Page 5 of Inked Desires

AReS

Something sets my nerves on edge. Well, not something, but someone. His name is… impossible to forget. A mix of anger and contempt twists inside me, ready to burst out.

Andrew’s body tells a dark story, visible in his eyes. You’d have to be blind to ignore the abuse he’s suffered. I can’t erase his past, but at least I can protect him from the future.

If that bastard ever falls into my hands, I’ll tear him apart like a Christmas turkey. This time, no hesitation. Not like before. I’m no longer on a mission, and he’s not defenseless.

I take a deep breath and unclench my fists without even realizing it.

I hate humans. Abject creatures, scorning nature and life. Man gets used to everything. What seems a luxury one day becomes banal the next, until it loses all value. And I’m no exception. I’ve walked the same path.

I head to the sales area and fix my gaze on the man behind the counter. Andrew, focused on his screen, clicks the mouse at a steady pace. He’s either playing or found a task to keep busy.

This time of year, the region is pretty quiet. My schedule fills mostly when summer shows its face.

“What are you doing?” I ask, since he hasn’t noticed me.

Andrew looks up and the light catches the golden ring of his iris.

“I’m looking for an apartment,” he admits.

“During work hours?”

I frown, sliding my hands into my pants pockets.

“Got a better job for me?” he replies, resting his chin on his palm, elbow on the wood.

He’s got spirit. And strangely, I like it. Most people feel intimidated by me or stroke my ego. That’s one reason I prefer to avoid company.

My ex was just as cheeky, not afraid to stand up to me. Another trait they share.

Do I let Andrew stay because he reminds me a bit of my husband? Probably. Although my heart withered like a rose at summer’s end, I must admit part of it accepted Andrew’s presence.

He’s not William...

Before I entered my ex’s life, he led a carefree existence. Andrew carries visible scars. They’re not alike, yet some similarities exist. It’s unsettling, I’ll admit.

Curious, I approach and stand behind him. His screen shows several housing ads; my gaze fixes on one — a room available at old Jenkins’ place.

The idea makes me laugh inwardly. He’ll never set foot there. Not while I’m alive.

“That guy will slip into your bed if you move there,” I warn, pointing at the listing.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Jenkins is an old pervert with a thing for young guys.

“That’d get me a rent discount?” he retorts, barely surprised. “Or do I have to sleep with him and pay full rent?”

Anyone else would say that jokingly, with a slight smile or a little laugh. Not him. He’s serious. Like he’s used to doing this kind of thing to survive.

“Jenkins won’t give you a cent,” I growl.

“Too bad. Thought I could save some money.”

The wood creaks under my fingers as I grip the table harder than I want.

“You won’t live there!”

“Why not? The room looks clean! And I can’t afford anything else.”

“You’re ready to sell your body for that?”

He looks away, his eyes darkening. Lost in thought, his fingers trace circles on his temple — an answer in itself.

It’s not the first time he’s sold himself like that. How many times has he done it? How many men has he shared his bed with? A silent rage rises in me, for no obvious reason.

I want to slam him against the wall, tear answers out of him. But I hold back. He’d lie, that’s certain. He already has. Several times.

“Fine, no Jenkins for me,” he mutters, refocusing on the listings.

He scrolls through the scant ads and stops at one — a rundown apartment. I slowly shake my head. Another bad idea.

“Forget that one too,” I comment disdainfully, looking at the screen. “Junkies shoot up in the hall.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbles. “I’ll manage.”

“You won’t live there either.”

He turns sharply, frowning. He stares at me with challenging eyes.

“I don’t need a new father,” he snaps.

“Good,” I reply coldly. “I have no desire to be one.”

My thoughts are anything but paternal. Besides, I’m not much older than him. How could he assume such a thing?

“Perfect,” he says, returning to the screen.

“Can’t your parents help?” I try another tone.

I don’t want him living among all these junkies.

“They live in a small village in Alaska. My dad’s happy if he can feed his siblings. And I haven’t had contact with them in years.”

His features harden as he stares emptily at the table.

I note this new information with some satisfaction. I wondered where he got that perfect, snow-white skin. His body betrays a chronic, persistent fatigue.

I know the feeling. I’m just surviving too, dragging a weariness that makes me feel years behind on sleep. But I only know insomnia — every night, I stare at my white ceiling, searching for answers to hopeless questions. Deep down, I already know the truth. I’m a coward. I’ve finally admitted it, without needing a psychologist to tell me.

“I have a spare room,” I blurt before I can bite my tongue.

The words are out — too late. I expect to regret them, but nothing comes.

“You want me to live with you?”

“At least I won’t sneak into your bed at night to slip my hand who knows where,” I growl back.

No need for him to show his disgust so openly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says, shaking his head.

“Got a better solution?” I ask, stepping back a little. Between Jenkins and the junkies, I’m the best option.

But also the worst choice for me — I can barely stand his smell. The vibrations his body sends through me remind me of a tattoo machine buzzing in my hands, and his scent pierces straight through me. There’s no redemption for me, so I might as well stop fooling myself, playing the pervert sniffing his hair.

“You’re my boss,” he protests.

I roll my eyes. I’ll remain that, and on top of that, become his owner.

“You need a place to sleep, right?”

He sighs and closes the browser. His fingers tap nervously on the table, making me even more impatient. I can’t hold back. I grab his hand firmly. A shock runs up my arm the moment my skin touches his. I grit my teeth to hold back a growl rising in my chest.

Andrew freezes. He stares at our intertwined hands, looking puzzled. Does he feel the same? That vibration?

He slowly lifts his head. His eyes shine a bit brighter, but the darkness remains. It will always be there — what makes him so captivating. He’s not perfect, but he’s unique.

“Can I think about it overnight?” he asks, exhaling shakily.

My thumb seems to act on its own. While my thoughts tell me to stop, it traces unfamiliar patterns on his fingers.

“Of course. Where are you staying right now?”

He pulls his hand away and wraps his arms around himself. Clear sign: he doesn’t want me close. Maybe that’s for the best. If he encouraged me, I’m not sure I could resist.

“I have a room at the Sugar Creek boarding house,” he finally answers.

Good. Liddy, the owner, is an old lady who cares for her customers and stays kind to all the town’s strangers. It’s her job, though she should be more cautious. Not all clients mean well. One day, she could run into someone dangerous.

“Say hi to Liddy for me,” I say, stepping aside to give him space. “I love her cheesecake.”

“Want me to bring you a piece?”

That almost makes me smile. Liddy’s cake is really good. It reminds me of winter memories, hot chocolate, and cakes at my grandparents’ place.

“No need. I’ll go myself. How’s your neck? Better?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

I don’t want it to end so soon. I haven’t talked this much in a long time, and strangely, talking with him doesn’t drain me. Usually, my patience wears thin and I prefer silence. But mostly, it’s because I hate lying. If I don’t answer, I spare others a made-up story to avoid hurting or shocking them. With Andrew, everything feels easier.

“It aches a bit,” he replies.

I exhale slowly. Why does everything he says seem to have a double meaning? He’s talking about his neck, not the place I have in mind.

“It’ll pass in a few days. Then it’ll start itching,” I murmur, my voice deeper than usual — a phrase that could be misunderstood.

“That’s what they say about STDs too,” he retorts, reading my mind.

My lips twitch slightly. I like his humor.

“Good thing we haven’t slept together, and we’re just talking about your tattoo,” I steer the conversation back to safe ground.

“This isn’t my first tattoo, you know,” he shrugs.

Yeah, I know. But his last one was a disaster. A three-year-old could’ve done better.

“He did that one?”

He stays silent. His eyes drop from my face. I sense him shutting down. But I still have so many questions about him.

How is he different from my husband?

How much pain did he endure before ending up in Maple Creek?

One thing’s sure: he’s not from here.

This small town in Outagamie County has about two thousand people. Everyone knows their neighbors, and I’ve never seen him before. Even Ben, from the Diner, doesn’t know who he is. Plus, Google found nothing about him. Sometimes, his presence feels unreal. What reassures me is that Kiran has seen him too. I’m not imagining this. Given my mental state, a delusion of my subconscious wouldn’t be surprising.

“I won’t dig into your past if you don’t ask about mine,” he finally says.

“What do you want to know?” I insist. “I have nothing to hide. Just no happy stories to tell.”

“Nothing,” he grumbles, standing up. “I don’t want to know.”

He strides across the room and disappears into the kitchen. Another man I managed to scare off. I’d almost laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic.

I head for the door. Time for lunch. Maybe some greasy fries will calm my nerves. It’s worked in tenser situations before.

I slowly walk down the quiet street. The kids are at school, and the adults are earning their bread.

I enter the Diner.

“Can I get two bags of fries and add two donuts?” I order without greeting Ben.

He just nods and heads to the fryer. I sit on a worn leather stool and look around. In a corner, a busty blonde whose name I forgot throws me a suggestive smile, playing with her straw. She’s making exaggerated back-and-forth motions. Seriously? Is this supposed to turn me on? Pathetic. Why did I sleep with her again? Probably a cocktail of too much whiskey and beer.

“Your order,” Ben announces behind me.

I turn slightly, grab the two bags, and drop a ten-dollar bill on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

Ben nods and takes the money off the wood.

“You got any info on the new guy?” he asks.

People here love gossip. Typical of small towns. Anything new becomes interesting and helps escape their own dull lives.

“No more than you,” I dodge, leaving the restaurant.

The Diner is just a few steps away, which makes life easier, though it’s a disaster for my diet. I can’t even remember the last time I cooked for myself.

I lean against the doorframe. Andrew sits at the kitchen table, head buried in his hands, resting on his arms. He looks as lost as I feel. I understand what he’s going through better than he could imagine.

“You hungry?” I interrupt his thoughts.

He jumps, suddenly straightening up. Fear clouds his gaze. I lift the bags I’m holding to show I mean no harm.

“I brought something to eat.”

His eyes brighten little by little. Finally, he seems to see me. Nervous fingers push hair off his forehead.

“Not really,” he admits.

I put the bags on the table.

“Eat. It’ll help you see the world differently,” I say, going to the fridge and pulling out two bottles of Coke.

I pull out my lighter to pop the caps before returning to him. He drags one of the bags closer and digs inside.

“Don’t worry,” I joke, noticing his wary look. “I’m not gonna poison you with fries. I’d find a more creative way.”

He rolls his eyes and puts one fry to his lips.

“That’d still be a good way to go,” he replies with a half-smile.

“Worse ways to die,” I agree, starting on my own portion.

“What’s in the other bag?”

His willingness to talk surprises me, in a strange way.

“Donuts.”

“I told you I don’t like sweets,” he reminds me.

How could I forget? Even if that sentence echoed with way too many undertones in my head. Just for a moment, I imagined what it would be like to feel his lips on me. Just a moment, nothing more.

“They’re not for you — that’s my dinner.”

I have no intention of going back to the Diner today, especially if the blonde keeps playing with her straw to catch my attention.

“Very balanced,” he mocks with amusement.

“Fries aren’t any healthier,” I reply, shrugging before chewing another.

“True, but they’re too good. Plus, they don’t contradict any religion and are vegan.”

“You’ve got some strange prejudices about fast food.”

He really is unique. A bit weird too.

“We often underestimate the little things in life,” he says to me.

I can only nod. Today, I haven’t thought much about anything else.

“The next few weeks will be quiet here,” I change the subject after a pause.

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“No, I just meant you might get bored,” I dodge.

I like his presence, even if it’s strange to admit. I’d never say it openly, but I’m aware there’s not much work right now.

“I’ll find something to do,” he mutters. “Inventory probably wouldn’t hurt.”

“Got nothing else? Hobbies? Friends to see?”

“Can’t you tell?” he growls back.

Alright, no point pushing. I hoped he’d open up, but his lips stay shut. The conversation is over, and honestly, my patience has run out.

His closeness eats at me. I need space, or the attraction he stirs in me might break my resistance. Letting this desire linger — and worse, inviting him to move in — is a dangerous game.

Exasperated, I stand and toss the paper bags in the trash before running away from this man who awakens such conflicting emotions in me.