Page 26 of Splintered Hearts

Jamie looks a little scary—tattoos, piercings, and a permanent scowl on his handsome face. However, there’s something shy about him. While he seems anxious as I sit with the sketchbook in my lap, there’s something else there too—an excitement almost, albeit a quiet one.

Opening the book, I’m instantly impressed.

Harsh lines fill this page. A drawing of a ballerina. It should be graceful, but the hard lines make her angry, almost hateful. I like it. Geometric shapes slash across the dancer’s tutu and tights. She’s dancing, but she isn’t happy about it. So much anger and emotion dripping from the page.

I flip to another page with an owl hiding in a tree. The drawingis simple, so different from the one before it. It’s beautiful, soft, and so lifelike that I feel like I could pet it. “There was an owl outside. I just wanted to draw it. I love animals, they’re my favorite thing to draw.”

Flipping to another page, again, it’s so different, but all of these pictures have a similar, unique style that’s all Jamie’s. A young girl smiles, her dark hair up in a messy bun. I don’t know who she is but her eyes tell me everything I need to know.

Jamie loved this girl—a lot.

The attention to detail is breathtaking. “She’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says softly. There’s something sad there. An edge I caught with that simple word. Maybe a bad breakup?

Turning page after page, some of people, most of animals, and some just abstract lines and designs, I stop on the last page, frowning. It’s hard to make out what the purpose is. Everything is so harsh and dark. This one feels violent.

I jolt as Jamie takes the book from me. “That’s the last one.”

He gets up, putting the book away. “You’re very talented.” There are a couple of others on the shelf but I don’t push. “What’s with the white wall?”

The others are black. An odd decorative choice but it doesn’t make the room feel small. The big window helps with that. “I’m going to paint a mural. It was stupid for me to paint them black in the first place.”

“It looks cool. At least you have that window. It brightens the room up a bit.” Jamie sits back beside me. Cedar and spice fill the space around us. Looking down at his worn sweats, I see that they have holes in parts and are worn thin in others. “Nice pants.”

That makes a tiny grin appear on his face. “These are my comfort sweats.”

“Comfort sweats?”

“A lot of people together make me nervous. I wanted to wearsomething that made me feel—”

“Safe?”

Jamie’s face pinches. “Safe seems lame.”

“It’s not lame.” I understand that tenfold. I have a blanket I could not sleep without. Thankfully, I grabbed it on my way out of my old house. “Not lame.” Jamie’s eyes focus on his lap. “How old are your tattoos?”

“The random ones were first. They were practice for my friend. I started when I turned eighteen, so nearly eight years now. My snake he did when he became more confident.”

“Can I see your other arm?”

Jamie moves to my other side, pulling up his shirt sleeve. “I was his test dummy.”

“Bold.”

Jamie shrugs. “I knew he was talented. I wasn’t worried about him fucking up my arm. He just had to trust himself and get the hours in.” There’s so much happening. All of them are different yet flowing together as if they belong there. An abstract moon, a jaguar, and a gorgeous pin-up of a mechanic with her ample breasts out and wrench in hand. Daisies, an octopus, and other random tattoos cover his arms.

“Besides the blossoms, are they all black and gray?”

“Yeah, I don’t really do color tattoos.”

“Why did you color the blossoms?”

Jamie thinks a moment, something clouding his eyes again. “My adoptive sister, Xavi’s birth sister told me I should. She was right,” he says. “I have a giant one on my thigh. I can show you. I don’t mind.” He seems excited to show it to me, and life sparks behind his eyes as he talks about them. “It’s a Japanese dragon running over my hip, stopping at my knee. It was the last one I got.” Jamie takes the band of his sweats, pulling them to his knees.

His boxers cling to his skin, and it takes every ounce of fuckingstrength within me to ignore the outline of him under the fabric.

Turning to the side, my jaw drops. “Oh my god.” It’s so intricate and detailed. I can’t believe that people this talented exist. Every line and curve of the dragon flows against the taut muscle of his thigh, packed in with black and gray, each line so crisp it nearly pops off his leg. Smoke interweaves with the beast as it seems to move on his leg. “Holy shit.”

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