“Okay, when you want to talk, I’m here.”
I place my mug on the fake granite counter and pull her into a hug. “I know. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Be more miserable than what you are. I’m starting to wonder who the punk with a darker soul is. I don’t think it’s me,” she jokes.
“I know. I’m so emo, isn’t that what you kids call it?”
“Something like that.” She pulls back and stands on her tiptoes to grab a cup from the cabinet. Blaire is short, really short, not even five feet tall and is super skinny. I’m surprised she didn’t climb onto the counter like she usually does.
“So, I have an idea for today.”
“Don’t think too hard; you might hurt yourself.”
I narrow my eyes at her over my coffee cup. “Funny.”
She snickers under her breath as she pours herself java. The side of her shirt falls off her shoulder, showing the colorful tattoo that takes up the entire left side of her torso. It’s a geometric design of different shapes. She got it because she says there isn’t a day where she feels the same, so she got a kaleidoscope of shapes. It suits her.
“Okay, what?”
“Today I got my student loan disbursement.”
“Okay?” she drawls out, not understanding what I’m saying.
“I want to go to your tattoo guy today and get something.”
“No fucking way!” she screeches, piercing the ache in my head. “You’re serious?”
“Blaire!” I whine, my hands shooting to my throbbing head.
“Sorry!” she whisper-yells. “But are you for real?”
“Nothing big, just small and cute. I have an idea in my mind, and I’ve been wanting to get it for a while.”
She squeals and jogs in place with excitement. “Finally! What are you going to get? Where? Color? Or greyscale? Black and white? Traditional?” Blaire spins me around in a circle. “I’ve always wanted to see you with a massive back tattoo.”
“Okay, whoa, calm down. Nothing like that. Literally, something small, like the size of a half-dollar or something.”
Blaire pouts her bottom lip. “That’s boring.”
“Does anything make you happy?” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“A massive back tattoo,” she mutters before taking a large sip of coffee.
“I’m not going to show you until after I get it.”
“Can you at least tell me where?”
I lower my shirt off my shoulder and trace below my collarbone. “Here.”
“Oh, that’s hot. I’m so excited. Maybe I can get one too.”
“Blaire, you just got one the other day. It’s still healing.”
“So?’
“So…”
“What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter. When can we go? I want to get a nap in first.”
“Shop doesn’t open till one in the afternoon. So, you have time.”
I kiss her on the cheek. “Good. I’m about to fall over.” I stumble to my bedroom, barely able to hear her say something about not letting the bed bugs bite and close my door, collapsing in my bed.
Before I settle in, I open my nightstand and take a picture out of me and Rowan. He is staring at me like I’m the sun to his moon. I’m laughing; I think at a butterfly landing on me and flying away. He doesn’t know, but it is my favorite photo of all time. And that’s what the tattoo is going to be based on. Rowan might hate me forever, but I’ll never hate him.
He will always have a part of me, if not all of me, until the end of time and space. Something we used to say about our friendship when we were younger. I swipe my thumb over his face, missing him with every beat of my aching, struggling heart.
I place the photo back in its place, keeping it out of sight and out of mind until I go to look at it again before I go to sleep every night. Sighing, I plop down in the bed, sinking into the soft, pillowtop mattress. I close my eyes, and my dreams take me to another place, another time. A time when I wasn’t an idiot and Rowan would love me.
I sleep longer than I wanted. And by the time I’m up, ready, and at the tattoo shop, it’s seven at night, and I’m freaking the hell out. The tattoo machines buzz in the background, marking up blank canvas. Next to me is a guy with a bull ring in his nose, and the whites of his eyes blacked out. On the other side of me is Blaire, talking it up with a stranger and giving best friend advice even though she only met them five minutes ago.
That’s Blaire, though. Always outgoing and thoughtful. I pick up one of the books sitting on the beaten-up black coffee table and flip through the artwork of one of the artists. It’s all skulls, flames, and spiderwebs. I put it back down and pick up another, flipping through the pages, and this one grabs my attention.
I like this artwork. It’s not as dark. I come across a butterfly that takes my breath away. It looks just like the butterfly that landed on me in the photo. It has bright blue wings and a black body. It’s perfect.
“Hey, Blaire?”
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Who is your tattoo guy again?”
“Andy.”
I flip the book over and smile with relief. It’s Andy’s work. Whew.
“Everly?” he shouts from the front desk.
My heart slams against my ribcage when I see him. He is huge and has tattoos from the neck to his fingertips. I swallow and hold his book against my chest like some schoolgirl and make my way to the counter. My cheeks blaze, and I know he can see how red they are, which only makes them flush even more.
He leans against the counter and smiles. “Well, aren’t you a breath
