Against the Tide (8 page)

One Month later.

“Morning,” Torran calls as I enter the shop. His cheerfulness rubs at me like a cheese grater. I am not a happy camper and happy people only serve to make me feel grumpier.

“Whatever,” I reply sharply. My attitude today is the kind you would associate with a hormonal teenage girl. Stroppy and unpredictable. I see Torran roll his eyes and raise his brows towards Tammy, one of the other tattooists who’s preparing her work space for her first client. “Fuck off, Torr. I can’t be bothered with either of you today, actually I can’t be bothered with the whole world in general. I would rather be curled up in my duvet away from human kind,” I snap, stomping out to the back room. I drop my bag on the floor and take off my leather jacket to hang on the rail. I just put the loop over the hook and as I take my hand away, the whole thing comes crashing to the floor. I grab up the jackets to toss them on to the back of the couch but one of the loops gets stuck and no matter how hard I tug it, it’s not budging. A red mist comes over me and I decide that I’m going to pull this jacket off the hook no matter how much damage it causes. “Fucking thing, you little−” I growl through gritted teeth, pulling at it with all my weight.

“Hey, hey, that’s enough, Megs,” Torr scolds as he strides in, unhooks the jacket with ease and takes it out of my hands, placing it gently over the back of the couch with a frown. “Now, I don’t know if it’s the wrong time of the month or if something has happened, but you do know that you’re going to scare all the customers away if you continue to cuss and swear like a sailor?” he says, coming to stand in front of me.

“Most of our customers swear more than that,” I reply petulantly.

“Yes, that’s because we are stabbing them with a thousand needles per minute, or piercing part of them with a monster hollow needle.” He raises a brow at me. “Is anything wrong?”

“Yes,” I answer, pouting.

“Well, do you want to tell me? Because you know if you carry on with this attitude, I’m going to have to send you home for the day and dock your wages.”

I feel tears start to stab at the back of my eyes and I try my hardest to keep up a steely front. “You’re too nice.”

“Is that what’s wrong?” he chuckles.

“No.” I swipe at my cheek, wiping away a traitorous tear.

“Meg, has something happened or are you just having a bad day?”

“I think I’m allergic to Mondays.”

“Oh yeah?” He cocks his hip and laughs gently.

“Maybe Tuesdays and Wednesdays, too. I haven’t had much sleep for weeks now, and everything feels upside down.” I drop my shoulders back dramatically and pout. My life feels like a big infinite fucking mess.

“Something on your mind?”

“No.” I shrug, shaking off the blatant lie. There’s so much going on in my head. Damien.
Him
. Then finding out that poor girl that Damien sold drugs to, actually died that night in the club. What her poor family must be going through, I can’t even imagine. Part of me feels guilty. If I had done things differently, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. As for Damien, I haven’t heard from him since he left. I moved straight out of the townhouse and in with Jamie. Her place isn’t huge, but her spare room is just big enough for a bed and a chest of drawers and that suits me, for now. Despite my conflicting emotions over the last few weeks, it’s actually great to be spending more time with her. It’s the only good thing to come out of the mess that is my life, even if she is a bossy bitch.

“Look, Meg. If you’re not well enough to work, then go home. Otherwise, you’re gonna have to suck it up like the rest of us and put on your professional face. You know, you’re not the only one with shit going on in their life, okay?” His friendly warning is tainted by a sad look in his eyes, which he quickly pushes away before stroking my cheek with the back of his tattooed knuckles. He winks at me and walks back in to the main shop, leaving me to compose myself. There’s something going on with him, and I’ve been so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn’t noticed until now. He’s such a quiet soul and a constant presence that you kind of forget that he’s got a life outside of this studio. A life of which he’s very mysterious about and no matter how hard I try, he won’t share. The bell rings indicating someone has come in to the studio, so I take a deep breath and decide that despite the churning still going on in my stomach I’m not going to go home and hide under my covers and wallow in self-pity. I am going to put the reddest of red lip gloss on and my trademark smile for the customers with the hope that we are busy enough for the day to fly by without me noticing.

My eyes won’t focus and my limbs won’t cooperate with what I want them to do. What am I trying to do? I blink several times to try and clear the cloudiness in front of me. Where am I?

“Hey handsome.” A voice comes from my side and fingers roam over my chest, unbuttoning my shirt as she moves. Her lips, perfect lips made just for me, lick and suck along my ribs and I groan with pleasure. I lift my hand to touch her but it’s clutching a bottle of Jack and my fingers won’t let go. She makes fast work of my belt, unbuttoning my fly and slipping her hand in my jeans. She tugs at the waist, pulling my jeans down to my knees and climbs seductively between my legs. I close my eyes and get lost in the feeling of her sucking me. Dropping the Jack Daniels bottle, I tangle my hands in her hair, her raven hair that’s long enough to wrap around my wrist and hold on tight, only … It’s not long, I can barely grip it. I try to sit up, try to clear my vision. What the…? I grab the back of her head roughly and yank her neck back. I can just about make out her features. It’s not her. It’s not ‘the’ girl. ‘My’ girl.

“Get the fuck off me,” I roar, reacting without thinking. “You cheap fucking whore, get out,” I yell at her.

“You’re in my flat, arsehole,” she spits, jumping off the bed and standing over me in nothing but a pair of heels. “You were happy enough to share my lines of coke, even sucked it off my tits,” she informs me, pushing her chest out as if it would remind me of my crime. “If you’re going to be a prick, you can get the fuck out of MY apartment, and you can leave my Jack, too.” She snatches the bottle out of my hand and I’m too wasted to stop her. I fumble with my jeans, my head spinning from the craziness that has become my life. I don’t remember half of this evening, in fact I don’t remember much of the last month, and I don’t want to. That’s the best way. The only way I can deal with each day. I stagger to the bedroom door and look back at her seething glare. “Go on, get out, you fucking useless piece of shit. Good luck finding anyone else to suck that limp dick of yours.” She follows me out to make sure I leave, and slams the door behind me making my brain rattle around in my head.

Too many drugs, Finn. Far too many drugs.

I try to focus on the stairs down to the outside door, but I sway and grab on to the hand rail. I fall back against the cold wall, sliding down until my arse meets the stone floor where I close my eyes and dream of the girl, my girl, before I pass out.

I’m a selfish, useless bastard, and I don’t deserve for anyone to give me the time of day. I’ve spent nearly a month in some kind of alcohol or chemical induced state. To begin with I thought it helped me to block everything out, but now I’m not so sure. Lizzie’s funeral just about killed me. It killed me to see her disappear behind that curtain, in a box that I knew was going to be incinerated until all that is left of my beautiful, bubbly little sister, is ashes. A fine dust that is nothing but powder capable of being blown away by the wind forever. It tortured me to see my mum break down in her wheelchair, sobs that shook her tiny frail body so hard I thought she was going to shatter in to a million tiny irreparable pieces. A huge piece of me disappeared with Lizzie that day. A piece that’s too big to patch over, leaving me with a hollow void.

I can’t deal with the most basic of tasks. I need a haircut. I need to shave. But I can’t be bothered and that’s basically what it comes down to. My mum’s condition has deteriorated and being the craptastic son that I am, I can’t even bear to visit her. Lizzie looked like her, and before she was sick, people would mistake them for sisters. My mum who is forty nine, and used to be mistaken for a twenty nine year old, now looks closer to seventy.

Sobriety is starting to creep back in through every pore and I can’t handle it. I don’t want to handle it. I reach blindly for the bottle of vodka that was on the bedside table, knocking over a glass and something else in my attempt to find it. I open my eyes slowly, unsure if it’s day or night. There’s a crack in the curtain and sunlight streams through, stabbing at my pupils. Daytime. I look around for a bottle. I don’t care if it’s vodka or cider. I would drink bleach if it helped take this feeling away. Anything but facing reality. In fact, if it just took me away from the world entirely that would make me very happy.

“Looking for this?” A voice comes from the chair in the corner of the room. I squint, trying to make out the person sitting there, taunting me by waving a half full bottle of something back and forth.

“Harley?” I croak.

“Nope.”

I squint even more and make out that it’s Kyle. “What do you want?” I grumble, struggling to form my words properly as my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

“Just hangin’,” he answers passively.

“Like a fucking freak watching me sleep from the corner of my room. Jesus, give me a drink, would ya, my mouth is as dry as a nun’s cunt.”

“Charming,” he mumbles. “Here, want this?” He holds up the vodka bottle before standing to walk toward me. I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, only now realising that I’m naked so I pull the duvet across my lap. Not even a morning erection to hide, and I’m unsure if that’s because of the amount of drugs and alcohol I’ve consumed or if I’ve lost the ability to feel anything other than dead from the neck down.

“I wouldn’t bother covering yourself up. Harley and I have seen your junk and your hairy arse more times than I can count over the last few weeks.” Kyle sniggers and unscrews the lid of the bottle and hands it to me. “Drink,” he orders.

I frown, unsure of his intentions, but grab the bottle from his hand nonetheless and take a long couple of gulps. It takes a second to realise what he’s done and I spit out the liquid in his direction and throw the bottle on the floor. “You’re a fucking arsehole,” I bark and he raises a brow at me.

“What’s up? Water not good enough for you?” His reply taunts me and despite the heavy metal band having a riot in my head right now, I get up out of bed, not caring that I still have no clothes on and stagger in his direction.

“Back off, Kyle,” I order through gritted teeth, shoving at his chest with my hand as I pass him. His solid chest doesn’t move, but it sways me off balance. He grabs my wrist faster than I can move away and leans in close. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks in a stern voice that I’ve never heard him use before.

“Out,” I snap, yanking my wrist from his grip.

“No, you’re not,” he replies in a calm assertive tone.

“Excuse me?” I reply, turning to face him.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to go and have a freakin’ wash because you smell like a rat’s arse, then we are going for breakfast.”

“And who made you God? Who said you could come in here, telling me what I should and shouldn’t be drinking, and then telling me what I am going to do with my day?” I feel my voice getting louder, anger rises up in my chest and I lunge at Kyle, shoving at his chest with both hands this time. But still, he doesn’t budge, which angers me more. He stands there like a gentleman while I repeatedly push at him. “What the fuck are you doing here anyway? Back off, Kyle, okay? It’s my life. If I want to drink, I’ll drink. If I want to drop a couple of pills, I’ll drop ‘em. You hear me?” He tries to keep me at arm’s length but I keep coming forward at him. “Who are you to tell me? Eh? Come on, big man, wanna throw your weight around? Try me, fucking TRY ME,” I yell in his face before throwing a punch at him. He grabs my arms and twists them fast. Before I can work out what’s going on, I’m face down on the bed with my arms halfway up my back as Kyle pins me down.