Page 68 of Shattered
After that, Garrett’s mood improved, but he had business to take care of and excused himself. Since he had booked the room for the rest of the night, I used that as an excuse to convince Dahlia to let me off of the clock even earlier than usual. To my surprise, she agreed. There were too many servers working as it was.
I drove back to Sage City, but I didn’t want to go home. I couldn’t face meeting Rourke when I knew I wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not after what I had done. Maybe I was afraid.
Although Rourke might not have been naturally sympathetic, he had a soft spot for sex workers like his mother. He would know that, logically, what I had done was part of my work. But that didn’t mean that reasoning won over emotions.
But I wasn’t supposed to like someone like him anyway. I would be better off with someone like Garrett. He might not have been as exciting or memorable as Rourke, but he had a job. He was polite. An asshole at first, sure, but he was nice enough now.
I dialed his number without letting myself think about it.
“Yeah,” Garrett said.
“Hey. If you’re not busy,” I started, but I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Iknewhe was busy. He had left the Dahlia Districtto work. And now I was interrupting him.
But screw it. I had already called.
“You’re into tattoos, right?” I finally asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m going to get my first one right now. Want to join me?”
Heat radiated over my skin. It was pathetic, so damn pathetic. Begging for this small moment of social contact. All of my friends were working at the Dahlia District, or missing, dead, or too busy killing. I had no one left. I had to ask him.
“Where?” he asked. Relief flooded through me in a hot wave. “I can leave in ten.”
We met at Anchored Hearts Tattoo along the coast. I doubted they took walk-ins and assumed that the artists would be unavailable, but the same pink-haired receptionist as before glanced up at me. A man in a baseball cap was sitting in the corner.
Garrett stood behind me, still dressed in his dark blue suit, looking as if he were the exact opposite of someone who would get tattoos. But I knew better.
“Can I help you,” the receptionist said, rather than asked.
“This artist,” I picked up the green portfolio from before. “Can this person do my work?”
“Depends on your work.”
I handed her my phone, displaying a picture of the painting I called Rourke’s tree. She tilted her head, eyeing it back and forth.
“Can the artist do this in watercolor?” I asked.
“Yeah. It’s doable. Let me see what I can do.”
“You?”
She nodded. “Yep. That’s my portfolio.” She smiled and waved us behind the register. “It’s late, but we can get started with it. Finish it up in a few weeks.”
My jaw dropped. “How the hell did I land you when you’re free?”
She shrugged. “I guess it’s your lucky day.”
We placed it on my shoulder blade, the roots and the branches reaching around my arm and down my back. When the shop officially closed, her co-owner left, but she kept the lights on for us.
“We can finish tonight if you’re up for it,” she said, with her eyes boring into my skin. I nodded. We might as well.
It hurt less than I had expected, but maybe that was because after a while, my skin went numb. I didn’t expect Garrett to stay, nor did I expect him to say much, especially after his overall mood earlier, but he stayed the entire time. Grunge music played from speakers to the side of the room, and Garrett bopped his head along with it, which surprised me. I had figured someone of his economic standing wouldn’t have time for music, especially that kind, but I was wrong.
Hours later, into the early, dark morning, the bandage shimmered under the moonlight. The artist was cleaning up the shop while the two of us stood in the small parking lot, waiting by our cars. I still didn’t want to go home and planned to stay once he drove away. I wanted to watch the sun come up while the water splashed on the sand.
His black car was sleek and modern compared to my white, dumpy internet buy. It highlighted our differences even more. I tried to remind myself that even if Garrett was out of my league, that he was the type of guy I wassupposedto go after. Someone my mother would approve of. Even if I felt like I had to pretend to be someone I wasn’t.
