Present Day
It’s been four days. I’m not counting or anything. It’s stupid for me to even be harping on it. Obsessing over it. We’re hanging out. That’s all.
But it’s been four days since Kerry and I had sex. She left my bed, and I’ve heard nothing from her.
Granted, I still forgot to get her cell number.
Granted, I haven’t tried to go see her. Find her.
But whose ball is in whose court? Or whatever the expression is.
I shouldn’t be hung up on it. I need to chill out. She’s busy. I get that.
And we’re just hanging out.
And that would all be fine and dandy if I could think about any-fucking-thing else besides her.
I work on a tat; I think about her. I eat lunch; I think about her. I take a shower, and I most certainly think about her.
I’m pathetic. A loser of epic proportions. I told her I couldn’t date. Couldn’t be serious. And I meant it. And she’s doing her thing, probably working her ass off for that bitch of a boss of hers. Giving me space, whether or not intentionally. And I should be doing the same. Living my life. Waiting for the next casual hang out to happen.
But I’m doing the exact opposite. I’m pining. Thinking of her every waking, and sometimes sleeping, second. As much as I try, I can’t help it. I want to talk to her. Touch her. Kiss her.
Have her naked in my bed again.
I’m sitting at the counter of the shop, watching the walk-ins come in and out as Darma and Virgil work in the back. My two artists tell me what they’re doing, and I ring up the customers, who then pay. In between those interactions, I’m working to perfect the tattoo design I started for Kerry. I flick the toothpick around in my mouth as I draw. I’ve never been one to start a drawing and toss it because it wasn’t working out the way I wanted. But I’ve done that three times now. Draw, assess, trash.
I am so goddamn frustrated.
This one that I’m working on now, though, I’m feeling better about. The toothpick flips. And flips. And flips. I draw and shade. Draw and shade. I pull my head back and look at what I’ve done so far.
It’s shit. I crumple it and toss it into the trash.
So much for that.
I rake my hands through my hair. I can’t find it—that perfect design. The feeling is so foreign to me, and I don’t know how to handle it. I close my eyes and turn my face to the sky to find something. Purpose. Meaning. Reasoning.
The bell on the door chimes.
I open my eyes and look toward the entrance. It’s Padraig. He comes behind the counter and stands next to me, patting me on the back. “Hey, brother. What’s going on today?” He’s chipper. More chipper than Padraig has ever been. I’m sure that mood has something to do with Stella. But I don’t care enough to ask.
“It’s fine. All walk-ins. Fairly busy. I don’t have anything scheduled today. Just manning the counter for a bit.”
“Aye.” He smiles at me. A big, shit-eating grin. God, that is not a look on him I’m sure I can get used to.
Curiosity wins out. “What the hell is up with you, man? You are looking awfully chipper. Wait. I’m not sure chipper is the right word.”
As I ponder another word to use, he chimes in. “I made things right in the world. It’s a fantastic feeling. You must try it.”
“Whatever. I’ll take your word for it. Good for you, though.” I tap my pencil on the counter.
“Kerry got your knickers in a bunch?” he says out of nowhere.
I look at him with a scowl. The mention of her makes my insides tighten with unease. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You two?” he says. “You’re on? You’re off? What are ya, exactly?”
“Nothing. We are nothing.”
Right? We’re nothing, right?
“Okay, makes sense, I guess, since she’s spending her nights getting drunk with me girl and not snuggled up with you.”
“What? You aren’t making any sense.”
He looks at me for a minute. I feel like he’s gauging me for some type of reaction.
“Okay. Just wanted to make sure.”
“Whatever, man,” I say.
He shakes his head and dodges back into his room.
She went out and got drunk with Stella? She didn’t come see me? She hasn’t come to see me.
Fuck, if I thought I was spun up before, I was absolutely wrong. Now, I’m spun up. Wound up fucking tight as shit. Goddammit.
I look at the customers in the waiting area. They’re all paid up. I walk back to the booths. “Darma, Virgil, I’m going upstairs for a bit. All the customers are paid and good to go. There are four out here waiting. Let me know if you need me.”
Darma stops her gun. “Excuse me just a sec,” she says to the guy sitting in her chair. She gets up, walks toward me, and peeks around at the customers sitting in the waiting area, to take stock of who is there, in case someone new walks in. “All right. Good to go. We’ll let you know if we need anything.” She returns to her client, and I head upstairs.
I grab a beer from my fridge and pop it open. I walk over to the window and look out at the water as I take a long swig. I remember looking at this view with Kerry the night she was here, before we had sex. I had thought that sharing that view with her was one of the most perfect moments of my life. I woke up the next day thinking I might want more of those moments with her.
But then she left and didn’t come back. I attributed it to her work, but apparently, going out drinking with Stella is also a priority over coming back to my bed.
It’s fine. I’m fine. This is all in my head, I know. I gave her no expectation of what I wanted from her.
Except just to hang out.
And now I miss the fuck out of her. And I’m hurt that she hasn’t come back. I shouldn’t be, but I am.
I’m an obsessive idiot.
I take another swig of my beer as I think about how I’m going to resolve this issue I have with myself.
And I think I just may have the right plan.