Clipped Wings (24 page)

“We should postpone the start date.”

“No!” I turned so we were face-to-face. “Please don’t do that. Please, Hayden. Can’t we modify the design so the tattoo avoids the worst of the scarring? I don’t care if it’s covered up, that’s not the point.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” he hedged.

“There has to be a way. I need this. You don’t understand.” I tried to suppress the rising panic, aware it wasn’t rational.

“Hey, relax, we’ll figure it out,” Hayden placated, nonplussed over my reaction. “I’ll take a look at the design tomorrow and see what I can do. I just don’t want to cause you unnecessary pain.”

“I can handle physical pain,” I said, embarrassed by my erratic emotions.

“It’s not the physical part I’m worried about.”

“Then what is it?”

“All the stuff in here you’re not sharing.” He touched my temple and followed with his lips. “The physical discomfort isn’t the challenge, it’s the emotional stuff that comes after that’s the problem.”

“I’ll be fine.” I reached around him to retrieve my shirt, suddenly aware of my state of semi-dress and the serious slant to our conversation.

He snatched it from the arm of the couch and shoved it between the cushions, out of reach. “You say that, but you don’t really know.” He shrugged out of the button-down and pulled his shirt over his head, his endless expanse of art on display. He ran a hand down his stomach. “Every single piece has a story. Just because I’ve put them on my body doesn’t mean the emotional weight behind them is gone. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I wouldn’t be asking for the tattoo if I didn’t think I could handle it.” It wasn’t even close to the truth. His smile was sad as I traced the lines of the phoenix on his chest. It was a gorgeous piece of art on a stunning body. I wanted so badly to lose myself in him again.

“Everyone reacts differently. I want to figure out how to help you through it when the time comes.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“Not well.”

“In what capacity?”

He kissed me instead of answering, which was Hayden’s way of ending a discussion he didn’t want to have. I was done talking anyway.

“Why don’t we take this to your bedroom? There’s not enough room on the couch,” Hayden said as I made to straddle him once again.

“Okay, but I don’t think you should stay tonight.” My stomach turned to lead as hurt passed across his face. I immediately wished I could take it back.

“Right. Yeah, of course. I should go home. It’s not like I slept for shit last night anyway.” He moved me off him and snatched his shirt from the back of the couch.

I gripped his wrist. “You don’t have to leave right now.”

“It’s been a long day. It’s probably better.”

He tried to shake me off, so I held on tighter. “Hayden, stop. It’s not that I don’t want you to stay, because I do. I have these dreams most nights, and I don’t have control over them. I’m lucky I didn’t have any last night, but with all the talk about my scars, I’m pretty sure my subconscious isn’t going to be quite so forgiving tonight. I get . . . restless. I’ll keep you up.”

“What if I want to stay anyway?”

When I didn’t answer right away, he shoved his arms through his sleeves.

“I scream in my sleep,” I blurted.

He stilled, eyes rising to meet mine.

“Sarah can hear me when it’s really bad,” I said.

“Who’s Sarah?”

“My neighbor across the hall.”

Hayden looked at the door and then down the hallway to my room. It didn’t take him long to piece together how loud I must be for someone to hear me through two sets of walls.

“Jesus, Tenley, how long do you want to keep me in the dark? I need some fucking information here. How the hell am I supposed to fix—” He stopped abruptly and took a deep breath. “Look. We have a week before I start the tattoo. Tell me now if I’m alone in my desire to capitalize on your loophole.”

“You’re not alone.”

His shirt slid down his arms and pooled in his lap. “Then I don’t give a shit if you sing show tunes and juggle knives in your sleep. I’m staying.”

I stayed at Tenley’s place every night leading up to her first tattoo session. For a student in a postgrad program, she was incredibly disorganized. It drove me batshit crazy, so I fixed the problem by setting up a filing system for her loose papers. I loved doing things like that.

Any other issues I had with her clutter I blocked out by keeping her naked—for the most part. After work I went over with snacks and beer, because Tenley didn’t keep much of either in her apartment. Aside from cupcakes, anyway. Those she seemed to have an infinite supply of.

We hung out and I told her about my day, and she avoided any discussion pertaining to the content of her thesis. Not that it mattered; I’d skimmed much of it anyway when I filed it in the first place. I assumed she thought it would bore me, which was untrue, but I didn’t push it. Based on what I’d read and the numerous books stacked on the floor, bursting with Post-it notes, most of her research centered around deviant behavior. Out of curiosity, I leafed through a couple of them while she was in the bathroom. Beyond the Post-it’s there were passages highlighted all over the place. From what I could tell, she had interesting insight into some rather extreme modification practices, and all of her ideas were rooted in philosophical principles. I wouldn’t offer my opinion, though, even if I did have one sect of the subculture well represented. I had an extensive collection of reading material on subjects ranging from anarchist philosophy and the history of tattooing to classic literature, but my education stopped at high school. My knowledge base came from practical experience and the things I read.

Aside from working on her thesis, the week passed in a blur of sexual activity: kitchen, couch, bedroom, the end result was always the same—Tenley naked, me inside her. But getting there was always an adventure, partly because her choice of underwear never ceased to amuse or arouse me. She had every style, color, fabric, and pattern covered. Although there were some highlights among her selection. On Saturday she came out of the bedroom in red satin with black polka dots and tiny black bows on each hip. Her hair in a ponytail, she looked like a pinup girl. We didn’t make it past the couch. After she fell asleep, I hung out with TK and sketched her in that getup, thinking it would make a pretty awesome tattoo.

On Sunday I changed it up and took Tenley late-night grocery shopping, because there was no food in her apartment. She had terrible eating habits, unless one counted iceberg lettuce as a healthy choice. I informed her it had the nutritional value of air. She responded with an eye-roll and traipsed down the cereal aisle where she picked up a box of Cap’n Crunch. She pointed out all the essential vitamins and minerals in a serving when I bitched about that, too. Why she would eat a cereal that tore apart the inside of her mouth was beyond me. I made her promise not to eat it until after Thursday, when I could no longer take advantage of the loophole because the session would put her out of commission.

On Tuesday night Tenley had one of those nightmares she warned me about. She wasn’t a very peaceful sleeper to begin with. Most nights I would wake up at some point to her soft whimpers. It made TK upset, and she paced around the bed, nudging me until I calmed Tenley. Some nights Tenley would flail restlessly and then cuddle right into me, like she couldn’t get close enough. But tonight it was worse, much worse. The whimpers were what woke me initially. I rolled over and put my arm around her, because it usually helped.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” I mumbled and kissed her hair, still in the warm balm of mostly-asleep.

It didn’t last long, though. She started to thrash, pushing away from me, and the whimpers became louder, more despondent. That was new. I let go of her to find that her eyes were open, but it didn’t seem like she was really seeing me. Locked inside the nightmare, she backed away until she hit the headboard, which she immediately started to scale, clawing at it like she was trying to escape. The frame was wrought iron and feminine with all these curlicues and pointy ends. She was naked, and I worried she was going to hurt herself.

“Come on, Tenley, wake up, you’re having a bad dream.” I pried her hands off the frame. It took more effort than I expected.

That was when the bloodcurdling screams started. I would never forget that sound. It was pain in its rawest form; half human, half animal, all anguish. I didn’t know how a noise like that could come out of someone so small. I flicked on the lamp, illuminating the room in a soft glow. She was curled up in a tight ball on top of the covers, her dark hair fanned out over the rumpled sheet. She looked pitifully frail like that; her body trembling, her hands covering her head as she screamed; high-pitched wails that made my ears and chest hurt. I remembered how bad the nightmares could be.

I got in real close and put my hand on her back, smoothing it over the scarred, pitted skin. She was covered in goose bumps. “Tenley, kitten, please, you need to wake up.” I had to raise my voice above the screaming. I understood what she meant now about her neighbor being able to hear her.

All of a sudden she sat up, eyes scanning the room until they came to rest on me. She was awake, no longer looking through me but at me. Her fingers drifted unsteadily over my cheek and across my jaw. “Hayden?”

“I’m right here. It was just a dream, you’re okay.” I put my hand over hers and kissed her palm, drawing her closer.

“I thought . . .” She looked so confused, then her eyes filled with tears. “They’re gone, everyone is gone.”

“Who’s gone, kitten?”

She scrambled into my lap and threw her arms around me, her body shaking so hard that her teeth chattered. I could feel her tears on my neck as she burrowed in. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into my chest as she hiccupped.

“Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.” I stroked her hair back. Her skin was damp with sweat. I pulled the covers over us and piled up the pillows behind me so I was half sitting with her in my lap.

“I don’t want you to go,” she moaned, her arms tightening around my neck.

“Go? Where would I go?” I kissed her temple and shifted her around. She held on hard, her face buried against my neck.

“Tenley?” When she didn’t reply, I tried again. “Tenley, look at me.” I urged her head up until her eyes lifted. “Nightmares aren’t going to chase me off.”

More tears slid down her cheeks. “I just want the pain to stop. You make it so much better . . . being with you makes it better,” she whispered.

I kissed her softly. “That’s good. I want to do that for you.”

Eventually her breathing evened out and her body relaxed, arms loosening but not letting go. She was almost lying on top of me in her bid to get as close as possible. It took me a long time to fall back asleep. The anguished screams and her words kept replaying in my head. I wanted to know what exactly I was making better for her.

As I lay there, wishing I had answers I knew weren’t coming anytime soon, I realized I hadn’t slept in my own bed in a week. I didn’t miss it, either. Not even on nights like this. In spite of Tenley’s lackluster housekeeping skills and her constant disorganization—apart from her perfect bookshelves—I preferred dealing with the clutter and the nightmares to not being with her. Before now, I had never slept in anyone else’s bed but my own, unless I counted the spare room at Lisa and Jamie’s place when I got too hammered to make it home. But staying with Tenley was different. There was comfort in waking up beside her. I liked being too warm in the morning because I’d been wrapped around her all night.

It was more than just the sleepovers, though. I looked forward to her nightly visits to Inked Armor. I liked sitting on her couch, telling her about the clients I worked on or the stupid shit Chris did. I’d been alone for so long, steeped in routine and order, that I hadn’t realized how nice it was to have someone to see at the end of the day. Whenever I stopped by my condo to change or shower, I didn’t stay long. It felt too empty, like it was missing something. It was.

I was starting to think of her as mine. For the first time in my life, I wanted someone for myself. And I would take her any way she came.

* * *

Thursday morning arrived too soon. I woke before Tenley. She was in her usual spot, snuggled into my side. It was still early, which meant I had plenty of time to thoroughly enjoy her. I wanted to take it slow, nothing like the aggressive, hot sex from last night, because this would be it for a while. And not because of the stupid rule, which I had no intention of following, based on where things were going with her.

After the first session, she would be off-limits while her back healed. The first few days were usually the worst, the discomfort a difficult adjustment. We hadn’t talked about what would happen between us then, but I planned to make myself available as much as possible. The emotional impact of a session could be a lot to deal with, especially one of this magnitude. After my first substantial piece I went on an epic bender, the events of which were hazy. The parts I did remember weren’t all that pleasant. Courtesy of my inability to deal, I required extensive touch-up work. At least with Tenley I could walk her through it if she wanted me to.