“That’s it. If you think you’ll be able to look yourself in the mirror afterwards, then roll tide.”
Noah opened the door to the staff kitchen, and she and Sam both fell silent. Tabby’s brain was teeming with contradictory thoughts. She still wasn’t sure she should fall any deeper into whatever horny rabbit hole Toby had opened for her, but on the other hand, she’d finished all over his fingers last night, and shecouldstill look herself in the mirror today, if she squinted.
“Sam,” Noah said. “A word?”
As soon as Sam stood, Tabby pulled out her phone, and before she was even aware of what she was doing, she sent a text.
What have you done to me that I’m actually *considering* this sugar daddy thing?
Hands shaking, she turned off alerts, not wanting to know if, when or how Toby replied. Maybe he was smarter than her and had already mentally pulled the plug on this trainwreck. But that didn’t seem likely. The guy owned a Lamborghini.
“WHAT THE FUCK?” Sam bellowed from somewhere.
Tabby jumped to her feet and ran. She found Noah and Sam in tattoo room three, where her big sister was stomping on what looked like a massive bouquet. “The hell’s happening?”
“That fucking bitch sent flowers!” Sam screamed, kicking her Doc Martens through pink paper and banksias, sending petals and native greenery everywhere.
Tabby’s heart sank to her sneakers. She didn’t need to know who ‘that fucking bitch’ was. Their mother had decided to make another appearance. “How do you know it was her?”
Sam halted her stomping to toss a card at her. Tabby opened the stiff cream-coloured paper and read:
I miss you, Babby-Tabby.
Love, M.
Her vision swam as she stared down at the message. Her. Just her. What the fuck was Jo playing at? Why was this happening?
“You’re not seeing someone called ‘M’?” Noah asked gruffly.
Tabby shook her head.
“Thought not.” Noah put a heavy arm around her shoulders. “Sorry, Tabs.”
“For what?” she said, her voice all high. The heat and weight of Noah’s body was unbearable. She shifted away, and his face went blank. She’d hurt him. He so rarely tried to comfort anyone, and she’d hurt him. She was such a piece of shit. Head pounding, she left tattoo room three.
She heard someone follow, and Sam snatched the card from her hands as she prepared to tell her big sister everything was fine. Sam tore it in half, then quarters, then eighths.
“This isn’t your fault,” she hissed. “It’s hers. I’m gonna fuckingbrutaliseher.”
“Cool,” Tabby said in the same helium voice. “I’m just going to…” She walked out of the studio, the little doorbell ringing behind her.
The right thing to do in this scenario was cry, but she couldn’t manage that. She felt frozen inside, a hundred miles from her thoughts. Wandering toward the street corner, she pulled out her phone and opened apps at random. She wasn’t sure how long she walked for, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but she wound up at Gilpin Park, sitting on an embankment and watching joggers and dogs rush around like they had somewhere to be. She’d abandoned her afternoon booking with Brody, a long-time client coming in for a touch-up, but she knew Sam and Noah would have handled it.
They would probably understand her running away, but she still felt miserable about it. About everything, really.
Sitting in the crunchy summer grass, she thought about buying her plane ticket to Cartagena right then and there with Toby’s money. She’d be screwing up his tattoo, but the guy was loaded. He could find someone else to finish it. A couple of middle-aged men wandered past, gabbing happily, and she thought about Jo. Was she nearby watching her? It was a stupid idea, given that Tabby hadn’t even known she was coming to Gilpies, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She looked around and saw nothing; she felt like even more of an idiot. Pulling her knees into her chest, she counted passing cars, segmenting them into year and colour.
Two hours passed that way, but it wasn’t an issue; she had nowhere to be except Cartagena. But as sunlight faded and dog walkers increased, Tabby found herself thinking something new, something more truthful: She didn’t want to go to Colombia. To start over. To run away. She wanted to return to the night of Sam and Nix’s birthday party and stay there, Toby at her side, the future still a bright possibility. Photoshop her dad in, and everything would be perfect. Sam would stop yelling, Nix would stop crying, and everything would be normal. Was that so much to ask? Maybe, but what else was there to hope for? In what way would her current situation resolve itself with anything but more tears and anger?
Her stomach rumbled, and she pulled out her phone, wondering if anyone would be willing to deliver a burger to the top of a hill. She unlocked the screen, and there it was—Toby Tennant’s name flashing—an incoming call. The sight of it was like a bomb detonating in her stomach: epinephrine and a million other chemicals surging up fear and hope and mostly desire. She shivered as the sensations whirled through her, praying the moment wouldn’t end. It was the best kind of drug; that point right before you got what you wanted and there was still a little chance you wouldn’t. The sting of lime slicing through sweet cream. The agony before blissful release.
She accepted the call and raised her phone to her ear.
“No sell, no sell,” she said into her phone. “Diamond hands. MOASS. Apes together strong.”
“Very funny,” he grumbled, and she felt her forearm hairs swoosh upward.
Yes, to being his sex slave. Yes, to all of it.
