Work consumes me. I take on all the appointments I can in order to push my real life into the background, so that I can go home late enough that there’s no time for me to mope before crashing out, so that every second of the day is filled with images and art and the narrowing, almost zen-like focus of needle on skin.

The customers are happy for it, especially those who thought they’d spend months waiting for an opening. I’m doing three, four, five tattoos a day, my phone is blowing up with the comments and likes on our Instagram page, and I’ve drawn almost an entire book’s worth of new designs.

But I still can’t sleep well.

So here I am, sitting at the drawing desk in the back of Mandala at close to midnight, sketching with a focus even Buddhist monks would be impressed with. I hear Kayla and Ginger step into the back.

“You guys still here?” I ask, without looking up. “Go home. I’ll close up.”

They don’t answer, and instead I hear Kayla close the curtain, Ginger pour a deep whiskey and plant it on the table beside me. Kayla comes up on my other side and puts a hand on my drawing arm. I glance up, frustrated that I’ve been interrupted.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“We just want to talk,” Ginger say.

I grab the whiskey and spin around in my chair to face them.

“You sound like the cops,” I smile, then gulp down a burning mouthful. They look at each other seriously, then back at me. “Tough crowd.”

“How are you feeling?” Kayla asks me like I’m laid out in a hospital.

“What is this, an intervention? I feel fucking fantastic,” I say. “I kicked my dad out, business is booming, and I’m drawing some of the best designs of my life. Yeah. Fucking fantastic.”

“You have been pulling a lot of overtime,” Ginger says, as if it’s a bad thing. “Working real hard...”

“Maybe a little too hard?” Kayla suggests cautiously.

I exhale deeply so they know this isn’t the time. I can tell where this is going, and I’m not in the mood to go there.

“Look: If you came by to tell me you’re worried about me, or to try and get me to talk about Ash—forget it. Everything’s fine.”

I gulp more from the whiskey, then spin back around to the drawing desk. Ginger grabs my shoulder and spins me back to face them, though.

“This isn’t healthy,” Kayla says. “You can’t leave it like this.”

“What’s not healthy?” I say. “I’ve never worked this good.”

“The fact that you’re working so hard shows there’s a problem,” Ginger says. “You ain’t hardly eaten or slept, I can tell, and outside of the tattooing you’ve just been walking around this place like a zombie. When you gonna relax? When you burn out?”

“If I burn out.”

“And you’re just gonna give up on Ash?” Kayla jumps in.

I sigh and check my glass to see if there’s anything left, but I’ve downed it all. Ginger pours a little more in there.

“She doesn’t want to talk,” I say, taking a sip. “What am I supposed to do? Bust down her door? Demand she hear me out? I’ve done enough damage already.”

“You’ve got to try, Teo,” Kayla says. “At least give her your side. Maybe she’s calmed down a little, now. Maybe she’s willing to listen.”

I take a few moments to think, to sip again and let the alcohol burn that emptiness inside.

“She’s better off without me.”

“Maybe she is,” Ginger says, and Kayla glares at him like that was the wrong thing to say. “What? I’m not gonna lie,” he tells her, then turns to me and slaps a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You fucked up, buddy. And you’re gonna have to make up for it. She probably thinks you’re a crazy, uncontrollable asshole right now. So you’ve got to show her how sorry you are, try to convince her you’re not the asshole you acted like, prove to her that you deserve her despite all that—because if you don’t, then that’s proof she thought right.”

I look up at them, feeling a wave of gratitude and compassion pass over me. Friends I’m lucky to have—a family that chose me.

“Maybe you’re right,” I admit.

“You bet your granny’s biscuits I am,” Ginger proclaims with a grin.

Kayla pats my arm and I break into a smile, put the whiskey glass on the desk behind me, and stand to wrap my arms around both their necks, walking them back through the curtain.

“Ok,” I say. “I’ll give it one more shot. But you guys are gonna have to help me figure out how.”