CHAPTER 37
LOLA
The first time I had heard the buzz from a tattoo gun, I flinched. It reminded me of dentist visits as a child, and I sure as hell didn’t enjoy those. After more hours than I could count under the gun, the buzz was now something that made me feel calm and relaxed. The burn of the needle always ached to begin with, but after a short length of time, my skin became numb, and I managed to zone out as my tattooist, Sadie, got lost in her art.
It had been six months since Ben had been found dead in his home from a drug overdose. While the media had spent weeks painting me and Rachel as street peddling whores trying to blackmail a much loved senator’s son, I tried my best to ignore the sting those accusations left. There were so many stories, so many reasons I cried ‘rape,’ so many mental issues that made me the horrible woman the media wanted me to be. But the words that cut the most were, ‘she asked for it.’ According to a source, whose name was never released, I paraded around my adopted brother like a bitch in heat; I practically begged for the attention Ben tried so valiantly to deny me. That’s what made me finally snap, and when Rebecca found me sobbing hysterically on the kitchen floor one evening, Dillon disconnected the antenna to the TV and my Wi-Fi, so all I could watch was movies. Without Internet access and locked away in the apartment, I became oblivious to the publicity circus the media created from my pain. Then Ben Crane was found dead in his home from an overdose on heroin. Pictures of me were uncovered from his bedroom, pictures Dillon had made sure were taken after the rape, and a note with two innocuous words: I’m Sorry. It was the note that made me question the overdose. That and the fact Drew and Braiden had been MIA for over a month and returned home within twenty-four hours of the media’s breaking story on Ben’s death. Drew told me in the hospital that he was going hunting, but I never asked about it. In my heart, I knew the truth: Drew needed me safe, and there was no way Ben would ever say he was sorry. In his eyes, he had done no wrong; he had simply taken something he claimed as ‘his’.
Rachel and her family moved from their witness protection housing back into their home, and she was working through her recovery, much like me. We emailed often and exchanged text messages from time to time. When the days got too hard and the nightmares were too real, we leaned on each other, and it was enough to know we weren’t alone.
Then there was Drew, fiercely protective, brooding Drew. My Drew. As soon as he returned home, he packed my bags and moved me into his home which was a tiny two-bedroom cabin on the outskirts of town. It was quant, tidy, homey, and I loved it. I loved the sun that spilled through the windows and lit the rooms up with natural light. I loved the scent of pine as I sat in the swing on the back porch and sipped my coffee. I loved coming home to Max who would come bolting down the hallway and skid into the living space, his tiny paws scrabbling for purchase against the hardwood floors before launching himself at Drew and me. But most of all, I loved that living in such a small space seemed to bring Drew and I closer together emotionally. He touched me often, small, gentle touches, big strong hugs, and soft kisses. We talked about everything and anything, and Drew even agreed to try reconnecting with his family.
There were so many moments that made me fall a little more in love with Drew King every day. Like when he snuck up behind me in the tiny kitchen and wrapped his big arms around my waist and held me close. Or when we spooned on the oversized couch in front of the TV and watched silly movies. Then there were the times he would sense my rising anxiety and silently take my hand in his before tugging me into the surrounding forest for long, quiet walks. What really made me swoon – and yes, I did indeed swoon for this man - was when he would hold me tight after a nightmare and talk to me for hours. We’d talk about our childhood, music, books, and vacations he planned to take me on. Sometimes I worried that one day there would be nothing left to talk about. The one time I voiced my concern, Drew’s grin turned wicked and the way he eyed me made me blush like a damn virgin. ‘I’m sure we can find other ways to occupy our time’, was all he said. My man was a horn dog, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.
We made love often on his king size bed, which took up almost the entire bedroom. He worshipped my body and showed me things that made my toes curl. My fear of intimacy was well and truly vanquished. Each morning I would wake with the sun peeling through the windows, warming my skin, and I’d thank God that I had survived.
I still had weekly sessions with David, and we were working methodically on my PTSD and the ever present, though somewhat controlled, OCD. Some days I felt like a walking, talking acronym, but I was determined to destroy those disorders, even if I had to do it slowly, one letter at a time.
“All done, chick-a-dee!” Sadie’s voice broke through my meandering thoughts, and the buzz of the tattoo gun became silent.
“Finished?”
“Yeah, babe, we’re done.” She said, wiping down my chest.
I breathed out a long sigh and stood from the chair I had been leaning back in for the last few hours. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the private room, I studied my reflection. Wearing a bikini top and shorts, I looked nothing like the girl who used to swim in oversized clothing just months ago. Across my chest were three dandelions, with their spores being whipped into a wild frenzy by an invisible wind. The delicate spores danced across my chest and over my shoulder. Following the trail were the words: learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The tattoo was in black and white, with the words in a softer blue. They were faint, but visible, like my scars. The word ‘mine’ was cleverly hidden behind the dandelions and the spores covered smaller scars that littered my skin.
“Wow,” I breathed.
The scars on my chest weren’t gone, but they had vanished in the beautiful art work Sadie had inked into my skin.
Sadie sighed from beside me. “Your skin is every tattoo artists dream, babe. I’m almost sorry I had to finish working on you.”
I smiled and Sadie must have seen something in my eyes. She began to bounce on the balls of her feet and clap her hands together. Sadie somehow managed to dig under my skin, literally and metaphorically, and we had become great friends in a short amount of time. For a socially awkward introvert, it was nothing short of a miracle that someone had so easily penetrated my walls.
“You want more?” Sadie asked, excitement lighting up her face.
“Maybe,” I laughed. The one thing I had discovered about tattoos: they were addictive. “Not right away, though. Drew’s next. He has something planned for his chest, too.”
Drew’s skin was surprisingly tattoo free, and the thought of some ink on that virgin skin made my heart skip a beat.
“Hot damn! I get to ink your sexy man with his shirt off!” Sadie rubbed her hands together with delight, and I elbowed her playfully.
“Maybe one of the guys can tattoo him.”
“Oh, hell no, I belong to you and Drew. Going to another artist would be cheating!”
I laughed loudly as a knock on the door interrupted our moment. “Mouse?” came Drew’s voice from the other side.
“Come in,” sung Sadie as she began to pack away her gun and supplies.
The door pushed open, and Drew stepped into the room. He looked like a giant in the small space, and as his eyes met mine, the tiny room around us vanished altogether. Burning lust filled that gaze as his eyes traveled down my body, pausing briefly on my breasts as he studied the new ink that led over my shoulder. When he looked back into my eyes, love and tenderness filled those brown depths.
“Damn,” he whispered as he stepped closer, his warm chest pressing against my back. “I’m the luckiest man alive.” Reaching over my shoulder, he used a finger under my chin to turn my head, then he leaned in and kissed me. It started out tender, gentle, small sips from each other. But it quickly turned to something else entirely as Drew’s tongue met mine, and those small sips turned into long, languid drinks.
“Guys, I have health and safety regulations to meet. While I’m all for the nookie, you’re going to have to take it home.”
A small burst of laughter left my lips and Drew swallowed it with one more kiss before moving away to give me some space.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
I nodded and let Sadie add some cream to the new ink before wrapping it up. Drew helped me into my t-shirt, and I turned to give Saide a quick hug.
“You know the drill,” she whispered. “And call me if you need to talk. You know I’m a vampire, up all night.”
“Friday drinks?” I asked Sadie as Drew pulled me towards the door.
“I’ll be there!” Sadie said with a smile.
She’d started joining Friday night drinks with the girls a couple of months ago, and it was as if she’d been there all along. She fit right in with Ella and Rebecca, her sassy attitude complimenting theirs.
“We need to finish packing,” said Drew as he opened the passenger door to his SUV. I climbed in, but before he could shut it, I turned, hanging my legs on either side of his hips and wrapping my arms around his neck. A small smile tugged at one corner of Drew’s mouth, and he wrapped his hands around my back, pulling me further into his body. Tomorrow we flew out to Thailand, so I could finally pay my respects to Norm and Pen-Chan’s family. The immense guilt I felt over their deaths was a battle I fought with often. Intellectually, I knew I wasn’t the one who killed them, yet it was my being there had inevitably gotten them murdered. Visiting their grave sites and family wouldn’t instantly relieve me of that guilt, but I hoped it would start the healing.
“I was thinking . . .”
“It’s a dangerous thing when my mouse starts thinking,” Drew murmured, kissing my jaw.
“We should stop by the swimwear store over by Bouquets and pick out a swimsuit for each other for when we reach Ko Phi Phi.”
Drew pulled back and his brow dipped low in thought. “What kind of swimwear?”
I shrugged. “Whatever you want to see me in, and whatever I want to see you in.”
He gave me a slow, methodical nod. “I don’t do Speedos, Mouse.”
I laughed, the thought of Drew in tight lycra bringing me to hysterics. Speedos hadn’t been on my mind, but perhaps some tight-fitting shorts, and nothing else, all those muscles on display for me and me only.
“I love that,” Drew whispered, kissing me.
When he finally pulled away, I asked, “What?”
“That laugh. I want to swallow your laughter and keep it inside me.”
Sighing, I again thanked my lucky stars for such a gift as Drew King. One callused finger traced the line of my dandelion that peeked out the neckline of my shirt.
“Thought I’d lost you for a moment there, Mouse. That night you fell into my arms bleeding. Don't think I’ll ever get that image out of my head.” I pressed my thumb to his lips, his words hurting my heart. He kissed my thumb and pulled it away. “You’re in here now,” he pressed my hand over his heart. “that way I can’t ever lose you.”
I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. When we broke apart, I smiled.
“Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.”
One of Drew’s brows arched. “The calendar?”
“It was Monday’s quote,” I whispered.
“What was today’s?”
Drew loved my quote-a-day calendar, and I was surprised he hadn’t read it when he woke at the butt crack of dawn. “Life is not a fairy tale. If you lose your shoe at midnight, you’re probably drunk.”
There was no fighting the smile; instead, Drew’s lips tipped upwards and laughter fell from them free and easy. How much he had changed, from a man who fought a smile and whose conversation skills were limited to monosyllable words to this, this contented, laughing man. It made me wonder what changes he saw in me, so I asked him.
His laughter died down but the smile remained in place. “There’s only one change I see, Mouse. The strength you once hid in here…” He tapped the place above my heart, gently. “Now I see it here.” His calloused fingers traced an invisible line over my cheek. “Someone hurt you, but you didn’t let that experience define you.” His gaze wandered my face, as if searching for something before settling back on my eyes. “Someone tried to break you, the thing is, you can’t be broken, cause you’re fucking titanium.”
Titanium. I liked that. I liked it a lot, and the truly beautiful thing was, I not only believed Drew, I could see it and feel it every time I looked in the mirror. The woman I thought was lost was still there, stronger than ever, titanium.
The End
“Sexual assault is something you experience. It does not define you.”