Mom,of course, just took another drink and pretended everything was perfect in her hazy little world. I was hurt but used to her indifference. If she wasn’t drinking, she was popping pills, and I’m sad to say it appears my siblings have followed in her footsteps.

From a young age, I always knew I was different from the rest of my family, that I was somehow flawed in their eyes. I wasn’t a people pleaser; I didn’t feel the need to be perfect at all times, and I voiced my opinion while making my own choices. It took me years to realize that the reason they had so much disdain for me was because I broke the mould. I wasn’t like them, and the expectations for me slowly dropped away as I refused to conform to my parents' idea of what a dutiful daughter should be.

My sense of self was present, even from an early age. I lost it for awhile after I slept with a man several years older than me, not finding it again until I moved out and discovered I could be who I wanted without constriction.

Two years ago, my oldest sister, Margo, got married. My presence had been demanded, or I would be cut out forever. I was told to arrive early so I could have my hair and makeup professionally done, and they’d have a dress and shoes for me. It wasn’t until that particular demand was made that I decided to go on my own terms.

They were both pissed and surprised when I showed up late, dressed to the nines in a sleek black cocktail dress that ended just below my ass and had a plunging neckline and sky-high stilettos that probably should have killed me with every step.

Every tattoo that could have been seen in a pair of shorts and crop top was on display. I was informed by Margo about what a bitch I was for showing up in black and displaying my tainted flesh. I still smile at the memory. My entire family was pissed, but nobody knew about our falling out when I was eighteen, sothey had to play nice and include me in the pictures, as well. Petty, I know, but I don’t feel an ounce of guilt.

Now, they know not to try and control me. Any invitations I receive are out of a sense of duty and because their friends and other family members continue to ask about me. By turning them down, they can say that I couldn’t make it without lying or making something up. There’s never a doubt of them wanting me there; they haven’t in years. Which is how I know the phone call I received as Callan and Eli left is yet another request for me to show up for this Christmas party. They don’t want me to attend, so I’m unsure why they’re forcing the issue after I’ve already turned them down.

I’ll never understand why they keep inviting me to their parties or events. It’s easy to tell from their bored tone of voice that they’d rather be swimming in pig shit than speaking to me. I often wonder what they’d do if I accepted one of these times, but I don’t because it wouldn’t be worth the hassle.

When I nearly agreed to go home last Christmas, I think I heard Mom have a panic attack over the phone. I didn’t realize that they still had the power to hurt me, but that day, she did. It made it easier to stay clear and keep things low contact afterwards.

Growing up hadn’t been all bad, just my family. Being raised in St. Albert, Alberta, taught me a few things. Money doesn’t make you happy. Egos are more important than love. Small cities or towns are where I’m happiest.

Even though I never truly fit in in my hometown, I felt even more lost when I attended the Southern Alberta Institute of Technology, or SAIT, in Calgary, four hours away. The big city was not for me. Too many people, too much traffic, too much crime.

After graduating, it was adream come true to find my shop in Ruby, just a little over an hour north of Calgary. I had receivedmy inheritance from Pappy earlier than my siblings because of how he set up the trust, so I was able to buy and run Gray’s Tattoos. I was young, barely twenty, when I opened three years ago, and nobody from my old life thought I could do it. Pappy and my mentor, Wesley, were the only ones to ever truly believe in me.

The day my parents called to ream me out and scream about their disappointment in me was the day I realized I had to stop allowing them any kind of power over my life. My two older sisters, Margo and Sally, came in once to see what I wasup to and probably to spy on me for the parents. I kicked them out almost before the bell over the door had finished jingling.

Noticing that I’m still standing in the same spot I was thirty minutes ago, enjoying the present while pondering the past, I shake it off. My lips still feel that kiss and have me thinking of the future in a new light, have me feeling differently. In a good way.

Exposed and excited.

It’s new and unique, and I find I like it. Adrenaline runs rampant through my veins as I realize I’m eager for our date tomorrow and know I’ll get to spend more time with Callan and Eli.

I feel like a hormonal teenager.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

Eli

Iwake up with a renewed sense of anticipation instead of dragging my ass out of bed and not really feeling the work schedule for the day. Oddly, I look forward to speaking with our customers and spreading my happiness where I can.

I’ve come to realize Gray is a woman in her own league. She’s unconventional, intelligent, and sexy, a graceful work of art in one beautiful package. She truly is one of a kind, and I look forward to getting to know more about her. Last night, it took a lot of staring at the roof and contemplating the woman to realize that my biggest attraction to her is her level of comfort in her own skin. She’s confident in a way I haven’t been exposed to before.

Small glimpses of insecurity flashed in her eyes last night when she felt vulnerable, but it’s clear she won’t allow them to shake her confidence. That alone is extremely attractive to me. Her sass and carefree attitude make me crave her presence again. I loved the way she didn’t take any shit from Callan and his attitude and how she gave as good as she got when I flirted with her.

After a quick shower, where I picture our lives together, I rush to get dressed and head to the kitchen for coffee. The image of Cal and I coming home from a hard day’s work to Gray and our kids waiting on us is hard to shake. It’s so fairytale-like that I’m a little annoyed with myself. Not because I don’t want that kind of future, but because we just met the woman, and we have no idea if that’s something she wants.

It can’t be normal to be so invested after just a few hours together, can it?

Yet, it feels like it is.

Her, us, a life together filled with love and commitment.

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