SHELBY (Second Chance Novels Book 4) (7 page)

"Good," Cam grins widely. She holds her hand to me to show the over-sized sparkle on her left hand.
 

"Wow," I say in total shock. "Um, congratulations…"

I'm trying so hard to hide the fact that my heart is breaking again. The girl I had considered my best friend for years got engaged and didn't call me.
 

"Thanks!" she say, oblivious to my heartache.
 

"When did you get engaged?" I ask, working hard at portraying a happy exterior.

"This past weekend," she beams. "He took me to the cliffs and had champaign and roses waiting for me. It was so romantic. I've been calling everyone this week. I'm so glad you're here! I get to tell you in person."

She has a peaceful happiness underlying her excitement, and again my bitterness sneaks through. I wonder if I'll ever be able to be around these people again.
 

"Congratulations," I smile, then offer the same sentiment to Ledger.
 

"Thanks," he smiles. "I'm a lucky guy."

"Yes, you are," I smile yet again.
 

I force my ass to remain on the barstool for an hour as more of my friends filter their way in. Mason comes in with his hand resting nonchalantly on the nape of Sofia's neck as he follows her to the bar. Callen doesn't come in, but Emily takes her place along side me, a definite member of the group.

Each of them asks where I've been and what I've been up to, all a part of casual conversation. No one seems to have missed or worried about me, and even Ledger isn't concerned about my absence. His focus on Cam is absolute, and I remind myself I'm happy for them. The bitterness is mine alone. No one here wronged me…with the exception of Mason and maybe Sofia.
 

"I hate to call it an early night again," I say with my perpetual false smile here, "but work has been crazy. I'll see you later."

"Don't be a stranger," Cam hugs, right before turning back to the group as they all say goodbye, then continue their conversation. I may be reading more into their indifference than is actually there. Cam did, after all, offer me a hug goodbye. Still, my connection is waning and all I can think about is finding a new way to numb my pain.

Like the last time I returned to Second Chance, I come home in tears. Telling myself they're still good people does nothing but hurt more…because I don't fit. I've turned into a slut, and I can't force myself to stop. I can't sit with good people and have a good evening. All I can do is chase shallow connections. Even my time with Dade is dysfunctional.
 

For the first time in weeks, I sob. The carefully constructed walls around my emotions crumble, allowing all my pain to bubble up and spill over, running down my cheeks in salty tears. Each memory of every random fuck brings on a new wave of tears…and even more when I realize I probably don't remember them all. Take pride in myself?
I'm so sorry, Mom, I've thrown away every lesson you ever taught me
.

I spend the rest of the evening blotting more tears and holding a cold cloth over my eyes, hoping to relieve the swelling caused by my ugly-cry. I have to find a new way to deal with my situation. I need to move on, to get past the pain, or at least numb the ache in a healthier way than going out like a whore.
 

I continue my job search for three more days, a complete zombie, which leads to dead end after dead end. I refuse to do any more hacking. The code in the National Gallery caused me enough concern to put a hold on that hobby. Without the sex and alcohol, I have nothing to distract me. I refuse to do drugs. Then, an idea hits me.

Nobody wants me as-is. Why not modify? I get to a tattoo shop directly after the thought, and an oddly-pretty woman with spiky blue hair and several facial-piercings greets me with a friendly, peaceful smile. I want to take a hit off that peace. I certainly can't find any on my own.
 

She walks straight up to me and says, "What do you need, beauty?"

"Something new." I can't think of anything else to say. I hadn't thought this far ahead.

"You looking for art or hot sex?" she says with an amused smile. She puts me at ease immediately, in spite of my excited anxiety coming here.
 

I chuckle. "Both?"

"I like you already," she says. "My name is Shye and you are mine. I won't let anyone else touch you today. If you want both, you need someone who understands both."

She takes my hand and leads me to a private booth near the back. I set my purse down and look at the pictures on the wall, all depicting tattoos and piercings of smiling patrons. Shye is in every one of them, obviously close with each. She must put everyone at ease.
 

"These are fantastic," I say as I check from picture to picture, trying to find an idea as to what I might want. Shye tells me to look away.

"Don't get what
they
wanted," she says sagely, still smiling. "Get what
you
want."

"I'm not sure what I want," I tell her, looking at her own ink for inspiration. If she understands beauty and pleasure, why not check her out?

"Have a seat," she instructs. "And close your eyes."

I do so easily, but I feel her shift close to me. She breathes across my ear and I feel her fingertips on the back of my hand. My tummy is fluttering.

"When people touch your body," she says as she drags her fingers all the way up to my neck, "where do you want their fingers? Where do you want their lips?"

I can feel her breath against my cheek. Without thinking, I tell her more than I should. "Fingers on my tits…mouth neck."

Her fingers move to my breast and she tugs at my nipple through my shirt. I'm surprisingly glad I'm wearing a simple cami as a bra.

"Feel good?" she asks.

"Yes," I whisper, my eyes still closed.

"Want it to feel better?"

I nod my head.
 

"Let me pierce your nipple. I'll make it hurt so nice."

I nod again. She scrunches my shirt up under my armpits, and I smell the sharp sting of alcohol and feel the cold touch of the cotton applying it.
 

"Keep your eyes closed, pretty," she says, prepping the area and clattering metal instruments around as she prepares to adorn my breast. "I can make this more fun if you don't know what's coming."

Mildly shocked by this entire interaction, I keep my eyes closed. I wanted exactly what Shye is offering: attention, beauty, sensation, and the chance to feel important to myself and someone else. I'm proud of myself for not being at Joe's.
 

I continue to hear plastic and metal clacking, her adept hands working her trade. I'm surprised though, when her hand caresses my breast softly, lifting and gently squeezing. She's caressing me pleasurably.

"Feel good?" she says as she's fondling me.

I nod, unable to form words. I'm in another world, I think.
 

Her thumb drags heavily over my nipple twice, her medical gloves adding an odd sensation. I can feel my nipple tighten under her touch. Again I'm feeling strangely aroused. I gasp when she pinches my nipple hard. Without my permission, my voice sounds a soft noise of pleasure when she pinches again.
 

"Good girl," she says as she caresses me again. Without further warning, I feel the sharp pain of the needle, followed by a small metallic clink as she screws the end of the barbel to my new piercing. I can't describe the sensation in words. She continues to work my breast gently. "More?"

I nod again, the sensation taking me away from everything other than the burning pleasure in my nipple. Shye repeats the entire process, piercing me again. I sigh this time, drowning in the sensation and the chance to have all the pain blocked from my existence but this. This is rapture.
 

Shye's fingers softly caress the nipples she just pierced, sending spiraling waves of soft pain straight to my core. I feel her breath along my cheek again.
 

"Intense?"

I nod.

"More?"

I nod again.
 

She kisses my neck and I hear more metallic clacking. I hear the buzz of a tattoo needle, and I'm craving its touch. I have no idea how she'll decorate me next, but I'm too swept up in the moment to care. I'm not even sure where she'll draw. She starts with one sharp dot near the base of my ribs. I nearly jump in response, but I calm immediately as she begins to work freehand. My entire body is teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain, and I don't feel alone. I have sensation, I have Shye. I trust the happiness of this moment.
 

I have no idea how much time passes as I rest in her chair, accepting the worshipping sensation of the needle. The design is numbing my side and offering peace to my mind. I'm thrilled to find out what she chooses for me, how she perceives me. Even if I hate the design, the ink she brands me with will represent me well, and will serve as a reminder of today, the day Shye gave her dedication to no one else in the world but me. Right now, I'm important.
 

When the buzz of the needle finally ceases, I miss the sound. I miss the tingle in my skin. I miss Shye's touch. I ache so sadly.

"Keep your eyes closed, beauty," she says. I feel her spread ointment on the area and bandage my skin. "Promise me something?"

"What's that?" I whisper shakily.
 

"Keep this covered for three weeks. When you need to add more ointment or change the dressing, keep your eyes closed. Don't look until this is healed. Promise me."

"I promise." And I do promise. I'm not sure when I'll be ready to know what she sees in me. I'm not sure when I'm supposed to open my eyes, but I keep them closed. I won't look until Shye tells me to. I feel her breath on my cheek again, and her fingers on my tingling nipple, too.
 

"Open your mouth," she says quietly. My lips part, just barely, and I feel her lips on mine. I've never kissed a girl, but the moment her tongue traces my teeth, I open wider for her. I arch into her touch, accepting every part of her. She kisses me deeply, slowly, connecting with me, furthering her invasion of my body. Her hands continue to deliciously torture my nipples and palm my breasts, all while I rest my hand lightly on her cheek, guiding her closer toward me. I need more of her.

After a long, sweet, intense while against my mouth, Shye eases away. I miss her already.
 

"Come home with me," I whisper without meaning to, my eyes still closed. I tell myself that time with Shye is different. She's beautiful, not destructive. I want to feel more of her so badly.
 

"No, pretty," she says with kind understanding. "My job here is done. Remember your promise. Now open your eyes."

I open them, devastated. She looks into me, softly smiling. I have no words, but she speaks for me.
 

"Don't come back," she whispers. "This isn't your answer. You're beautiful, and you don't need this to prove it. You'll find it, but don't cover any more of yourself while you look. And so you know, you did something to me the minute you walked in. Your pain sings like…a haunting. I heard every note. I love you today."

A single tear leaves the safety of my eyelid. "Please," is all I can quietly utter. I'm desperate to the level of pathetic, but if she loves me today, I want her to love me all the way to midnight.

She kisses me gently one last time, allowing her tongue to stroke mine softly as she does. "You'll be ok," she tells me. She gingerly touches my new ink, causing the skin there to sting so sweetly. I wish she wouldn't stop. "Promise," she says one more time.

"I promise," I say with one more tear. She kisses the tear delicately from my cheek before she takes my hand and walks me to the front desk. She takes a moment to pen a short letter on a piece of paper before she folds it, addresses it to
beauty
and hands it to me. I read the words
when you're ready to look
and I nod, reaching for my wallet. I hand money to the woman who touched me intimately…and I realize the truth. I'm here whoring for human connection, paying for her touch. I bite the inside of my cheek and cry the whole way home, the warm pain of my nipples no longer satisfying. I don't know how many tears I have left.

The entire next week I dream of Shye, the soft and gentle side of my ugly need. I also dream of Jake, Miller, Ace, Connen, and every man whose name I don't remember or never cared to get. My tears have dried up, leaving a gritty emptiness in their place. Shye told me not to go back to her, that tattoos and piercings aren't the answer. Because she loved me that day, I listen to her instruction. She offered the only love I've felt in a long time, and I wish I could go back.
 

I've kept my promise to her, though. I've stayed away. I haven't looked at my new ink, because part of me wants to please her and another part of me isn't prepared to discover what she freehanded on my skin. I'll read her note when I'm ready to, but not today. Today I'm simply longing for the same connection I had with her. I'm not sure I'll ever experience something like that again, which makes me sad. Missing her makes me thankful I can't cry anymore.
 

Accepting I have no ability to deal, I make what is possibly my most destructive decision yet. I embrace the woman I've become, falling into the pit and readying myself for the echo of hitting rock bottom. I pull on my tightest, lowest jeans, strap on my sluttiest shoes, wear a fucking corset for a top, and drive to my doom. A new seedy bar is my destination, and I appreciate the dimly lit parking lot. I don't care that my outfit will draw the darkest of men, I only need to be who I've become.

Within moments of walking into the venue of my destruction, I realize I'm being followed by Dade.
 

I turn to him. "Back off the stalk, Dade. I don't need your shit tonight."