The Debt (8 page)

“Why do you have so many tattoos?” she asked. “Do you have any other things pierced?”

“Because,” I grunted. “And yes.”

“Where?”

“None of your business.”

“Why not? Why get the ink and the hardware if not for people to look at it?”

“It isn’t for attention.”

I hated that assumption. Just because some asshole got a dumbass tribal band around his bicep or a naïve girl was convinced that those Chinese letters said “Happy” or “Dragonfly” rather than “Stupid American,” it didn’t mean that my tattoos were intended for public consumption.

“It’s for me. Period.”

“Why?”

“That’s a long story.” I ran one hand through my hair, my tongue piercing flicking between my teeth.

The laws of physics were finite things that I could not bend by will to make the distance home any shorter.

“I’ve got time,” she said.

“Yeah. I’m trying to do something about that.” I hit the clutch and shifted, hitting eighty-five. I kept my eyes out for highway patrol.

“You know, you might just like me if you didn’t try so hard not to.”

I expelled air through my nose, resting my head back against the seat. Her curiosity wasn’t invasive. I suppose it fell into the category of getting to know someone. One way or another, I was stuck with this chick for a while. Hadley and Asha had hit it off, and Trey wasn’t tired of her yet. Maybe the tiny terror had earned a little reciprocation.

“My body is my own, so I made myself over to fit my own desire, not for anyone else.”

“To take ownership,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Because someone took that away from you once.”

“More than once.”

“I understand.”

“No.” My hands tightened on the wheel, twisting. “I don’t think you can.”

“But you’re sort of like Guy Pearce in
Memento
. He got tattoos to remember. Like the one on your arm.” She nodded at the concerto wrapping around my right forearm. “That one is for your mom.”

“Okay. That’s enough sharing.”

For a while, Asha seemed satisfied. I, on the other hand, was edgy as the long drive seemed to drag out the closer we got to my house. Eventually, my passenger exhausted her supply of polite silence.

“Andre seems nice,” she said.

Punkyfucker.

Shit. All I could see was his hands on her practically naked body at the beach. The way he manhandled her. The way she laughed and squirmed. Me sitting yards away on the water watching it happen. If that son of a bitch fucked her, I’d break his neck. First, I had to try not to drive off a cliff on the way home.

“Wow,” she said. “That was something.”

“What was?”

“If looks could decapitate...”

I turned up the volume on the stereo and silenced Tim Burton’s nightmare sitting next to me.

It wasn’t that I begrudged Hadley finding someone else. Maybe Andre was good for her. She deserved to be happy. I just couldn’t help my jealousy. There was a big part of me that wanted to keep her locked up in our house, all to myself, if only to protect her from other assholes like me. More often than not, that instinct got me in trouble.

Freshman year of college, I’d taken that jealousy and ridden right over a cliff.

Following rehearsal with the band one night, I followed Corey and Trey inside from the garage. Trey headed for the living room while Corey started foraging in the kitchen.

“You guys hungry?” I grabbed a bottle of water, glancing between the two rooms from the foyer at the foot of the stairs. “We could order a pizza.”

“Two pizzas,” Corey said with his head in the refrigerator. “Large.”

Trey propped his feet up on the coffee table and turned on the TV. “Is Hadley home yet?”

“I think so.” I wiped my face with my shirt, pulling it off when I got a good whiff of myself. “I’m going to clean up and see if she’s upstairs.”

“Three pizzas,” Corey said. He took out a Tupperware of Punky’s lasagna from last night and popped it in the microwave.

It was an appetizer where he was concerned.

In my bathroom, I splashed some water on my face and hair, grabbing the washcloth to wipe down my chest and neck. I heard voices coming from the other side of the wall, Hadley’s room, and figured she was watching TV. Out of habit, I knocked on the wall.

“We’re ordering pizza,” I shouted.

When we were kids, Hadley would often spend the night at my house when Tom was on the road. After we bargained to stay up just one hour, thirty minutes, and then ten minutes longer, my parents would shove us in our rooms and order us to bed. For hours following the designated bedtime, Punky and I would sit on either side of the wall between our rooms and talk. I’d play music for her, we’d play Battleship, and sometimes we’d fall asleep on the floor with our ears pressed to the drywall.

For that reason, I knew she’d heard me when I shouted to get her attention. I could still hear voices. She was either ignoring me or maybe had her earbuds in.

Her door was closed, but I didn’t bother knocking. I learned a valuable lesson that night. And so did the Punkyfucker I found naked on top of the girl I’d fucked once and run out on.

“Josh!”

“Who’s—” He didn’t get to finish that sentence.

Hadley shoved him off of her. She scurried up the bed with a look of horror on her face.

I had the Punkyfucker in a headlock and in the hallway by the time I ripped my eyes from her tits. Holding him upright enough to make it to the bottom of the stairs—I should have just tossed him down the flight, but hindsight is 20/20 and all that—I walked him in front of me. Trey and Corey came running into the foyer from either side as I escorted the naked asshat out of my house.

“Who the fuck is this guy?”

“Josh, what are—”

“Josh! You son of a bitch. Let him go!”

Two flights of stairs was apparently how long it took Hadley to throw some clothes on and come after me. I ignored her. And since neither Corey nor Trey was in a big rush to wrestle a naked dude away from me, they parted to clear my path to the front door. I threw the guy on the porch. He stumbled on scrawny legs down the front steps.

“Memorize my face,” I growled at him. “The next time you see it or her, run the other way.”

He stood cupping his junk at the bottom of the stairs, his feet unsteady on the loose dirt and gravel of the driveway. I slammed the door before he could speak. Hadley was right behind me, dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

“You’re out of your fucking mind!” she screamed at me.

“Are those his clothes?” I nodded at her hand holding a wadded mess of denim and white cotton. I grabbed them, opened the door without looking past the threshold, and tossed them out. “There,” I snapped at her. “Better?”

“No, shithead! I can’t believe you’d—”

“Would and did.” I leaned against the door, crossing my arms over my chest. “I have witnesses. Go, spread the word, and let it be known throughout the land—”

She slapped me. Hard. Smacked the callous, sarcastic remark right off my lips. My entire body went rigid. My face was hot from where she’d hit me, fists clenched with rage. Trey jumped between us and put Hadley behind him. Corey grabbed my shoulder in one strong hand, planting me in place. She fought against Trey, screaming at me, but I didn’t hear most of it past the anger and blood rushing between my ears.

“I’m never going to forgive you for this,” she swore. “You did this to yourself, you bastard. You! Remember that, Josh.” Her eyes were dark and deadly as she stared right through me.

She couldn’t know how much that one stung. Yes, I had let her go, but for reasons I had no control over. For a moment there, I almost blurted it out. The reason I’d never be good enough for her. Maybe just to hurt her.

“Let’s go.” Corey opened the door behind me, poking his head out to make sure the Punkyfucker was gone. “Come on, man. Let her cool off.”

He wrapped his arm over my shoulder, pushing me out the front door barefoot and shirtless. We hopped in his Jeep, and I let Corey cart me off, my brain fried and my heart dissected on the floor of the foyer.

We were silent as Corey drove down the two-lane road surrounded by the dark forest on either side. The only sound passing my ears was the wind rushing through the vehicle and the echo of the barbell in my tongue flicking between my teeth.

With the windows down, I sucked in as much fresh air as my lungs would take, but my chest was tight. No matter how I commanded my body to relax, I couldn’t pry my fingers from my clenched palms. My eyes burned as I fought not to close them. Not that it mattered. Open or otherwise, all I saw was the bastard levered over her, Hadley’s legs around his hips and her head tossed back with her lip between her teeth. My stomach turned, cold sweat coating my skin.

“Pull over,” I demanded.

“Josh, I think you need—”

“Now.” I unlatched my seat belt and grabbed the door handle. “Pull over, man.”

He drifted to the side of the road, coming to a stop in the darkness with only his headlights illuminating my path to the tree line. I bolted from the Jeep, bracing one hand on a tree and the other on my thigh as I vomited. My stomach heaved, tossing out its full contents in two, three, four forceful convulsions. I stood there for a while, gasping for air and spitting the vile taste from my mouth. My head pounded, throbbing at my temples.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” I nodded and stood upright. “I just—”

“I know. No worries.”

When I turned around, Corey tossed me a rag and a bottle of water. I wiped off my mouth and chin, stuffing the rag in my back pocket. Taking mouthfuls of water, I swished and spit until the taste was gone. My muscles were still tense, my skin too hot and too cold at the same time, but I was feeling somewhat better.

“Thank you.”

“You got it, brother.”

Together, Corey and I leaned against the side of his Jeep, both of us staring at the black forest ahead.

“What do you want to do now?” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “The range is still open for a couple hours.”

“Probably shouldn’t give me a firearm right now.”

“We could hit up the bar by my place. They won’t card us.”

“Nah. I’d start a fight and you’d have to jump in and save my ass.”

“You could go take a freezing dip in the Pacific.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, all things considered. Sitting by the water and clearing my mind would be the most peaceful way to get my head on straight. But seeing as how it was still a bit crooked and discombobulated at the moment, I opted for something completely fucked instead.

“Take me to Bear’s shop.”

“You want to get inked now? Isn’t there a rule about that or something?”

“Probably,” I agreed. “There should be.”

Never get something engraved on your body with a broken heart.

I jumped in the Jeep. “But I’m not getting a tattoo.”

We stood in the fluorescent lobby of Pins & Needles. The walls were covered in rows of hanging portfolios displaying each tattoo artist’s favorite works. The two glass cases that separated the waiting area from the artist stations held body jewelry along with hats and T-shirts with the shop’s logo.

“As your friend,” Corey said, his hands gripping both my shoulders, “I’m telling you not to do this. It isn’t worth it.”

“It’s cool.” I was a little drunk on the idea by that point. “She’s a professional. Mia’s going to take real good care of me.”

“You’re going to regret this. Let me get you drunk. Fuck, I’ll get you high if that will make you feel better. I’ll take you out back and knock you around a bit if you just want it to hurt. But don’t go back there with that chick and let her do unnatural things to your dick.”

“I can hear you,” Mia shouted from the back of the shop. “You want to be next, Corey?”

He shivered, cupping his crotch and backing away. “I’m not watching this.”

“Good,” I laughed. “I don’t need an audience.”

“I’m going outside. Maybe across the street. I don’t want to hear the screams.”

Corey shoved through the front door, the bell overhead signaling his retreat.

Time to soldier up.

I walked to the room at the back of the shop and reclined in the cushioned chair. While Mia closed the door and yanked on a pair of latex gloves, I pulled open my jeans and slid them with my boxers down enough to pull out my cock. She opened the plastic packages, taking out her sterile torture implements and preparing them on the cart next to her stool.

Mia’s eyes landed on my dick. “I need to measure so I can choose the proper length for the piercing,” she told me.

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“I need you to be erect. If the barbell is too short, you’re going to be in a world of pain the first time you get hard.”

“Right. That makes sense.” I watched her face for a moment. “Do I just—”

“I’ll step out. You call when you’re ready.” She walked out and closed the door behind her.

I was left with my flaccid dick hanging out of my pants, a lost look on my face.

I had considered getting the apadravya for a while and had done the research on healing and care after the fact. I must have skipped over the part where I had to jerk off in the shop. Had other men sat in this reclined chair—like at a dentist’s office—and tugged it? That launched me right off the thing.

In the middle of the small room, I stood with my pants open around my hips. Every black wall was covered in sketches and various photos of happy customers; among them were a few images of disembodied breasts with rings or barbells in them. Those weren’t bad. In any case, I had to just get this over with.

Trying my best to clear my mind, I reached down and massaged my limp cock. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply as I stroked myself with one hand and cupped my sac with the other. For a brief moment, I felt the recent disaster try to invade my mind, but I shoved it aside. Instead, it was me spread over Hadley’s naked body. It was my lips at her neck, my back that her nails dragged down. I pumped myself, imagining the warmth of her pussy as I slid in and out, filling her on every thrust.

Yep, that did the trick.

I hung hard and throbbing, no release in sight. Shoving it back inside my boxers, I poked my head out the door and called Mia back in. She was now only the second chick I’d ever let see my junk—a profound moment for me at nineteen. Except this woman was about to put a new hole in the head of my cock. I had to remind myself that I volunteered for this.

She glanced at my hard-on as she closed and locked the door behind her. Unwrapping a marker-type thing from a plastic package, she sat down on her rolling stool and slid over in front of me. I reached in and pulled it out, letting it hang in front of her face. It jumped a little. Fucking embarrassing. But Mia didn’t react, just went about her business to measure the distance from the underside of the head to the top. With the marker, she drew two tiny points on either end.

“This is going to look good. I promise.” She fiddled around with her instruments for a bit before sliding her stool over again. Holding up a cotton swab soaked in alcohol, Mia gestured at my junk. “You want to do this part? The area needs to be cleaned.”

“Have at it,” I told her. “Let’s just get it over with.”

She swabbed around the head of my dick and then up and down the shaft. I winced when she headed for my scrotum next. It was cold, the antiseptic tingling the hypersensitive skin.

“Okay. This is going to hurt. A lot. But I’m quick,” she said. “It’s just like your tongue piercing. Go ahead and lie down.”

I swallowed down a mouthful of nothing and hopped onto the dentist chair.

“So...” Mia rolled her stool over and looked me in the eyes as she gave me the rundown. “I’m going to place a clamp over the head of your penis. I’ll use this needle to pierce through the marks I made, then slip the bar through. That’s it. Fast and painful.”

Her smile was light and encouraging. I laughed out a nervous breath.

“You want something to bite down on?”

“No. I’ll suck it up.”

“Don’t bite your tongue, because I promise you, you’ll chomp right through it. And if you kick me, I’ll stab you in the eye.”

“I’ll keep my shit together.” Preparing myself, I adjusted in the chair once more. “Ready.”

“Okay. Deep breath. And let it out,” she said, applying the clamp.

It was uncomfortable but not too painful.

Mia lined up the needle to the marks she’d made. “This is the worst of it. Lock it down, MacKay.”

I steeled myself.

“Deep breath.”

I filled my lungs.

“And let it—”

“FUCK!”

“Don’t worry,” Mia said after I came to. “A lot of guys pass out.”

I chugged a can of soda to get my sugar up and tried to avoid looking at the bloodstains on the front of my boxers. Why was this shit legal?

“You know the drill: keep it clean, don’t remove the piercing.” She handed me a printed sheet of paper with the usual care instructions. “Everyone’s different, but it could take up to six months to heal. I wouldn’t recommend a lot of activity in that area until then.”

That wasn’t going to be a problem.

A few minutes later, I was cleaned off, bandaged—my cock had bled like Carrie in the shower scene—and putting my pants back on. In the lobby, I found Corey sitting with his knee bouncing. He looked like a terrified about-to-be daddy who’d been kicked out of the delivery room.