Me? You come in here doped up, bring trouble, or with an attitude, you can carry your ass right back out the door. The only thing Mom liked about me being at Ink Me so much as a kid was that it meant I wasn’t out on the streets getting into trouble or hanging with the wrong crowd. Even so, I still had to learn to hold my own, or I’d get crushed. The older I got and the more shit I saw on this side of the tracks, the tougher I became. I didn’t want to be one of those guys who was forced to do the bidding of some punk who thought he ruled the streets. I didn’t want to be the one who ruled the streets either. I just wanted to be left alone. So, I made sure I was. I didn’t look for confrontation, but I sure as shit didn’t back down from it if it was thrown in my face. From my mid-teens and on, my reputation was, you don’t fuck with me, I won’t fuck with you. But if you do fuck with me, you’ll be in a world of hurt.
Another business on this side of the tracks is Abe’s Gym, a place where I learned kickboxing and Krav Maga. It was Abe’s teachings that helped build my status of bei
ng someone to not screw with.
My reputation has carried over into Ink Me, and with that, the clientele has drastically changed for the good. With the place cleaned up, the shitheads no longer coming in, and add in that I’m a damn good artist and tattooist, business is triple what it used to be. I get people from the surrounding counties coming in, and I book up weeks in advance.
Draining the last of my coffee, I get to work on the angel/devil drawing. Time stands still for me when I sketch or I’m marking someone else’s skin. It’s relaxing and the only time I feel real peace. Even as a boy, I was good at making an image come to life on paper. There were times I’d be at our rickety kitchen table, my hands dirty with pencil lead, and my parents had to practically pry the pencil and paper from my hands to get my attention. It was the one thing I was good at. Something I was proud of.
I don’t know how much time passes before I hear the back door opening. I drop the pencil on the desk and dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to wipe away the scratchy feeling of not getting enough sleep the night before. Luckily, my headache has turned to a dull ache nagging in the back of my head.
Looking down at the paper in front of me, I’m surprised to see I’m almost done. Just a few tweaks here and there and then I can call the client and set a time for him to come check it over.
Hearing cabinets slam in the back room, I twist my neck from side-to-side to relieve the stiff feeling of sitting in one position for so long, then stand and stretch. After, I make my way down the hallway and find my sister grumbling to herself as she searches for something.
“It’s smashed,” I tell her, leaning against the doorway.
She whips around, clutching her chest dramatically. “Holy shit balls, Luca. You scared the hell out of me.” I give her a minute before her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, it’s smashed?”
I tip my chin to the trash can and she walks over to peer inside. “You left it on the counter, and when I came in, it fell.”
A scowl forms on her face as she looks at the remnants of her favorite coffee mug, causing her eyebrows to form a deep V. Her eyes lift to mine and she purses her lips. I point my finger at her before she has a chance to open her mouth and spew whatever shit she’s thinking.
“Save it. I’ve told you to put your shit away and you didn’t listen.”
She huffs out a breath, but keeps quiet, knowing I’m right. I’ve dealt with this for as long as I can remember. Growing up, she was always leaving her shit out around the house. Mom used to threaten to throw her stuff out if she didn’t learn to put it away. Of course, Mom never went through with it. Which meant Ella knew she could get away with it, and that’s carried over into adulthood. She kicks ass at tattoos, is damn near as good as me, and I love her, but she drives me fucking bonkers when she leaves her shit all over the place. Luckily, she keeps her work station clutter-free and clean because she knows that’s one thing I won’t put up with. We stick people with needles all day and she understands the importance of cleanliness when it comes to that. I’ve learned to pick my battles where I can.
With a mournful look at the trash can, she spins on her heel and stalks over to the cabinet that holds some Styrofoam cups and pulls one free from the stack.
“You remember I have to get off at four today, right?” she asks over her shoulder. “Vicki has that appointment I wanted to go to with her.”
“Yes.” I cross my arms over my chest and regard her. “You know it’s going to be okay, right? No matter what the tests results show.”
Her shoulders lift with her deep inhale. A moment later, she turns with both of her hands wrapped around her coffee. Leaning back against the counter, she brings the cup to her lips and blows on the hot liquid. Her eyes are downcast, but I still see the worry linger in their depths.
My sister is as hard as nails and feisty. Like me and my brother, Theo, she’s had to be with the type of neighborhood we grew up in. She’s also a brat, courtesy of my mother doting on her because she’s the youngest and her only girl, and my dad who treats her like a princess. Her persona in front of my parents is a complete one-eighty compared to how she acts when she’s not around them. Not to be deceitful, but because she doesn’t want our parents to see that darker side to her that came with growing up in our neighborhood.
However, when it comes to her partner, Vicki, she’s utter mush. They met back in high school when Ella was first struggling with being attracted to other girls. Vicki’s family moved from the other side of the tracks to this side when the local textile plant shut down and her dad lost his job. The minute Ella saw her, she went gaga and her struggle was no longer. She went headfirst into letting Vicki know she was into her, not caring one shit what anyone else thought. She wanted Vicki, and like always, Ella got what she wanted. Luckily, the feeling was mutual. They’ve been together for six years.
“Hey,” I call when she doesn’t acknowledge my words. Her eyes close for a moment before she pulls in a breath, then opens them. “Knock that shit off, Ella,” I scold sternly. “You don’t know anything yet, so don’t think the worst.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. She nods, forcing her shoulders back and becoming the tough woman I know she is. “You’re right.”
She says it, but the doubt is still there. A few weeks ago, a lump was found on one of Vicki’s breasts and today they get the results on what they’re dealing with. It could just be a harmless mass, but the doctors, being cautious, said it could be cancerous.
I push away from the door and walk over to her. Taking the cup from her shaking hands, I set it on the counter, then pull her into my arms. Her weight sags against me like she can’t hold herself up anymore. I rub her back and offer what comfort I can.
With her face buried in my chest, her breath hitches when she says tearfully, “I can’t lose her, Luca. I don’t… I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to her.”
“You’re not going to lose her, Ella. You know she’s too damn stubborn for anything to happen to her. Besides, you losing her means she loses you, and you know damn good and well she won’t let that happen. The woman it too crazy about you to go anywhere.”
She laughs, and although it’s a tearful one, I’ll take it. “Well, I am a pretty good catch, so I can’t really blame her.”
When she pulls back, I cup her cheeks and wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “Why don’t you take the day off? I’ll call your appointments and reschedule. Jazz will be here in a couple of hours, and it’ll be fine with just the two of us.”
She’s shaking her head before I finish with my suggestion. “No. I need to be here. Vicki’s at work until three and the last thing I need is to be home alone thinking about the possibilities. You were right, I don’t need to assume the worst, and if I’m home, I will. Working will help keep my mind off it.”
I jerk my chin up. “Okay. But the offer stands.”