Page 70 of Shattered
CHAPTER 19
Rourke
I had the intention of giving Melissa a hard time for being absent for a night. She knew thatIknew what time she would be done with work, which was when she was supposed to be ready for me. Perhaps it would be teasing, but the truth was that it had frustrated me. But the next evening, seeing her lying in bed, face down on the mattress, buried under comforters and blankets, her eyes glued to the wall, none of that seemed important.
Because she still left the door unlocked for me.
She glanced at me standing in the doorway. “Hey,” she said.
I sat on the end of the bed, giving her room to stretch. She turned on her side, facing me. Grabbed my hand.
“I missed you,” she said.
“Where were you?”
A grin formed on her lips. She moved the bedding and turned her body, showing off fresh marks on her shoulder blade: the black stretching arms and roots of a tree, with the bold melding of colors like a sunset, the soil beneath somehow earthy and vibrant.
The energy left my body at seeing how proud she was. I had been urging her to do what she wanted. So why was I disappointed that she finally had?
“You finally did it,” I said.
“I’m calling it Rourke’s tree,” she said. “It’s my body, of course, but you helped me see that I could do this. That it’s my decision.”
I stared at it, studying the array of colors. Perhaps it was proof that she was more of herself. That she didn’t need me to teach her anymore. I didn’t need to encourage her to be her most authentic self.
“Then the tree is yours,” I said. It was a stupid argument, but it was my attempt to hold onto her a little while longer. “It would be more accurate to call it Rourke’s seeds and Melissa’s tree.”
She shrugged. “I’m just grateful that I met you.”
And there was a finality to those words like she knew that we were coming upon our last time. Even if it was pure instinct to her to say something like that, I knew what it meant. That itshouldbe our last time. There was only so much I could do now. Leaving Sage City before the detective decided that I was the main suspect, was my best option for my survival.
I could start a new life somewhere. Reset my outlook. Forget about Melissa.
But with the warmth of her legs on my back, I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to forget Melissa. I didn’t want to leave this. To leave her. Even if I knew it was best for both of us.
“I understand,” I said, “the growth and creation into something new, something strong.” I wrinkled my brows underneath the mask. I was half-tempted to take it off and let her see. But I couldn’t. Not yet. “But no. The seeds are your own. I’d represent this.” I gestured at the sky in the background then the soil at the base. “Air. Sunlight. Fuel.”
She nodded, a gentle smile crossing her lips. “I like that.”
“Where’s the final painting?”
She pointed at the top of the dresser. On the canvas, the branches and roots looked the same, but the colors representing the sky were darker, duller, as if it were twilight over a murky bayside.
Reading my mind, she explained, “I opted for brighter colors to help with fading.”
That made sense, but the contrast was still stark. The one painted by her own hand seemed to represent what I was to her: dull shards of light holding her back from reaching her full potential.
“Have you ever thought about being a tattoo artist yourself?” I asked. Perhaps if she were in control of the entire process, I would have truly made it onto her skin.
She shook her head. “Trusting myself with that kind of responsibility?”
“Adults can make their own decisions. You would only be the artist.”
She smiled softly. “Maybe once I’m done at the Dahlia District.”
I twisted my mouth under my mask. “How much more time do you have?”
“It’s not about the time, but the debt owed.”
