Beautifully Scarred Page 9

  Once I get to my office, I close the door behind me. I reach for the receiver and pull out my chair. “Sorry about that. I wanted to speak to you in a more private setting.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “Can I get your name?” I ask.

  “Melanie.”

  “Hi, Melanie. Do you feel more comfortable speaking with me over the phone, or would you prefer to come into the shop to discuss this?”

  “I’d rather talk on the phone to hear my options before I come in. That’s if you don’t mind.”

  “No, I don’t mind at all. Can I ask a few questions?” I reach for a pen and a clean piece of paper.

  “Sure.”

  My voice softens. “Where is your scar?” I ask uneasily, jotting down her name at the top of the page.

  “I have a few.” She clears her throat. “They’re on my right arm.”

  Immediately, I know where she is going with this. Not wanting to be intrusive, I don’t ask how she got her scars. I can surmise where they came from.

  “Okay. Do you have an idea of what type of tattoo you would like? Anything specific?”

  “Something to show how far I’ve come.”

  “I can do that. Would you like me to design something for you, or do you want to bring in a design for me to use?”

  “You can design it. I saw Stephanie’s tattoo, and it was beautiful. I trust you to come up with something I’d love.

  “Is there anything you absolutely don’t like?” I ask.

  “I’m not a flower person,” she says adamantly.

  “I can do it in two weeks, on a Sunday. The shop is usually closed, but I’ll open it for you.”

  “The second of May works for me,” she says with a little excitement in her tone. “I have another question.”

  “Okay.”

  “Would you mind if I brought a friend with me? She is looking for a tattoo as well. To um…” Melanie pauses for a few seconds before continuing. “To help her move forward.”

  “Sure, you can bring her. Do you have any idea what she is looking for? She can either bring a design with her or call me directly, and we can discuss it privately.” Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I open my calendar. “Can I have your number? In case something comes up, or I have any questions to run by you for the piece.”

  Melanie rattles her number off, and I type it into my phone. She also gives me her friend’s name and number. I don’t want to put it into the system here for the other artists to see. It will raise questions on why I have an appointment on a Sunday when the shop is usually closed.

  After speaking with my mom the other day, I want to do this on my own without the others. They won’t understand the importance behind the tattoos, or the healing process it will begin for the clients.

  “Melanie, thank you for reaching out to me. I look forward to meeting you and Abby on the second of May.”

  Thank you,” Melanie says before disconnecting the call.

  Letting out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I lay my head on the desk. A moment later, a light knock sounds before my office door opens.

  Not lifting my head up, I hear a familiar voice. “You okay, Juliette?”

  “I’m good,” I say without looking at him, my head still on my desk.

  “You want to talk about it?” Pops’ voice is laced with concern.

  I pick my head up, leaning against the headrest of my chair. “Have you ever wanted to do something to help others?”

  His expression stills and grows serious. “Every day.”

  We both sit quietly for a few minutes, neither speaking. Pops doesn’t push. He waits for me to elaborate. To talk at my own pace. Something he has always allowed me to do.

  “When I lost Brennan, I didn’t know how to go on. It took me months to let you and Ma in. I figured if I pushed the two of you away or misbehaved, you would give me back to Peggy and Don. I used to pull my hair out during times of stress and anger. When that stopped calming me, I escalated, and I began cutting at the ripe old age of twelve. The physical pain took away the emotional pain.”

  He inclined his shaved head. “Jules…”

  My eyes reach his, and they are filled with sadness. “I’m not cutting, I promise. I want to help others who have, or others who have some type of scar they want covered.”

  He nods his head.

  I pick at my fingernail polish. “Individuals with a traumatic history, many of them resort to self-harm. The physical pain of cutting diffuses the negative emotion. It somehow creates a sense of calm. Many self-harm to control their own pain, to feel something other than numbness. At a point in my life, I welcomed the numbness.”

  A small laugh escapes me. “Who am I kidding, I still welcome it.”

  A shudder of shame washes over me. I did nothing wrong while living with Peggy and Don. They hated me. They tormented me. They caused scars I will live with for the rest of my life. Some that can be seen by others and others deep within me.

  My finger absently traces the tattoo on my left bicep. The tattoo that means the most to me. ‘When it rains, look for rainbows.’

  “Jules?” Pops calls.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to zone out.”

  “You don’t have to be numb or alone. Look around, you are surrounded by people who love and respect you. Why do you want to be alone, Juliette? Why do you continue to push people away?”

  “I don’t know,” I concede, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s easier than allowing people in. It lessens the chance of getting hurt.”

  He stands and walks over, pulling me up from the chair, then wraps his arms around me. “Being hurt can be a way to find strength.”

  Pops places a kiss on my temple. “You can’t be afraid to live, Jules.”

  With my head on his chest, I swallow hard. “I don’t like being this way. Do you think I like who I am?” My voice breaks, showing my vulnerability.

  Pops cups my chin, searching my upturned face. “You can be anything you want to be. But first you have to overcome the fear of being hurt. It’s no way to live. People aren’t always going to hurt you. You have to learn to trust again.”

  I look up at him. “It’s easier said than done. You will never understand the hell I feel inside my head and my heart.”

  “You’re right, I probably won’t. But if you talk to me, I may be able to help.”

  Stepping back, I walk around to the front of my desk. “Enough about me. We can try and fix me later.” I shrug.

  “I want to help others. So many people go to great lengths to hide their behavior, not to mention their scars. Whether they were caused by themselves or others. I’m going to offer the service for free. I’ll pay for the supplies out of my pocket.”

  Pops sits in my chair. “Sweetheart, you will do no such thing. You use what you need. I’ll stand behind you one hundred percent with this.”

  “No one needs to know I’m doing this. I’ll do it on the first Sunday of every month. I don’t want the guys here to know about it. I don’t need them to look at me with pity in their eyes or treat me differently. I’m their boss. This stays between Ma and us.”

  He nods. “Of course.”

  I, more than anyone, sympathize with these women and understand why they want to cover their scars. I don’t want to compare my pain with theirs because I’m too afraid our scars will match. Sometimes, they’re all I see.

  The world isn’t black and white. In spite of everything I’ve been through, my scars mean I’ve survived.

  I’m enjoying a Caramel Macchiato from my favorite barista when a text comes through.

  Unknown: You owe me dinner.

  My eyebrows shoot up when I see the text on my phone from the unknown number. However, I know exactly who sent it.

  I don’t give my cell phone number out to men I sleep with. When Lee said he wanted to take me to dinner, I figured I would avoid Murphy’s. That’s the only way he would run into me.

  Avoidance. It’s so
mething I’m very familiar with.

  An amused smile crosses my face. I’m going to have a little fun with him.

  Me: Who is this?

  Unknown: The guy who gave you multiple orgasms the other day.

  Me: Sorry, I need more details. It’s hard to distinguish between who gave me what. Care to elaborate???

  Rachel looks over at me with a raised brow. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Mind your business,” I murmur playfully.

  Unknown: Who gave you what? I don’t like the sound of that. Another man better not have given you anything since I last saw you.

  Me: Awe, are you jealous? Are you going to spank me?

  Unknown: Sassy mouth, tight ass. I like it. I’ll have you screaming my name again. Especially when I eat your pussy like it’s dessert.

  I squirm in the chair at the front desk. I’m sure my cheeks are a lovely shade of scarlet.

  Me: How did you get my number?

  Unknown: You checked your phone while you were brushing your teeth. With my stealth skills, I snagged it before the screen locked. I texted myself. Sneaky on my part, wouldn’t you say?

  Me: Sneaky isn’t the word I was thinking of. More like creeper.

  Unknown: I prefer determined.

  Me: If you say so…

  Unknown: Meet me at my place tonight at 9:00. I owe you dinner.

  Me: At your place?

  Unknown: Yes. That way, once I feed you, I can feast on you. Dessert will be served naked in my bed.

  Me: Such a charmer. Who could resist such an invitation?

  Unknown: Cya then. Don’t wear any panties.

  Me: You sound quite sure of yourself. Who said I was coming?

  Unknown: Oh, I know you’ll be coming. On my face and around my cock.

  Something shifts in the air, and suddenly my body’s an inferno. A low and pleasant hum warms my blood.

  Me: Promises, promises…

  Unknown: I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep. See ya tonight, sweetheart.

  My finger taps my phone icon and then contacts. I add Lee’s number to my phone.

  Even with the air on, it’s stifling in here. I need to get some fresh air. I feel like the walls are closing in on me.

  “Are you okay?” Rachel asks.

  Standing from the stool, I walk toward the door. “I’m good, thanks. I need to step out for a few minutes. I’ll grab lunch while I’m out. Do you want me to grab you anything?”

  She eyes me eerily. “Sure, surprise me. You know what I like.”

  I offer a polite nod before pushing through the door and out onto the busy street.

  Between the conversation with Pops and the texting with Lee, I need fresh air. A door opened inside of me. Emotions I’ve always kept locked down rush to the forefront. They flood me. What is this man doing to me?

  My feet guide me down the street to the deli I frequent. After ordering two turkey and pepper jack cheese on toasted rye bread with extra chipotle mayonnaise, I wait patiently for my number to be called.

  Not paying attention to my surroundings, I re-read the thread of text messages between Lee and I.

  He’s funny, I’ll give him that. He’s bold and isn’t afraid to say what he wants. The way he openly talks dirty makes me wet with desire.

  Now the million-dollar question is, do I meet him for dinner?

  Chapter Eleven

  Lee

  “I’m out,” I say as I toss the disinfectant wipe in the trash can at my station. “I’ll be in early tomorrow for opening day. I’m going to hand out flyers on my way home tonight.”

  “Sounds good,” Charles replies from the front desk where he’s been messing around with the computer for the past few hours.

  I walk across the street to Liberty Bell Steak to pick up the dinner I ordered for tonight. I suck in the kitchen. I can’t cook to save my life.

  Joel stands behind the bar, and I walk over to him. “What can I get you, man?”

  “I called in an order. Pick up at eight-forty-five.”

  “Give me a sec. I’ll check the back and grab it for you.”

  Joel appears with my order in hand. “Thanks, man,” I say and toss a five on the bar.

  “How did you make out with the red-headed chick the other night?”

  I lift the bag and cock my brow. “Who do you think this dinner is for?”

  He purses his lips and nods. “Good for you. She friend-zoned me the first night I met her.”

  Something inside of me tightens. My jaw sets, and I nod. “Well, one person’s misfortune is someone else’s fortune.”

  Joel grabs a rag and wipes the counter down. “I hope things work out for you. From what I hear from her friend, she’s a tough nut to crack.”

  “Maybe.” I lift my shoulder. “So far, I’m doing all right. See you around.”

  I turn and walk away before I let my temper rear its ugly head. I don’t want to talk to Joel about Mills, especially if I know he had an interest in her.

  When I walk into my apartment, I toss my keys on the table near the front door. Looking at my watch, I have ten minutes before Mills is set to arrive. I grab two plates from the cabinet and set them on the table and put two pint glasses and two wine glasses in the freezer to chill.

  I tap my finger on the music app on my phone. “Bulletproof” by Godsmack begins to play through the Bluetooth speaker. Not wanting the place to smell, I grab the air freshener from the closet and walk around the apartment, spraying the aroma of clean sky and linen throughout the place.

  I’m washing my face and hands quickly in the bathroom when I hear a knock at the door. Mills is right on time.

  “I’m coming,” I yell as I walk down the hall to the front door.

  When I open the door, I’m pretty sure my jaw hits the floor. Mills stands before me in a form-fitting black dress, one shoulder exposed, and knee-high boots encasing some of her toned legs.

  “It’s a little early in the evening to be yelling such a thing.” An evil smile appears on her face.

  I lean down, capturing her lips with mine. “It’s never too early to come,” I whisper against her lips.

  Her cheeks flush crimson.

  I extend my arm and hold the door open for her. Gesturing with my hand, I guide her into my apartment. “Something smells amazing.”

  “That would be dinner,” I say as I close the door behind her.

  With a raised brow, she asks, “You cooked?”

  “I could lie and say yes, but what good would that do? I took the liberty of ordering from the steak house.” I pull the containers out of the bag and place them on the counter. “I got two filet mignons, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and salads. I wasn’t sure how you like your steak, so I got one medium well and one medium. I’ll eat either, you can pick which one you’d like.”

  “I prefer medium well. As long as it isn’t bloody, I’ll eat it,” she says, pulling out the stool to sit at the kitchen island.

  “Sorry I don’t have a dining room table. The place seems too small to hold one.”

  “No worries. I don’t have one either. Quinn and I usually eat in the living room or at our island as well.”

  “You and Quinn live together?” I ask as I set the plates and silverware in front of her.

  Mills begins to fix our plates. “Yeah, we’ve been friends since I was ten. When she finished college and came back home, we got a place together. The two of us are sort of inseparable.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  She nods her head. “Waking Lions” by Pop Evil begins to play. “Oh, I love this song.”

  I hold up a wine glass and a pint glass from the freezer. “Name your poison.”

  “If you have red wine, I’ll take a glass with my dinner. Then I’ll use that pint glass when we’re done.”

  I set the two wine glasses on the counter. “Sounds good to me.” I pop the cork on the bottle of red wine and pour us each a glass.

  I set the glasses down in front of Mil
ls and pull the stool out to sit.

  She takes a piece of steak and dips it in her mashed potatoes before taking a bite. A moan escapes her mouth when she chews.

  “You can’t do that,” I mumble under my breath.

  “Huh?” she replies when she swallows.

  “Moan.” I tip my glass of wine to her before taking a long mouthful. “You can’t make those noises, or I won’t be able to make it through dinner without tossing you on my bed so I can ravish your body.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  Mills stands up and begins to dance when “I Fall Apart” by Post Malone comes on. Her face lights up, and she bounces on her feet to the beat. She begins to sing aloud, waving her hands in the air. Mills doesn’t miss a word in the lyrics. She sings the words as if she wrote them herself. The entire song falls from her lips, never missing a line.

  She pulls the stool out and sits down. “Now that’s a song with meaning. Those lyrics hit me to my core.”

  “You like to sing?”

  “Not really. I love music of all types. We have something in common. I also believe songs can speak to your soul. They can tell someone how you feel when you have trouble finding the words to speak them.”

  “It seems we may have more than just music in common.” I touch the tip of her nose with my fingertip. “We both love to fuck.”

  She knocks her fist into my shoulder. “You’re gross.”

  “Come on,” I answer. “You know that was funny.”

  “Hardy har-har. You are hilarious,” she replies quickly.

  We continue to eat, and the conversation flows easily between us. Once we’re finished, I clear the counter, rinse the dishes, and load the dishwasher.

  I find Mills standing in front of my bookcase, perusing my collection of classics and walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She fits perfectly in my arms and against my chest.