Page 19 of Word to the Wise

So I followed my passions instead.

Dad assumed I’d grow out of it. That I’d have my fun at the local tattoo shops and come running back home when he put a limit on my trust fund. He didn’t understand that his money didn’t equal freedom, or that I enjoyed what I was doing.

He never accepted me setting my family obligations aside to pursue my dreams. It was the first crack in a rift that split wide open when my sister got caught up in it with me.

Sienna was three years younger than me and looking for anything more exciting than the private schools our parents sent us both to growing up. The second she got a taste of freedom, she wanted more of it. But she wasn’t cut out for the crowd I started associating with, and the second I introduced her to my friend Gabe, I should have seen the writing on the wall.

I fucked up, and I didn’t get her away from him in time.

I’ll always live with that regret, and I deserve to. Being young and dumb is no excuse for not protecting her when I should have.

“How about thorns?” I sketch a few barbs cutting into the bleeding heart.

A vine winds around it, and I draw notches where the thorns will slice the meaty surface of the heart. It reminds me of a familiar ache in my chest. The bite from every beat, taunting me with the reasons I don’t deserve to be here.

“I like it.” Riggs stands, looking over my shoulder as I sketch another line. “What about adding a lock and key to it as well. Maybe have them made of bone, so it’s got this wholelocked in the ribcagekind of vibe?”

“Like this?” I draw around the heart, slowly adding to the tattoo sketch to make the vision come together.

“Yeah, that’s fucking beautiful.”

Art comes easy to me.

I’m not great with words, but I’ve always been able to convey emotion in pictures. All I need is a vibe, and I can tell an entire story on someone’s arm—or back or chest. Give me any canvas, and I’ll make something out of it.

Visuals are easy.

But ask me to vocalize what I’m thinking, and the demons in my head step in. The darkness I’ll never escape.

“The thorns can end here.” I skim my pencil down to the bottom edge of the heart.

Setting it down, I turn in my stool so Riggs can get a better look at the sketch.

“I don’t know how you do it, man, but it’s like you’re inside my head.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Riggs tips his head back and laughs at my comment.

He’s one of my regulars, so we’ve spent a decent amount of time together these past few months. I finished his backpiece, and now we’re slowly making our way down his chest. He works at the pawn shop a few streets over, and I’ve heard all his stories. Which is why there’s no way I’d ever want to take a walk around inside his head.

“Give me a couple of days to finalize the design, and then we’ll get started.”

“You got it.”

I stand up, setting the sketch aside.

He reaches out a hand and gives me a half hug with a pat on the back. “See you next week.”

He leaves my room at the shop and heads out.

Twisted Roses is different from most tattoo parlors I’ve worked in. The Twisted Kings used to own the shop, so each station is its own room. The club used itfor more than just tattoos back then, and discretion was more important than collaboration.

It’s isolating, which is nice on days like this when I need some time to think. But I kind of miss the vibe of being able to bullshit with people all day.

Setting the sketch down, I’m left to my own thoughts. As if they weren’t bad enough already, they’re worse with Reed upstairs.

I want to know what she’s doing, what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. I want to be there in case she needs anything.