Pain was like an abusive lover, you always came back to them, hurting, sorrowful, but they repeated their harmful actions.
Wash.
Rinse.
Repeat.
My phone rang in my pocket, the Windowless Skies instrumental piercing my ears like a needle. The sound, the realization, it stabbed into me, bringing so many missed moments.
“Happy birthday, Toland!” Dad shouted, his eyes glazed—like they always were—enraptured with dopamine, missing the way it made him feel.
“Happy birthday, honey,” Mom celebrated, kissing my cheek. “We are so happy to come see you.”
It was my fourteenth birthday, my dad was on tour and Mom too, but they came home, wanting to celebrate for once.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” I responded, feeling the tears flow. “I’ve missed you guys.” Pain answered me, knocking on my heart as Mom’s eyes welled with emotion. She pulled me in for a hug, giving me so much warmth. It wasn’t like her to hug me and that broke me.
Tears clogged my vision as I walked toward the tattoo shop. I knew where I needed to be. I knew what would distract me. I knew what would stop the crying.
My feet stopped against the cement, the rain pounding, drowning my tears as I ran away from everything I knew.
By the time I got to the shop, my phone had gone off several times. Nothing was right. They were dead. My parents would never hug me again. They’d never yell at me for messing up. Dad wouldn’t sing with me on stage. Mom wouldn’t tell me she hated music but was proud of me.
They’d never watch me go to college.
They’d never see me play on stage live.
They’d never get a tattoo from me.
They’d never tell me they loved me.
They’d never answer my phone calls when the world felt hopeless.
They’d never watch me date, grow up, get married.
They’d never do anything again.
I’d never hear their voices.
Their songs.
Their love.
The absence of love was all that would live now that they were gone. I couldn’t stop running, not even by the time I got to the shop.
“Madden!” Noah yelled out, she stood in the rain, confusion in her expression. She seemed concerned but I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t live.
My heart hammered, the pain from my feet nothing in comparison to the absolute abyss left in my chest from knowing they were gone.
“They’re gone,” I said to her once I made it to the door. “They’re gone.” The way I repeated it sounded final, so incumbent from my anguish.
“Slow down, tell me what’s wrong,” she urged, her hands coming to my shoulders. I flinched, not wanting to feel her. Andy’s touch, that was the last touch I wanted to experience. The thing that would help me.
“They’re gone,” I repeated, my voice cracking at the words. My stomach felt like a cavern, yawning to a black hole as it absorbed all living things, erasing them.
“Who? Who are you talking about?” Her eyes darted around me, they looked from the building to behind me to around the area. She seemed truly worried, but I didn’t have the energy or the livelihood to offer her any explanation.
“They’re gone,” I said with finality, pushing past her and into the shop. Inside was Carrig—another tattoo artist at the shop—and Grizz. They both stared at me, their faces in shock or some other emotion I couldn’t quite put my tongue on.
“You okay?” Carrig asked, but I ignored him, rushing to my station. Throbbing pins stabbed into my heart as I got to my area. Not even prepared for what I had to do, I prepped my table. They followed me and when they came to the doorframe, eyes with wonderment, I shooed them away. “Not now. Later.” The words were rushed, stilted, but thrown out there like trash. They nodded but the wariness didn’t leave them.
Cleaning my station, I prepped everything else. My arms hurt from the cold rain that had pelted against my body, and I rushed to remove my clothing. I needed the itch to leave.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock on my wall seemed too loud, too ringing, too much. After it kept the tap, tap, tap, of its timing tempo, I tore it from the wall, throwing it on the ground. Before the others could come in, I slammed my door, locking it shut.
No one would interrupt me.
Nothing made sense right now, my thoughts didn’t connect with the pain in my soul, yet I couldn’t stop the movement of my hands. Inking the needle, the black stared at me with promise. It’d give me a distraction. It’d heal me. It’d fix this. It’d fix everything.
My skin burned where I started my first line. I didn’t even stencil or draw, my mind went straight to work and I painted my pain on the empty canvas on my soul.
A plane.
A heart breaking.
A lost boy.
Chapter Fourteen
Lost – NF & Hopsin
One Week Later
Madden
Death.
I was taught this word early in life. I’d had a cat once, Speedy, as Dad liked to call her. She was black, her fur fluffy and frilly almost. Her paws were the only white spotting she had. It looked like she wore little shoes of white fur.
The energy she had was unlike anything else. She ran around, jumping everywhere, bolting like a monster chased her.
One day, she didn’t run anymore.
One day, her feet weren’t white.
One day, my nanny let her out.
I found her in the street that night, calling for her, worried sick. She was in the road, her body a mangled corpse. I sobbed, and it was the first true bite of pain I’d ever felt.
Death, I learned this word young, the hard way, reality enforcing it to make sure I never forgot it.
As I sat in a random hotel, holding a glass of whiskey, my stomach lurched. I hadn’t eaten in days, hadn’t had anything but alcohol in my body.
My phone was somewhere. Couldn’t quite remember where at the moment, but I’d find it eventually.
Did you know when your parents are rich and left, you were like a beacon of fame? Everything you once knew, destroyed, only bits of reality left after its destruction.
Pain, another word I was familiar with, it didn’t exist. As long as this bottle stayed near, its amber liquid promising me to forget, I’d be numb.
Standing, I stumbled, my feet tilting as the entire room went with them. It felt like drifting on a boat, the waves pushing you, forcing you off your feet as it turned to stay even. Why did life continue to jostle me?
My phone went off, the tune bold, loud. Not the song anymore. No more songs. My eyes closed as I tried to remember what to do with it.
Picking it up, the screen flashed with Carson’s name.
Cars.
My Cars.
The twinge of hurt he brought me by forcing me to think of reality—it was too much. Clicking Ignore, I reached for my glass. Noting the emptiness, rage hit me square in the chest, emotions fleeting like a plane on a fucking runway.
Plane.
Crash.
Death.
I tossed the tumbler against the wall, the crash atrociously loud as I yelled my anger away. I picked up the bottle of Jack, knowing my peace was in the bottom of it, an escape, my tranquil end.
Slurping at it, it felt almost too warm. Fuck, my face felt flamed. And my body, it felt hot too.