So I did the only thing I could.
I put my hands on his shoulders and kneed him as hard as I could in the balls. And then I left that motherfucker next to the gutter where he belonged.
18
HAIR OF THE DOG
Penny
When I cracked my eyelids the next morning, the very first in my list of regrets was the tequila.
I felt like I’d been hit by a smelly, greasy garbage truck driven by Macho Man, who happened to be high on cocaine.
My stomach rolled, and I shifted to lie on my back, hoping to calm the raging bile down as it crept up my esophagus. A long drag of air through my nose helped, and I swallowed, reaching for the glass of water on my nightstand.
Bad, wrong. Bad, wrong, was the song my heart screamed, my brain expanding and contracting in my skull with every masochistic beat.
Yeah, tequila was the mistake that demanded all my attention. But Bodie was the regret that had broken me in the first place.
The night came back to me, not in flashes but like a creeping fog, spreading over me in tendrils. Bodie, distant and hot and angry, so different from the sunshine I’d found in him before. Rodney calling me onstage. The cold dread I’d felt as I chased Bodie out. The hurt when he’d thrown my heart on the steaming pavement. The satisfying pain from punching Rodney in his stupid fucking eyeball.
I flexed my aching right hand at the memory, and pain shot across the bones up to my wrist.
“Fuck,” I croaked, opening my bleary eyes just enough to inspect my swollen phalanges.
My knuckles were split and swollen, fingers bruised, especially where one of my rings had been. Thankfully I’d taken it off or I probably would have had to cut it off. On top of that, I’d broken a nail over that fucker.
Worth it.
Of course, in a few hours, I’d have to use that hand to tattoo people all day. And as I closed my fist, I realized just how bad that was going to suck.
Still wouldn’t suck as badly as the fact that Bodie and I were through.
He was right, and he was wrong. I was right, and I was wrong. I should have gone after him. I should have called him or texted him. I should have known better than to go to that show at all, especially with Bodie.
I shouldn’t have waited so long.
I should have talked to him about how I felt.
And now it was probably too late.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I took a deep, shaky breath again. I’d come home to an empty apartment, drunk and hurt and defeated. A long shower couldn’t wash away my guilt or sadness or loss. It couldn’t erase all the things Bodie had said. It couldn’t wash the dirt off my heart after I picked it up and carried it home. So I dried off, threw on the first thing I could grab from my drawer — panties and an inside-out New Order T-shirt — and slipped into my sheets in the dark.
And then I cried.
I cried until my pillow was damp and the burning in my chest had died down to a smolder. I cried until my eyes were swollen and my nose was red. And when I finally caught my breath and the tears ran dry, I slipped into a fitful sleep.
My muddled dreams ran in circles, waking intermittently to open my eyes to find my room spinning, tequila metabolizing out of my mouth and back into my nose. I hadn’t been smart enough to eat anything or take anything, and I felt that mistake too.
I reached for my phone to check the time, and a shot of adrenaline sent my tender stomach on a turn when I wondered if he’d called or texted.
He hadn’t.
And I was about to be late for work.
“Shit,” I hissed and sat up too fast, dimming my vision and sending me back into the spins, heart banging its warning as I pressed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets until it passed.
I expended a healthy amount of caution as I slipped out of bed and shuffled around my room, pulling on jeans and Chucks, taking my shirt off to put it on right side out. At that point, I stumbled back to my bed and sat, wondering if I was still drunk. But no. I was dehydrated and brokenhearted, but I wasn’t drunk. So I drank the glass of water on my nightstand, took four ibuprofen to guarantee success, and got out of bed, praying to the Mexican devil Agave that I would survive the day.
No makeup happened, and I pulled my hair up into a messy bun to match my messy life, tying a red rolled up bandana around my thumping skull, knotting it at the top. I didn’t even look in the mirror. That was how you know shit was real.
I put on my biggest, darkest shades and hurried as best I could out the door and into the humid, sticky summer day to head to Tonic. The walk felt forever long, and I felt beyond dead.
By the time I opened the door and stepped into the air conditioning, I was practically dragging myself. The shop was loud and buzzing, and I didn’t take my sunglasses off as I headed straight for my station with the singular goal to sit the fuck down.
If the music had been a record, it would have screeched to a halt at my entrance. The entire crew stared at me like I might bite them, and I might have if they’d stopped me from getting into my chair.
I dropped my bag and climbed into my tattoo chair, sighing as the cold leather touched my overheated skin, and I closed my eyes, leaning the chair back without a single fuck to give about anything but trying not to puke.
“Rough night?” Ramona said from my elbow.
I cracked my eyes to see the dark shape of her through my glasses.
“You could say that.” My voice was gravelly and deeper than usual from all the yelling and crying.
“Here’s some water.”
I smiled, lighting up as much as I could as I reached for the offered plastic bottle. “Bless you.”
“What happened, Pen?”
The bottle was to my lips, and I drank half of it before I could bring myself to stop. My stomach gurgled a warning as it prepped itself. “It was bad. Really bad.”
She frowned. “How bad?”
“Apocalyptic.” I sighed, mouth dry and heart wrung out. I took another drink to buy time and to attempt to mend my busted up body. “I drank about ten shots of tequila on an empty stomach, kissed Rodney, and fought with Bodie.”
Her eyes blew open like I’d electrocuted her. “You kissed Rodney?” she said way too loud.
I winced from the memory and the decibel. “Shhh! Fuck, you don’t have to yell. Jesus.”
Her face pinched in anger. “I cannot fucking believe you, Penny! How could you do that to Bodie? God, it’s like I don’t even fucking know you!”
My eyes squeezed shut as my head rang. “Seriously, you have to bring it down, or I’m gonna hurl. I didn’t kiss him like that. Just calm down and let me explain.”
She folded her arms across her chest, and I took a deep breath, taking another sip of water to fortify me, wishing it could bring my dried up soul back to life.
“We were at the show, and Bodie was acting all angry and weird and didn’t seem to even want to be there. And at the end of the show, Rodney spotted me and called me up onstage to sing to me.”