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“He’s not yours. You let Asher and the girls have him. They deserve to be treasured. You had your turn.”

I had my turn.

As if the affection that was a complete illusion to keep me distracted from reality should be enough to last me a lifetime.

Any time I bring up my hobbies or interests, it turns into a battle. Nothing I want from life is good enough. My art is trashy, and the fact that my medium is ink on skin confirms it.

Some of my sisters have tattoos or piercings. None of them are evil. No, the only one that bears that label is me. And it’s even worse that I tattooed all over Asher. Maman’s baby. She acts like I drugged him to get him on the table for it, while Ash tells people he fell asleep, and I covered him in flowers as revenge. It used to feel like a joke when he said it. Now it feels like another careful distance from the bond I thought we had built.

The days we would sit at the shop during quiet times and pour over books of flowers to find the perfect message for his body to shout out. Rhododendron on his shoulders to warn people to stay away. Tansies on the backs of his hands to show he’s ready for war.

Maman didn’t care that Ash started wearing shirts without long sleeves when his skin was covered in ink. Or that he finally cut his unruly mop of hair shorter to stop hiding himself away. The first time I saw him in a tank top, I went home and bawled my eyes out. He took that step for himself and never looked back.

How could she hate on that?

Before everything fell apart, she was a normal, over-stressed mother of five. Working multiple jobs to make ends meet since no one else could or would. After that, there was shock and horror. A lot of guilt.

The change didn’t come over her all at once. It was subtle digs in the beginning. Things that made me feel uncomfortable without causing pain. I can see the slow escalation now that I’m holding it under a microscope. Everything I’ve done that she disagrees with has made it worse.

I think the move was the breaking point between us. Things went from bad to worse. I don’t even recognize her anymore.

I need to figure my head out before I make any decisions regarding it. Being mad won’t help, and she can stir that up without much effort. Trying to have a normal chat with her about it is out because we’re both too emotional for it. It would turn into a fight as soon as I opened my mouth. I’m hoping therapy will give me a good answer on how to deal with it.

On top of that, I have a pushy boyfriend who’s begging me to move in with him.

A lot of big decisions are coming, and I can’t slow down time.

Poe keeps me busy just by existing. Now that Damon isn’t here to keep us in check, he’s with me as much as he can be. He leaves for work and comes back happy to see me every day. We spend our nights hanging out at my apartment and laughing our fool heads off. Half of my plushies are at his place by now.

Everything is winding down and starting up at the same time. It feels like a new beginning while everything else is ending. It’s terrifying.

Every day, the shop stays empty. Closing is going to happen and soon. I should be out there looking for a table-hop job. My spirit isn’t ready to give in, but reality doesn’t pull punches.

I barely have enough money to cover the bills for both the shop and my apartment this month. Next month isn’t looking any better.

Poe offered to buy it so those worries would disappear. I have to admit, I’m tempted. But something about it doesn’t feel right.

Maybe it’s the thought that he’s used all that money to do good. He built SoT from the ground up so other people wouldn’t suffer through the kind of experiences he’s had. He wanted a family, and he found one.

The media was a circus around him at the beginning. He’s shown me the articles he was afraid I would see. Some paint him as a Saint. Some a sinner trying to redeem himself.

He keeps himself out of the limelight as much as possible to keep the group’s image from getting tarnished. Most of the members have only met him over the phone. He paints himself as an eccentric artist who had money to burn and no one but his personal group knows the truth.

If my brave man wants to hide in the shadows, I’ll support it. As long as he understands, all those old articles don’t mean a thing to me. He’s happy with his life. That’s all that matters.

That doesn’t mean I want to spend his fortune on a money pit when I could get off my ass and find another job. I’m ok with him supporting me to ease the burden, but I want to fly free too.

He’s still pouting over the decision, racking his brain on how to help in a different way. I’ve been tugging at his hair and telling him it’s turning gray way too early.

Everything is in upheaval. Everything but our relationship. So much has happened in so short a time that I’m overwhelmed with emotions instead of basking in his open acceptance of all I am.

One step at a time, I need to get myself together. I’ll meet with Asher when he’s ready and then decide about family matters from there. Pushing that to the back burner is a habit.

It’s my procrastination at work here, but I don’t have the will to fight it.

Especially when my other problem isn’t a problem at all.

Poe. My pushy, yappy, kidnapper of a junkyard dog.