Page 130 of Debt of My Soul

I glance at my new phone, quickly scanning a message from my mom letting me know they’ll be at an education fundraiser tonight and that I’m on my own for dinner.

It was one of the first items I grabbed when I got back home—the phone. And, ironically, it’s been obnoxious to have it. Granted only my parents text me, and I’ve used the email and internet on my phone to take care of business … like finding a realtor.

I study the next exit and decide to pull off to pick up a supreme pizza to devour by myself.

My chest aches at those thoughts. By myself. Damn it.

Opening my phone, I dial the bed-and-breakfast, letting it ring twice before hanging up like I’ve done the two previous times. I keep thinking I’ll let it ring one more time, but I chicken out.

Throwing my phone in my bag, I wait the thirty minutes it takes to move a mile and a half, then exit the highway, weaving my way through traffic until I reach a familiar sub shop and opt for the closer sandwich instead.

With a turkey sub ordered and tucked securely in my front seat, I decide to drive around. The thought of going home to an empty house is unappealing, so I drive down random streets looking at buildings, restaurants, and homes.

There are no hay or cotton fields. No old homes on acres of land as far as the eye can see. Parking is a joke, and instead of a single local coffee shop, I’ve passed three different Starbucks within a quarter mile radius.

Who would’ve thought the temporary town I ran away to would leave a permanent mark.

I roll past a well-lit tattoo shop and my thoughts immediately shuffle back to Liam’s muscled arm covered in art. I chew my lip and turn right at the next light before circling back to pull into the parlor’s parking lot.

My body moves on its own as I get out of my car and jog to the glass door. It’s almost as if I know I’ll run away if I give myself too much time to slowly walk. I fling open the door, and the sterilized smell of chemicals wafts out.

A front desk extends out from the wall to my left, with a young girl speaking to another man who appears to be checking out with a fresh bandage on his bicep. There’s seating across from the check-in with two red leather couches and a black glass coffee table scattered with magazines. Large frames of pre drawn designs and artwork hang all over the walls, and I walk over to them, scanning the tattoos, searching.

I could get a flower. Maybe a daisy. The memory of Liam stopping the truck to gather the flowers off the Trace for me makes it impossible to swallow, and I quickly dismiss the idea.

One of the pictures is of the Michigan mitten with a heart over where we are in Grand Rapids. Underneath it reads home.Isthis home for me, though? When I think of home, I don’t think of my parents’ house anymore. I only think of Ruin. And Liam.

I fall away from the endless options. This was a bad idea.

“Can I help you?” the young girl behind the counter asks. She rocks a red mohawk, and piercings line both of her ear lobes. She has tattoos all over her arms and I mentally think of my virgin skin hidden behind my long sleeves and coat.

“I, uh. I?—”

“First time?” she interrupts.

“How could you tell?”

“The look of terror on your face.” She giggles a high-pitched laugh, and I smile. “Let me grab Max and he can walk you through everything, so you feel at ease.”

He does just that.

Max, a man dressed in black jeans and a white T-shirt, so similar to what Liam dresses like, walks me through it all. The process, the equipment, the sterilization area. Most of thesupplies are disposable to prevent contamination, and I honestly feel like this studio is cleaner than my doctor’s office.

I lie back in the chair, staring at the florescent lighting on the speckled ceiling. Max’s black hair and sun-aged face leans over and in my field of vision.

“So what’ll it be?”

I suck in a deep breath and blow out a sigh. “A horseshoe.”

Chapter 50

Fleur

Another three weeks later…

Ben and Jerry’s Milk and Cookies … check. I cross out the ice cream from my grocery list and move the cart down the aisle, seeing if anything else looks like a good binge. So far, my cart consists of eggs and ice cream.

Doing great, Fleur.

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