Page 113 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

I didn’t even think aboutheras much as I’m obsessing over Raya. I hit campus and hit the ground running. This shit here…I can’t make sense of it. I don’t even love her crazy ass.

I listen to Teddy Pendergrass the whole way home. Even have to force myself to keep driving past her exit.

But I make it home.

And I’m lowkey disappointed that her car isn’t sitting in my driveway.

I had a praying grandmother. She’s gone now, but she was a devout Christian woman. I never prayed when she was alive, because she had that covered, and I still didn’t after she died. I figured she’d built up enough good will for me with the Lord.

But tonight?

I need a miracle to get out from under Raya's spell, so…

I end the evening on my knees.

31

Raya

The buzzing of the gun fills the small room, a low, droning sound that vibrates through my spine.

This place is weird. The walls are painted black, the lights are all way too bright, and the workers are all young and alternative looking—heads shaved on the sides, septum piercings, unnatural hair colors, Doc Martens as far as the eye can see.

But everybody’s so sweet. This is my first tattoo, and I’m super nervous, but they really put me at ease. Marlie, my tattoo artist, gave me a book of designs to look through, but I didn’t need it. I already had a pretty good idea of what I wanted when I got here.

Now, I’m facedown on the table, the sharp sting of the needle biting into my skin. It’s oddly satisfying. Reminds me of when I used to cut myself. It’s a pain I chose. A pain I control. That makes it special.

I watch in the mirror as Marlie works, admiring her focus and the way she keeps her gloved hands steady as she executes my vision.

An A, elegant and slanted, with a small heart nestled beneath it. The way it looks—exactly like the Ace of Hearts playing card—makes my lips curl into a slow smile.

It’s perfect.

“Halfway there,” she says, wiping excess ink away. “Sure you wanna keep going? It’s permanent.”

I chuckle at that.

So is my man.

“I’m positive,” I say.

She nods, dipping the needle back into the ink. The pain flares again, but I don’t flinch. I lean into it, loving the way the needle cuts through the chaos in my head, grounding me.

Ace will love it when he sees it.

It’s been eight days since he left me, but he’ll be back. I know it as sure as I know my own name.

When Marlie finishes and hands me a mirror, I angle it to check out her finished work. My tramp stamp sits perfectly on my lower back, exactly where I wanted it.

By the time I get home, the stinging has lessened a bit. Now it’s just an occasional nagging twinge. I have my instructions. I know what to do. In just a couple of weeks, it will be ready for me to reveal it to Ace.

That should be a fun night.

Faith is in Daddy’s room when I enter, scrolling through something on her phone. He’s in the window, like always.

“Hey,” I say. “How’d it go today?”

I don’t care, really, but I’m going somewhere with this.

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