I wake up empty.

She's still burnt into my brain.

No, it's worse. My sheets smell like her. I can still taste her on my lips, feel her under me, hear her groaning my name.

I still want to wipe away every bit of pain in her eyes.

I still need her like I need oxygen.

My morning routine does nothing to wipe Iris from my brain. There's coffee in the carafe, my favorite French Roast.

The present is there, on the counter.

There's a note under it.

The ball's in your court. Call me if you want to talk. Or "not talk."

I don't know how to sign this,

Iris.

It's rambling, nervous, perfect.

I stare at the shiny silver bag for a long time. Eventually, I pick out the tissue paper.

It's a signed copy of Saga.

I hate that it's perfect.

I hate that I want to call her and beg her to come over.

Stay in my bed all day. Let's forget the world. Let's forget everything.

Just be here.

Just be mine.

* * *

There.

Almost.

I finish the last line. "You're done."

The girl in the chair sighs with relief.

I turn the gun off. Set it down. Wipe my brow. This is where I say something encouraging. Congratulate her on making it though her first tattoo. Congratulate her on how awesome it looks.

It looks fucking amazing.

But that does nothing to convince me to smile.

"Here." I turn her toward the mirror.

Her eyes go wide as she takes in the words on her ribs. They're lyrics to her favorite song. She's been humming it for the last twenty minutes.

I've never heard it before.

But they're solid lyrics.

The kind of shit that makes you think about love. And losing it. And how far you'll go to get it back.

They might as well scream you miss Iris.

"Oh my God." Her eyes go wide. She looks up at me with a hazy smile. "This is so cool, Walker. Thank you." She throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly.

It's normal. Even if she's only wearing gauze and tape over her tits.

I pat her back. Hug her the way I usually do. It feels weird. Wrong. I don't want intimacy. I don't want gratitude. I don't want anything but Iris.

And Iris eradicated from my thoughts.

"You did great." I clear my throat. "You'll be back to add the chorus in no time."

Her giggle is nervous. She pulls back. Grabs her t-shirt from the chair.

"We have a back room—"

"It's fine." She pulls her shirt over her head.

I take her to the counter. Give her my usual after care speech. Accept a generous tip. Ignore Leighton's glare.

The customer's smile gets wider. Her eyes fix on mine. "I know you're probably sick of this song, but my friends and I are doing this karaoke thing, and I'm gonna sing it, and probably flash the entire room." Her cheeks flush. "You could come. If you want."

Leighton glares.

"Send me the details on Instagram." I walk the customer to the door. Yeah, her name eludes me at the moment. Now that I'm out of the chair, every bit of sense in the world eludes me.

"You smell like pussy." Dean pushes himself onto the counter. Offers Leighton an ain't I cute smile.

She shakes her head no, you're not.

I stare back at Dean. "I don't." I showered last night. And again this morning. I scrubbed myself raw trying to erase the scent of Iris.

It didn't work.

I can still smell her shampoo.

I have no fucking idea how the smell of her shampoo found its way onto every item of clothing in my closet, but it did.

My entire apartment is mocking me.

The entire world is mocking me.

"No. But you look just fucked." Dean nudges Leighton. "Doesn't he?"

She pushes her lips to one side. "Kinda, yeah. A lot." Her lips curl into a frown. "Does that mean it's over?"

"No."

She arches a brow.

"It was her."

She claps her hands together. "Really? You're back together? That's great, Walker. I knew you'd come to your senses."

"No." I run my fingers through my hair. I don't know how to explain this. Even to myself.

"Was it breakup sex?" Her voice gets soft. "Don't do breakup sex. Trust me. It's so much worse after."

"You tell me now?" I don't sell it as a joke.

"She wants to be with you." Leighton slides off her stool. She moves around the counter. "She's sorry. You're crazy about her."

"And?"

"What's stopping you?"

"Why do you care?"

"You're my friend, you idiot."

"Thanks for the concern."

"You are being an idiot," Dean says.

"See. That means a lot coming from him." Leighton slides her hand into the pocket of her denim skirt. "Why do you want to be miserable?"

"Why do you care?"

"I told you—"

"Why do you really care?"

"I TOLD YOU!"

"That can't be it."

"It's not a conspiracy. I like you. I like Iris. I like you and Iris together. I like hanging out with her. You have good taste in girlfriends."

"Then call her."

"You're okay with that?" she asks.

No. I'm not okay with anything. I'm not okay with the sun shining or the world turning. But—"We're not together. She can do what she wants."

"I'm going to."

"Good."

"Really, Walker. This isn't a dare. I'm going to call and take her out."

"Are you asking permission?"

"Kinda."

"Are you going to fuck her?"

"No. I'm not into chicks. What if I was?"

I shrug, but I don't sell it.

"You know she's going to fuck someone else one day," she says.

"You have a point?" Irritation seeps into my voice.

Dean and Leighton exchange a look. Something about me. About how pathetic I am.

But I can't muster up any concern about that either.

They're right. I'm pathetic. I'm sulking instead of figuring this out. I'm giving into every ugly impulse in my head.

I need this to make sense.

How the hell do I do that?

"You know she's an addict," I say.

"Yeah, everyone at that party knows thanks to you. Which was a dick move, by the way. You know there are ways to have fun that don't involve drinking yourself stupid?"

"Enjoy it," I say.

"I will." She folds her arms. Stares back at me. "This isn't a bluff. I want to be her friend. And I want to take someone to eighties night."

"You know I'll always go with you, Leigh," Dean says.

"Someone who won't scare off every guy nearby," she says.

"You're breaking your dry spell?" He raises a brow. "You promised you'd put me at the top of the rotation."

She laughs. "I did not. And you don't even want to sleep with me."

"Babe, how could you say that?"

"You don't."

"You overestimate me."

"Not possible." She looks to me. "I am going to invite her."

"Good." But I don't sell that either.