I might have grown up a little since I first thought he literally hung the moon, and I discovered some of his indiscretions, mainly his involvement with the Reapers—granted, he was a kid without a lot of choice in the matter—but I still idolise him. And his talent with a pen, a tattoo machine, hell, anything that makes a freaking mark, is one thing that I wish I possessed.
Art is in my blood. Creating is one of the only things in the world that makes sense to me, but I’ll never be as good as him.
“We’re girlifying these.”
“Girlifying?”
“Yeah, you know our theme is leather and lace. This,” she says, pointing at Dad’s black penmanship, “is the leather. We need to add the lace.” She pulls over a reel of actual lace and a huge pot of diamantes.
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“You love it. One day I’ll even let you drag me into helping with all yours.”
I rear back in shock. “I-I’m good, thanks. I’m not getting married.”
“That sounds very final,” she says, although there’s no judgement in her tone.
“Yup. No offence, but I don’t really want to have to rely on anyone else. Ever.”
“Understandable,” she says, happily cutting a length of lace for her place name. “Just… never say never, Em. You don’t know what—or who—is around the corner. Your dad and I should be proof that anything can happen.”
“Your story is that of a twisted fairy tale,” I tell her. “Two rival gang kids fall in love, and they’re banished from seeing each other until they randomly reconnect years later.” She laughs at me as I recall the basics of their past. I’m under no illusion that there was a truckload of pain and heartache along the way, too. One of the many reasons I’ll never lose myself to a man.
I’ve spent almost all my life relying on a woman who walked away from me without looking back. There’s no way I’m ever giving anyone else the power to hurt me like she has.
Knowing she no longer cares is hard, but I had no choice in loving her. Sadly, no matter how much she hurts me, loving her is ingrained in my soul. Any other human being, though? Nope. My heart is securely sealed in a steel lockbox, and that’s exactly where it’s fucking staying.
Men are good for one thing, and one thing only.
Hitting those spots even a decent vibrator can’t.
I should probably mention that one of Mum’s fleeting jobs was an Ann Summers rep about two years ago.
You’ll never guess what I got for my fifteenth birthday.
Yeah, mother of the year… I think not.
Although, I got more pleasure out of that gift than I did almost all the others I ever received, assuming she remembered it was my birthday at all, of course.
After telling me again not to discount things in my life that aren’t even an option yet, we set to work.
Our Thai was delivered about thirty minutes later, and I pushed aside the assignments I should have been working on in favour of just hanging out with Piper.
It was nice. Probably how mother/daughter time should be.
“You should get to bed,” Piper says a few hours later when my eyes are starting to droop. “Your dad won’t have you bunking off on the last day of the year.” She winks teasingly.
“Would I?” I argue, adding an eye-roll for good measure.
I’ve had one day off. One. And that was after Seb’s mum’s funeral when we all got off-our-arses drunk. Also the night I apparently gave Theo a black eye and woke up in his bed, wearing nothing but his shirt, and had dried blood stuck to my face.
To this day, I have no fucking clue what happened.
The only thing I’m confident of is that I didn’t fuck him. Thank Christ.
Although, I can’t deny that immediately forgetting being that close to him does have its benefits.
“One day, Em. Then you’ve got three weeks off to forget all about that place.”