"And that interview?" He was optimistic, but in that moment, I was the destroyer of hope.
I smiled apologetically. "Can I think about it?"
Shane was visibly taken aback and unsure of how to react. I imagined he didn't get turned down often and a can I think about it might as well have been a no. But he nodded and smiled diplomatically, accepting my answer with professionalism, and I headed back for my phone to check my schedule.
Celia followed.
"You'll think about it?" She hissed disbelievingly. "Have you completely lost your mind?"
"I think that happened a long time ago," I muttered dryly, grabbing my phone.
“Blake, seriously!”
“I didn’t say no,” I pointed out, tapping through my calendar.
"Yeah, okay. And my ex-husband didn't really fuck his secretary by letting her suck his dick."
I curled my lip with disgust. "What a clichéd douchebag."
"Yeah, he is, but whatever, we’re not talking about him. We’re talking about you, and you don't turn down ModInk, Blake. You don't fucking do that. You need this."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're not jealous?" My session with the good doctor came back to me in a rush of heat and embarrassment. I imagined a bright, tomato red, flourishing over my cheeks and dripping over my neck, giving me away and calling attention to the secrets I had shed before.
"Jealous?" She scoffed incredulously, shaking her head. "I'm not jealous, but I am going to be pissed if you don't grab that opportunity by the balls, you moron. You deserve this."
I was touched, but I wasn’t convinced I deserved anything. So, I simply smiled gratefully and repeated, "I'll think about it," and before I could listen to her protests, I headed back up front to pencil Shane in.
***
Shane had given me the green light to design a fresh piece for him. He didn't want to provide me with any input or inspiration, and while the freedom was delicious and made my fingers itch with excitement, I couldn't deny the pressure it put me under. Whatever I did for him would undoubtedly end up on the ModInk Instagram page, at the very least, and my name would be known to the world of body modification and alternative style. I wanted this tattoo to be good. Fuck, I wanted it to be amazing—my best, even. And that was a stress I could've done without, especially while attempting to leave my parents’ house as my brother threw a boisterous anger-fueled tantrum in his bedroom.
“You guys got this?” I asked Mom and Dad, just as a crash and the telltale sound of Legos scattering filled the stairwell. I groaned and faced the sound, as both my parents pinched their eyes shut with exhausted disdain.
“Go handle him,” Mom demanded. I thought she was speaking to me, when I noticed her looking at Dad.
“What? We’re watching this!” Dad gestured toward the TV. Funny, when he’d hardly paid attention to, whatever was playing, until he actually needed to do something. “Why don’t you deal with him?”
“I deal with him all the damn time. You could pretend to be his father and do something, you know. Give me a freakin’ break once in a while,” she snapped, and I groaned loudly.
“Never mind,” I growled, and stormed up the stairs to follow the sounds of combusting Legos.
I didn't bother to knock, just threw the door open, and found my brother close to tears in the center of his room. A multicolored storm of blocks laid at his feet and his fists clenched at his sides.
"What's going on in here?" I demanded to know.
Jake kicked at the pile of Legos and they scattered further over the carpet. "They wouldn't stick. I put them together and I put them together and they kept coming apart. They wouldn't stick. They're broken."
"They're not broken," I insisted. "Sometimes they just fit looser—"
"They're broken!" My brother turned on me with fiery rage, clenching his fists so tight they shook.
"Jake, buddy, they're not—"
"They're. BROKEN!" He broke the words with kicks of his feet and the blocks sprayed in every direction, hitting the walls like tiny plastic bullets. The tantrum wasn't unlike a toddler's, if the toddler was six-foot-two with impressive physical strength for someone who watched so much TV. I kept myself tougher, stronger, but Jake had the capability to do serious damage if he got the upper hand. And right now, he was close to that point. He was beyond reasoning. Too far gone.
I sighed and coaxed a calm when all my body wanted was to lash out in frustration. "Hey," I said, speaking in a soothing tone and stepping into the room, "you wanna go watch something on TV?" I reached out, seeking his shoulder. "We can put on Mickey, or maybe Daniel Tiger. I can get you a snack, if you—"
"No!" He swatted at my hand, knocking me out of the way. But I persisted, reaching out once again and meeting my mark. I squeezed his shoulder and felt the tension in his bones start to slip away. "We can have a snack and watch Daniel Tiger?"
"Yeah, buddy."
We stood in the middle of the mess he'd made not five minutes before when he was tyrannical and menacing. It was almost hard to believe this could be the same guy, now meeting my eye with a sweetness in its purest form.
"This room is a mess," Jake stated, so matter of fact, and I pushed myself to smile.
"Yeah, but we'll clean up later before I head home, right?"
"You betcha."
So, we sat on his bed with bowls of pretzels and Daniel Tiger playing on the TV. With my sketch pad on my lap, I managed to work on my concept for Shane, in between Jake's incessant questions and commentary. But all the while, one thought rang loud and clear in my mind. The same thing that I'd known to be true for a long time.
Jake would be with me forever, and as long as he was there, my life would be his. There wasn’t room for anything, or anyone, else. And there never would be.
Chapter Five
I BOOKED A LAST-MINUTE session with Dr. Travetti the day of Shane's appointment, and after dropping Jake off at daycare, I barreled into the office with determination singeing my veins. My leather jacket was splattered with the beginning of a thunderstorm, my favorite weather, and on any other occasion, I would've found the dark clouds soothing. But today, I saw them as a premonition from a god I could never believe in.
"This is new," she declared, gesturing toward me before sitting in her chair.
"What is?"
"You coming in here unannounced."
I screwed my face with confusion. "Unannounced? I made an appointment this morning."
"You did?" Surprise widened her eyes and she quickly checked her phone, probably searching through her schedule. "Ah, you did. This is what I get for running late in the morning."
I snorted at her admission. "So, you're telling me the good doctor is human."
"More than you know," she said with a small, sad smile, revealing a side of herself I’d never seen before. I wondered if I’d ever see it again as she asked, "So, are you okay?"
The question was tied to a smile but full of concern, and I lowered my brows at the insinuation. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"