Rattled, стр. 8
I chuckle. “I got that when you wanted everyone to turn their backs.” Hell, I’ve had girls wanting to strip naked when it wasn’t necessary. This is the first girl who has tried to remain as covered as she could possibly be. I like it, and she’s given me more skin to work with if she’s as modest as she claims.
“Can I see what you are going to do?”
I meet her eyes. “No.”
Kelsey practically comes off the table, holding the towel against her breasts. “Why not?”
I tilt my head. “Will you trust me?”
She narrows her eyes.
“Let me surprise you. Please?”
“I want the feet, remember.”
I bite back a grin. “I know you do. But that’s not all that you need.”
“What do you mean?”
I gently push her back. “Please, just trust me.”
Kelsey is practically glaring at me.
“I’m sorry for being an ass. I’m so fucking sorry for the way I treated you in school. Please, let me make it up to you and give you the tat you deserve. The one you need to have.”
She’s got to let me do this. I know exactly what I want to do, but I’m afraid if I tell her what it is, she’ll reject it. She just wants feet, but she needs more.
“Okay,” she finally says. “But don’t fuck it up.”
I laugh. “I promise, I won’t.”
“I’ll cut off your balls if you do.”
This makes me smile. I have no doubt that’s exactly what she’d do. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Brandon’s?”
“Green.”
“Any colors you hate?”
“Yellow!”
“Okay, easy enough, let’s get started.” I start on the ribcage, just below the right boob, and for the moment she’s completely covered.
“I thought you said the boob.”
“I’m not there yet.”
She sighs. As I start, she takes deep breaths and slowly blows them out. There isn’t much meat, if any, between the skin and the ribs, so I know this isn’t exactly comfortable for her, but Kelsey hasn’t complained and she’s barely twitched, thank God.
“So, how did you end up at my high school?”
The term my isn’t what stops me. We all call Baxter my school. It’s how I answer the question, or if I can answer, that makes me pause.
“I told you my story, you have to tell me yours.”
“Are you still in school, or are you done?”
Kelsey blows out a sigh. “I’m in my senior year. I’m getting a degree in music and education. I teach piano and voice on the side to earn cash.” She lifts her head up.
“Lie back down.”
“You know all you need to know about me. Your turn.”
Shit. She’s right. After everything she’s told me, how can I not tell her the ugliness in my life?
“I graduated last May with a double major in Fine Arts and English. I like doing tats and I’m damn good at it.”
“So you’ve told me,” she says with a dry tone.
“I still want to publish graphic novels and comics, but that business is hard to break into. Maybe someday, but right now, I really like creating art on bodies.” It isn’t really a lie. I do like this work, but I’d be happier working for Dark Horse, Marvel, or DC Comics.
“You haven’t answered the question.”
Well, that’s a little harder to answer. “I ended up there, like you. Lots of foster care, and a therapist noticed me drawing one day and the next thing I know, I’m a student at Bax…my high school.”
“That’s a bit glossed over.” Kelsey snorts. “What about your mom and dad?”
“Don’t have any.”
“Ever? What, the system found you in a cabbage patch?”
“Nope. Fire station.”
She’s silent and I continue to work, concentrating on the fine lines of the small feet. I’ve put them exactly where Kelsey said they pushed against her after Brandy was born.
“Is that why you hate me?” she asks quietly.
“I don’t hate you, Kelsey.” It’s easy to talk to her while I’m concentrating on the tat. I don’t want to have to look her in the eye. To see the pain I caused, or feel the shame.
“You sure acted like it. All high-and-mighty about me giving my child up.”
“That’s because my mom got rid of me to make a better life for herself.”
Silence follows but I know better than to hope that this is the end of the conversation.
“She left you at a fire station?”
“Kind of.”
“What do you mean?”
I blow out a sigh and stop for a minute. She’s not going to shut up until I tell her, and I have a tat to do. I can do both; I just wish the camera wasn’t hovering and watching. And listening.
“I don’t know who my dad is, because my mom had lots of boyfriends. One after the other. She was always looking for the next best one. The guy who would help her make something out of herself. She wanted to be an actress. That’s why she was in New York. One day she was going to make it big. At least, that’s what she always told me.”
“Did she make it on the stage eventually?”
“Not in New York,” I grind out. “I was in the way. Each time a new sugar daddy came along I had to hide in my room, or in the closet, or under the bed, until she had them hooked. Then I got an introduction. Most guys hated that she had a kid.”
“I’m sorry.” There’s sympathy in her voice and I try not to let it get to me. I can’t afford to get emotional right now. Not while I’m working.
I reach deep inside and pull up the coldness I’ve learned to surround myself with when I think of my mom. It’s been my security blanket for years and easier to carry than remembering the pain of abandonment.
“She had this guy who said she could make it big, but not with a kid. The last day we were together, even though I didn’t know it was the last day, she kept telling