“I won’t take advantage of her.”
“I’m not saying you would. But come on, Hayden, you know as well as I do how heightened emotions can be after a session. The process is intimate, even more so when you’re into the person you’re inking.”
“So?” I rubbed at my lip, which was tender from Tenley nipping at it last night.
“Would you be able to deny her when she’s emotionally fragile?”
I didn’t want to admit she already was. The postcoital buzz had worn off, replaced by a nagging worry. Lisa had a valid point, and I hadn’t even told her about the scars or Tenley’s near breakdown over her advisor. Spending hours with her alone in a private room, putting art on her skin, would be consuming. I would want to take care of her in whatever capacity she needed me, well beyond what would fall within the boundaries of what was professional. Keeping the two sides of our relationship separate would be difficult at best.
“I don’t want anyone else to put that design on her.”
“I’m not saying anyone else should.” Lisa sat on the armrest, looking at me with a practiced patience I didn’t have or understand. Despite all the stupid things I did, Lisa always forgave me. “You’re missing the point. Everything doesn’t have to be black-and-white, Hayden.”
I didn’t work well in shades. I wanted to be able to go back to last night and do things over so I didn’t have to contend with this shit. “Being with her takes away that empty feeling, you know?”
“I get that, Hayden, but you can’t go back to the way things were before you had sex with Tenley. You need to be careful with her. She’s broken.”
“Worse than me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? That tattoo she wants is so dark.” She settled a hand on my shoulder.
“She has a lot of scars.” I touched the bleeding heart on my forearm. It covered the claw marks Mischief left behind the night my parents died.
“Physical or emotional?” Lisa asked. She was always so perceptive.
“Physical. There are some on her back; they’re pretty bad.” I knew all about scars. They served as a visual reminder of physical pain, but like tattoos, scars could also hold a whole world of emotional strife.
“How did she get them?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t want whatever happened to her to be too big for me to handle. “Maybe I can fix her. Jamie fixed you, right? So maybe I can do that for Tenley.”
Lisa’s smile was sad. “It’s not that simple, Hayden. We’re not machines. We don’t have replacement parts. I love Jamie, he’s my world and he always will be, but he didn’t fix me. He gave me a reason to fix myself.”
“Do you think I’m too broken to be fixed?” The question evoked more fear than I wanted to admit.
“No. I don’t think you’re too broken.”
She put her arm around me and rested her cheek on top of my head. I wanted to hate how close I felt to her. I couldn’t. She was one of the few people who got me. “What about Tenley?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Hayden, only time will tell, I guess.”
“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
“I know. Maybe now you don’t have to be.”
*
Chris didn’t talk to me for the rest of the morning. Not that I expected anything different, considering the tension between us lately. I was sure he thought I’d betrayed him in some way by breaking the rule, even if the situations were vastly different. I would have felt bad if I wasn’t so preoccupied with Tenley. It might have been easier if sex with her was about getting off and nothing else. But it wasn’t.
At three thirty I finished with my client. I checked my phone, but Tenley hadn’t called. When I’d tried to reach her earlier to see how things were going, I’d gotten her voice mail. I hadn’t bothered with a message.
I arrived at Northwestern shortly before four and parked in a lot as close to her building as I could get, which turned out to be pretty damn far away. The curious glances as I crossed campus suggested tattoos and piercings were a rarity at top-ranked colleges.
The sociology building, a massive renovated house, wasn’t difficult to find. It reminded me in some ways of a much larger version of the home I grew up in. I opened the door and stepped into the foyer. To the right was a library of sorts, to the left was a lounge reminiscent of the type found in a movie, with stiff-looking douches sitting in high-back, leather chairs. The conversations closest to me lulled when I walked into the room, though the only ink showing was on my forearms. The majority of the gawkers went back to their discussions without a second glance.
A girl in a too-short skirt and lipstick the color of blood sashayed over. “You look lost.”
“I’m meeting someone.” I gave her a polite smile and scanned the room for Tenley.