Liv

PRESENT DAY

 

I push my fingers through my hair and dig the nails into my scalp, the pain it inflicts allows me to be momentarily distracted from the shit fest that has become my life.

“Fuck!” I grunt out, slamming my shoulder against the dirty brick wall and dropping my hands back down. I make a fist and punch out hitting the brickwork, immediately my skin splits and blood pools around the fresh cuts. I watch, unblinking, as the blood trickles across the word Pain which is tattooed on the lower half of the fingers on my right hand. The word sits just above my nails and mirrors the word Alone, which is in the same place on my left hand, although that also incorporates my thumb.

“Liv, what the fucking hell are you doing?” The shout comes from my friend Helena, who stands half in and half out of the back door to the tattoo studio where she works. The anger she emits makes me avert my eyes from her stare. Instead, I take in the rest of my friend. Her black hair is shaved up one side, the remaining hair slides in waves down her back. She has purple gloves on and is wearing ripped black jeans, a tight red tank with a black skull decorating it, and biker boots. Helena’s tattoos cover most of her body, but the ones I can see right now snake down both arms and up her neck—they match mine. We’re very similar, both about the same height, petite, with natural brown hair, although hers is now black and mine is platinum blonde. We have multiple tattoos, and we both dance at ShadowBox, a strip club in London.

Helena stomps over and I can’t ignore her blistering ire as she rams her palm into my shoulder. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing punching the damn wall? Here, give me your hand,” she demands, grabbing my wrist and turning it over, examining my knuckles. “What happened?” she asks quietly, her tone softening, the anger now replaced with concern. I’m not sure which is worse.

“Same old shit,” I reply, dodging the question.

“Looks like no tattoo for you today,” she hisses.

I rip my arm from her grasp. “You’re giving me a fucking tattoo today, Hel, I mean it,” I snap then huff out a sigh and rub my eyes.

“I don’t tattoo crazy people,” she answers crossing her arms.

“Yes, you do. Every damn day.”

“All right, touché, bitch.” Her frostiness ebbs and she tilts her head back to the door. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I follow her into the back of the studio, which thankfully is empty today. I always come in this way. The front means passing the coffee shop on the opposite side of the road. I made the mistake one night of bedding Jimmy, the barista who works there. It wasn’t planned, and I blame alcohol for my lapse in judgement. However, since that unfortunate night, Jimmy’s interest in me hasn’t waned. I wouldn’t mind, I mean, he’s easy on the eyes with his dirty blond hair which is shaved at the sides, pretty copper coloured eyes, and tattoos scattered across his six-foot frame—his body isn’t bad either. While most of the girls bat their eyelashes at him and pop in for coffee at least three times a day, I’m not most girls. He’s hot, but with all that he is, there is one thing he isn’t—Isaac.

I dismiss the fact Isaac spent over four years in prison and never once allowed contact. And, with alarming natural ease, I ignore the reality that although he's been out of prison for five months, he still hasn't spoken to me. Because, no matter the time that’s passed, I can't pull myself from the hold Isaac has over my heart. I never could.

He never asked for that position, and probably doesn’t even want it… but, without knowing, he has it. He has me.

Helena sits me on a stool in the kitchen and pulls out a first-aid box. My mind drifts away as she cleans my cuts and bandages my hand. I remember chatting with Tobias a month after Isaac was released from prison.

 

“He just needs time, Liv,” Tobias tells me, but his eyes don’t meet mine.

I huff, leaning forward in my chair. I let my head drop between my knees and bite back the swell of pain that threatens to break me apart. I always assumed Isaac didn’t want me to visit while he was inside. That he didn’t want me to see what it was like in there. Also, knowing him, and what happened between us before he beat up Charlie, I imagined he’d want to talk to me privately. Apparently not. Since he’s been out he’s avoided me. He’s missed every family get together. Excuses after excuses have littered my brain as Uncle Saul, Aunt Soph, and Tobias have dutifully filtered them from him to me. The only person who hasn’t offered a string of half-truths on his behalf is Lawson, and that’s only because he’s away at Uni.

“How much time am I supposed to give him, Toby? It’s been over four years of him in there and a month of him out, and he still won’t speak to me. God!” I shoot up from my sitting position and kick my chair over. “He must hate me,” I shout as the anger courses through my body, and I start involuntarily shaking.

“Hey,” Tobias says taking a step toward me and pulling my shoulders into his chest, holding me and my anger until I calm.

The minute my body stops trembling, I push away from him. “Thanks Toby, but I’m always going to be in this state of limbo until he tells me where his head is at. He knows why.” I swallow and look back down, the tears pool now but I won’t let anyone see them. “Only he knows why,” I whisper to myself and I’m certain it’s so quiet, Tobias didn’t catch it. I blink and gather my composure, grinding my teeth, before I look back at my cousin. “Tell him I want to see him.” Biting my lip, I murmur, “Again.”

He nods, but I can’t take anymore, so I walk away.

 

That was four months ago and he still hasn’t made contact. So, after a month of crying I decided, no more. I wasn’t going to turn into a weepy shadow of my former self. I’ve been trying to move on ever since.

“There, all done,” Helena says, and I’m brought back to the present.

“Thanks, Hel,” I tell her, sucking in my cheeks so I don’t get upset. I’ve managed not to cry, not to ask about him, and not to talk about Isaac at all since that last conversation with Tobias. The only problem is I haven’t moved on. I’ve tried, believe me. I didn’t save myself for Isaac when he was in prison. I would have if he’d spoken to me, told me he still wanted me. After almost six months of thinking he would come to his senses, I went a little wild. I started drinking and sleeping around. I couldn’t hold down my dancing scholarship, a job, or even friends. I lost them all. The only positive to come out of those years were my tattoos and my friendship with Helena. She was my tattooist for my first and still is with every new one, but somewhere along the line, she also became my best friend.

“Well, that’s all done. Glad I have a free slot after you. Otherwise, you’d be waiting for your tat,” she tells me arching an eyebrow. “So go on, tell me what the outburst was for.”

I shake my head no, but as she purses her lips I know she won’t let it go.

“I had two phone calls on the way here,” I explain, getting up from the stool and busying myself by grabbing a Red Bull from her fridge.

“And they were?” Helena prompts, her face pinched with worry.

“The first was a rejection for that group dance I went for,” I tell her, my shoulders slumping. Ever since getting booted out of the dance academy, Aunt Soph has been working with me. She knows what I want, but neither of us are confident I’m going to get it. The tats make me unpopular for a lot of roles. The sheer amount I have over my body means they can’t be covered. Also, the fact that I never graduated and didn’t get a recommendation is a big black mark against me. She tells me I’m amazing, better than she ever was, but that’s what she would say, she’s my family. Aunt Soph and I are really close, and I love her like I love my mum.

A year ago, I made the jump to ShadowBox. I was working in a card shop which truly was as boring as it sounds. Worst of all though, because of where I was working and the little money I was earning, I had to remain at my parents’ house. Constant battles waged between my folks and me. They’re amazing, and I love them, but they’ve always found it hard to cut the apron strings. My need for freedom meant they held on tighter, and were suffocating me. An old friend suggested stripping, and ShadowBox was mentioned. I was wary, but I needed a new job. I’ve never been body conscious, and I could dance, so to me, it made sense. After meeting Allegro—the owner of the club—and going over what would be expected of me—the pay, and hours—she offered me the job. I figured if I was going to start stripping, then having a female boss probably wasn’t a bad thing.

After a few months, I got into the swing of taking my clothes off while dancing. The money’s great, my boss is fair, and I get on with most of the other girls. It gave me the freedom to express myself while earning enough to rent my own bedsit in London. Then Helena started struggling for money when her flatmate up and left one day with no warning. Although Helena isn’t a dancer, she can move, and she’s cute. I asked whether she’d thought about stripping, and a few weeks later she was working there too. After that, I moved in with her. It made sense and helped us both out. We’ve been living together ever since.

“Okay, you knew the chances of that job were slim. The tats were a big no-no for them, you were aware of this going in. That wasn’t why you were trying to break your hand on my wall. Spill,” she commands, and I roll my eyes.

“Toby called,” I offer, with a croak.

She sits up a bit straighter, her eyes widen and I know it’s because she’s now worried.

“Isaac’s coming back home,” I explain.

Helena nods. She’s aware of the history between us, every dirty detail. “You knew he was only in Spain for a few months, working. Come on Liv, what gives?” she questions carefully, knowing it’s causing me pain. I never cry, I always bite back my tears. There is this one area, just one, which elicits a plethora of overwrought emotions I struggle to control.

“He’s not coming back alone,” I whisper as a single tear escapes my tight hold and rushes down my cheek.

“Oh shit.” She startles at my words and almost spits hers back at me. “Who? Tell me what the fuck happened.”

I shake my head, a snort of laughter passes my lips humourlessly. “Shelly. He met her out there. Apparently, she was working as a barmaid or something, and I guess he’s been…” I pause and make air quotes “… dating her ever since.”

“Shit Liv, it must be serious if he’s bringing her home, right?” she asks tentatively.

“I guess. I mean it’s not like I can compare it to anything. He had loads of girlfriends back in high school and college, but then he went to prison…” I rub the back of my neck.

“Hey, that wasn’t your fault,” she snaps.

“I know.”

Helena raises her eyebrow at me and I hold my hands out in a ‘don’t shoot’ gesture.

“Honestly, it’s taken a lot of time, but I know it wasn’t my fault.” There’s sadness in my words, a brokenness I let few people witness. “Since he’s been out, this is the first person he’s brought home, that means it’s serious… I mean, he’s probably had one-nighters.” I bite my lip as the emotion tries to surface again.

“I’m sure she’s hideous and bitchy and whiny,” Helena tells me without any real malice but as any good friend should.

I giggle at her comment. “Nice try, Hel, but have you seen Isaac?” I grin.

She mirrors me smiling, even though she’s only ever seen him in photos. “Dammit, you’re right. He’ll have his pick of women, and no way is he going to choose a whiny, bitchy moose.”

I laugh, but it’s scratchy sounding as it travels up my tight through and leaves my mouth. My brain flashes through a picture book of mental images—ones of Isaac with other girls.

Helena moves to me and wraps one arm around my neck pulling my head under her chin. She gives me a quick hug and ruffles my short hair before releasing me. This is progress for her. She doesn’t do physical emotion, not the sappy stuff anyway.

“Come on, less talk about dickbrain—”

“Dickbrain?” I cut her off with my question.

She nods. “Uh-huh, dickbrain. If he can’t see how amazing you are, and then there’s the fact he won’t even speak to you… dickbrain,” she tells me shrugging and crossing her arms.

I smile.

“So, tattoo time, what are you having?” She claps her hands together excitedly. You wouldn’t think she had tattooed me twenty-seven times before.

I look away from her. I don’t want to see her disappointment as I tell her what I want. “Here,” I say pointing to my ribs on the left side next to my heart. “I want Owning Worthless in script with a bird in a cage next to it,” I tell her softly.

“Are you fucking joking?” she explodes.

“Don’t, Hel, okay? It’s what I want. Just fucking do it, or I’ll find another tattooist who will,” I reply, my voice tight. I don’t like arguing with her, and I will find someone else to do it if I need to, but I hate the idea of anyone but Helena tattooing my skin.

She sighs and rubs her temples. “For fuck’s sake, why? Why would you want a tattoo permanently on your skin that says you’re owning being worthless? You’re not fucking worthless, you dipshit!” she argues.

“Ahhh!” I shout. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea coming to you. I should have gone to someone else.”

Helena gasps and her eyes widen as her hand rushes up to cover her mouth. “You would let someone else ink you?” she whispers.

I roll my eyes at her melodramatic ways. However, I know she means what she says, and that if I did go somewhere else, it would really hurt her.

“Please,” I whisper solemnly. “I need this.”

“Can you take a day? Come back tomorrow, and think about having something else. For me?” She grabs my hands in hers and stares at me. “I’m asking you this as my friend. I don’t want you to go somewhere else. I will tattoo this for you, but I’d really like you to take a day, think about it, see if there is something else you could be persuaded to do instead. Please?” she begs.

I sigh and let my head drop back. “God! Okay. Tomorrow I want you to tattoo whatever the hell I want, though,” I demand pulling my hands from hers and crossing my arms over my chest.

She nods. “Sure. I promise.”

 

 

I look at the time and rub my hands together. It’s just after nine p.m. and it’s cold. I’m waiting for Helena to get Holly as I stand outside Holly’s flat. I decided to stay here because Holly is always running late, and I know if I’m waiting downstairs, it will be an incentive for her to hurry, but damn, it’s freezing. I’m wearing the tightest jeans I own. They stop at my hip bones and along with a ripped crop top—which is exposing my stomach—I’m not dressed to keep out the cold. I try to pull my leather jacket around me, but it doesn’t make any difference to my nipples which are pointing like bullets. I kick at a stone with my six-inch heeled, black ankle boots and groan.

“Hey, sorry.” Holly puffs as both she and Helena rush out of the flats’ communal entrance. Helena has a tight red dress on with rips all down the side of it and her black DM boots. Holly is wearing a short maroon leather skirt, which matches her knee high boots, with a black and white striped top. Her hair is red today. Holly dyes her hair a different colour every week. The nose ring is new, though.

“Hair looks good, Hols,” I tell her as we start walking.

“Cheers Liv. Still got the platinum pixie thing going on with yours I see,” she says pointing to my short hair. “You should seriously consider extensions. I told you I’ll do them for nothing, just let the girls you work with know that you got yours from me,” she says with a smile and a wink.

Ever since I cut my long hair short, she’s been encouraging me to get extensions done. Holly works at a salon in town, but she freelances hoping to have her own business one day. Honestly, I’ve been seriously thinking about having her give me my long hair back, as I miss it.

“Okay Hols, let me call you tomorrow and we can sort out a time for you to come over to my place and do it,” I tell her as she beams at me.

We arrive at Jesters ten minutes later. It’s a club we frequent so the bouncers know us. They nod and smile allowing us immediate access inside. I hear people groan, but I ignore it as I slip through the doors and straight over to Maggie, the lady at the coat check.

“Evening princess,” the older woman says with a lazy grin on her heavily made-up face.

“Hey Maggie, just this tonight please,” I reply, shrugging off my leather jacket and handing it to her with a smile.

She hands a piece of paper to me, which I promptly tuck in my bra. “Have fun!” she calls as we walk away.

As soon as I hit the first club room and hear the music pumping, my body starts swaying.

“Go,” Helena says pointing to the dance floor. I glance at her. “Go on… Hols and I will grab a drink at the bar, maybe a hot guy too.”

Holly giggles at Helena’s words.

I bite my lip and wonder whether I should abandon my friends after less than thirty seconds in the club. Then the music changes to Sigma, ‘Nobody to Love,’ and I can’t resist. I move onto the dance floor and close my eyes feeling the beat but also hearing the words. My body moves without instruction—it’s like the rhythm comes directly from the tune playing and connects to me. At that moment I’m anyone and everyone, I’m life and love and freedom. The music, the dancing—it lets me be me, it reminds me who I am, and all the negative feelings dissipate. I only feel like this in the moment, but wish I could hold onto this free feeling I have when I’m dancing, for the rest of the time.

The song has barely finished when there’s a tap on my shoulder. I open my eyes and see the stares of people watching me. It doesn’t surprise me as it often happens, only because I’m a dancer, and these people see what I’ve been trained to do. If there was another dancer in here and I spotted them, I would also stop to watch. I look behind me and see the tap came from Helena.

“Hey, we’re going upstairs to find somewhere to sit. You coming?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I nod my head. “But, I’ll only come up with you to see where you’re sitting, then I’m going into the other room.”

“’Kay,” Helena replies, and I follow her off the floor.

One of the reasons we always come to this club is because there are numerous rooms and each one plays a different type of music. You want rock, you got it. Dance, they have it. Hip hop, yep, you’ll find it here. I love all music, and dancing to whatever moves me in the moment, which is why I like this place.

I follow them upstairs and they’re lucky to find a table. Once I know they’re settled I leave, heading back downstairs. Moving from room to room, I lose myself for a couple of hours. After three songs in a row that I don’t really like, I decide to go back to the girls. I grab a bottle of water from the bar on the way through.

As I walk toward the table, I can see they have company—a couple of guys sit with their backs to me. I hesitate, but I can see Helena is slightly turned away from the men, like she’s uncomfortable, so I push forward. Helena spots me as I reach the table, her eyes widen, and she shakes her head gingerly. My pulse picks up speed, and I worry about what could possibly be wrong. The moment I realise why she’s uncomfortable, my knees buckle, and I stumble backwards clutching my stomach like I’ve repeatedly been punched. My heart aches, and I wrap my hand around my throat gasping for air, trying to gain some composure. But it’s no use, my feet take me backwards, and I bump into someone—a man. He grasps my hips, and I hear him mutter something, but it doesn’t register. All I see is the face I’ve missed for years—the one who didn’t want to see me, the one I’ve tried to forget about, without success.

“Via,” I hear him say my name, it’s all I hear as I try to ignore the way his eyes eat me up, just like they did that night. Seeing him is all I’ve wanted, but now that he’s here, I’m overwhelmed and confused.

“No,” I whisper as shock takes over and dictates my actions. I’m helpless to stop myself as I turn and run out of the club. I leave my jacket. I leave my friends. I leave Isaac.