“She’s not just some chick I want to fuck.” I jumped the white ball, and Chris caught it before it hit the floor.
“Whoa, simmer down.” He put the ball back on the table. “I didn’t mean it that way. Tee’s a cool girl. It’s not a bad thing that you’re into her.”
“She’s different.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Chris rounded the table and clapped me on the shoulder. The apology went much further than the comment about Tenley. “Now try that shot again.”
He dropped it, but that didn’t mean I could stop thinking about her.
It was close to one in the morning by the time Lisa came home. Chris was too wasted to drive, so he took over their spare room. I wasn’t tired, and I generally avoided sleeping anywhere but my own bed, so I walked home as planned. Besides, Tenley’s design was sitting on my drawing desk, waiting for me to finish it.
Once inside my condo I flicked on the hall light, shed my coat, and unlaced my boots. Out of habit, I hung my jacket in the closet and arranged my shoes neatly inside. Tension made my stomach clench as I walked down the hall. I checked each room, turning on lights, leaving the bedroom for the end. The bed was as I’d left it: slate gray duvet folded down, navy sheets pulled tight and tucked in, pillows arranged against the headboard. The normalcy eased some of my anxiety. Retracing my steps I shut off all the lights, save the one in the kitchen. I grabbed a glass and the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and poured a hefty shot. Downed it. Filled. Repeated. Some days the OCD got out of hand; today was one of them.
I wandered around the condo to make sure everything was in its place before I worked on Tenley’s design. Drink in hand, I sat down at my drafting table and pulled out the original. Typically wings were symbolic of freedom, but with Tenley’s, the consuming fire and decimation of the wings would make flight painful. As though gaining freedom had been the cause of great agony. But even through the pervasive darkness, there was still a hint of light. I wanted there to be balance in the design, because right now it felt like the darkness was winning. I understood that only too well; most of my tattoos reflected the same theme.
I still didn’t feel right about putting such a beast of a tattoo on her back without at least attempting to persuade her to start with something small. I pulled out a fresh piece of paper and set to designing a separate piece I could use as a bargaining chip when she came by on Monday. Afterward I worked on the wings. They were already adapted to fit my vision, so all they needed now was color.
I made a copy of the completed design and sketched the outline of her body, including a side profile of her face, as if she was peeking over her shoulder at me. The dip in her waist and the swell of her hip completed the piece. Distracted and no longer capable of working, I put the sketches into her folder. It was after three in the morning, but I still wasn’t tired.
Instead of bed, I headed for the shower and rubbed one out under the hot spray. It took the edge off, but my balls still ached from the off-and-on erection I’d sported every time I’d thought about Tenley today. My brain wouldn’t move on from the seminaked images of her now that I’d drawn the stupid sketch.
I threw myself on my bed. Eyes closed, every perverse fantasy I concocted over the course of the past few weeks got airtime. Tenley, in the bar, in the antiques store, in my chair, naked in my bed. It didn’t take long before my body locked down and I was groaning through clenched teeth. She was like a damn tornado, throwing everything into upheaval. Whatever was happening to me was unsettling. Control was how I functioned. Everything made sense with order and consistency. But there was none of that in this situation.
It reminded me in some vague way of the aftermath of my parents’ death, when my life was in turmoil. Unable to cope, I drowned myself in booze and drugs. Narcotics were the great escape. Damen was an excellent provider in that capacity. I was looking for anything that would dull the pain and take away the nightmares. The relief was short-lived, though. Even when I started in on the body modification—first the piercings and then the ink—the release of pain was never enough.