Page 3 of Lies Like Love

A bleeding heart with a knife through it.

Insects pinned in neat little rows.

Scattered throughout the collection of art are framed photos of tattoos. They’re intricate and beautiful, and even if the outside of the parlor is unimpressive, I understand why Twisted Roses is so popular once I see what the artists are capable of.

Art on skin—and it’s almost enough to convince me to set my own appointment, officially leaving my old world behind.

After college, I did my best to step away. I moved in with Maren and stopped accepting my grandparents’ money. I rationed what was left of my parents’ inheritance and have managed to float semi-comfortably since.

But chasing dreams is more expensive than I anticipated, and for the first time in years, I’m running on fumes. So it’s either I take risks for my jewelry business in hopes they pay off, or I sink.

Or run back to them—which is not happening.

Circling the lobby, I can’t help but feel the weight of my inexperience—in life, in action. At twenty-six I thought I’d have figured it out, but all that number does is draw out my anxiety. Time is suddenly an hourglass running out of sand, and instead of building castles, I’m sinking in it.

“He’s finishing up with a client. Then he’ll be out.” Maren comes up beside me and her nose scrunches as she follows my gaze to the wall.

I’ve been zoned out, staring at an image of a disfigured skeleton with a bleeding heart spilling out of his chest. It’s not pretty, but somehow, I can relate. The emptiness of being only bones, and yet, still finding ways to suffer.

I turn toward Maren and try to shake whatever has gotten into me. Something about being in this place stirs up the dirt covering my demons and I don’t like that their fingers are showing.

The sooner I can make my pitch to the piercer and get out of here, the better.

Maren props herself against the wall, picking at a fingernail as we wait. And I try to avoid looking at anything besides the knots in the wooden floors, tracing the pattern in them to distract myself.

My legs get tired the longer we stand, and I can’t help but wonder how long it takes to pierce someone. It’s been almost twenty minutes and the same song has been playing on repeat through the shop’s speakers. Either that, or I’m just not noticing the difference in screams and drumbeats because it all sounds the same.

I’m tempted to sit down on the couch in the corner, but I can’t help but think the girl at the front desk would judge me for it.

Every so often her gaze lifts from her magazine, and she skims me over. The smallest smile ticks in the corner of her mouth, and it’s clear she senses how out of place I am.

After a while, one of the tattoo artists finishes with a client, and leads him to the front of the shop. They pause in the doorway to finish their conversation, and I don’t miss that they’re both completely covered in tattoos. Demons and devils paint their skin.

You shouldn’t be here.

If their demonic ink had mouths, I imagine that’s what they’d say to me. Right before they’d eat me alive.

The artist talks to his client for a minute, before saying goodbye and leaving him in the lobby to pay. Only then does the girl at the front desk drop her feet. She swipes his card and showers him in flirty glances before going back to her magazine.

But the client doesn’t leave. He pauses when he spots me and Maren standing against the wall, and an unsettling smile crawls his cheeks as he starts to make his way toward us.

Dropping my gaze to the ground, I hope it’s enough for him to take the hint and leave, but it isn’t. And when I look back up, he’s in my space—tall, smelling of leather and day-old cigarettes. A darkness in his eyes that tells me what he’s thinking.

From a young age, I learned the eyes hold everything you need to know about a person. Their energy, their intentions. If you look close enough, you can see the color of their soul through the filter. And something about this guy and his wicked dark stare makes one thing clear—he’s up to no good.

I shouldn’t stare as he stops in front of me because all he seems to do is appreciate it. But I learned my lesson when it comes to turning your back on monsters. It’s safer to face them.

“Ladies.”

Maren rolls her eyes and lets out an unamused chuckle. Which he ignores as he plants a hand on the wall beside me, glancing between us.

“Whatcha up to tonight?”

Maren stops picking at her fingernail to look him straight in the eyes. “Nothing that involves you.”

I love my best friend.

No fear. No apologies.

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