Chapter Twenty
Rip
Typical. Fucking typical. The second I think I’ve got my life figured out and actually pulled my shit together, it all crashes to the fucking ground.
The immediate crisis was with Aunt Grace. Unsurprisingly, screaming and banging and hollering above her apartment was enough to set her off. And who could blame her? I was terrified while it was happening, too. It was like I had come unhinged, and my muscles were moving before I could think. The voice hollering from deep in my chest was some other man, and the fury behind my eyes burned hot, like it hadn’t in so many years.
I didn’t even remember punching the hole in the wall. I just remembered the pain I felt afterward, like someone had shoved spikes in my hand.
You deserve it, I thought to myself.
By the time I came back to reality and thought about Aunt Grace, Mars had already checked in on her and helped her come back from the edge of a breakdown. I gave her the attention I could, but she was quickly out from the sleeping pill she took, leaving me to sleep on her loveseat, with my knees curled up against my chest like when I was a teenager.
At least if she woke, I’d be there for her. That was something I could do.
And it wasn’t like Mars was eager to have me home, or like I was eager to see the hurt look on his face.
That’s how one night on Aunt Grace’s couch turned into two, and two turned into three. She’d give me an opening to talk about what was going on every now and then, but I could never figure out what to say. I’d be up at night, my face pressed against a throw pillow and some oldStar Trekepisode on the television, just craving another moment with Mars. And then those feelings would start ricocheting through my body again.
Fuck this life. Fuck the hands Mars and I had been dealt. But most of all, fuck me.
Fuck me for thinking I could just be chill about the two of them. Fuck me for spending all those years with my head up my ass, taking Mars for granted and pretending I was his protector. Fuck me for assuming he would be there and never giving either of us the chance to want more.
I worked myself into a fury, convinced that Mars and I could never live together now. I didn’t have the funds to move both me and Aunt Grace to a new apartment, not yet, but I couldn’t kick Mars out, either. Where would he go? To Clark? Because no matter how much I knew in my gut that they belonged together, I still couldn’t handle the pain of seeing the two of them, naked and raw together, experiencing something that I would never be a part of.
The third morning, I made breakfast for Aunt Grace, then hurried out of the house early. I headed into the tattoo shop, determined to keep my head down. I wanted to stop torturing myself, but more than that, I wanted to pull in enough money so that I could do something about the hell I had made for myself. I couldn’t live with Mars’s footsteps, echoing across the floor above me. And in truth, I might not be able to live in Seattle at all.
Not knowing that Clark was somewhere in the city, hurt by my rage. He knew me in a way that no one else knew me. He knew that person, furious and cruel, throwing punches against the wall. He knew that was me, probably more than I knew it myself.
There was no way to apologize to Clark, at least not as I could see it. You could apologize for something you did wrong, for some mistake you made, but what was the use apologizing for who you were? What was the use of apologizing for your nature, if you couldn’t unrun it?
I buried myself in my work, taking a few extra walk-ins and working my needle straight through lunch. I did a portrait I had scheduled, a couple of easy pieces with names and small flowers, and a bit of flash art from my personal collection. Falling into the rhythm of my art and the meditative pace of the work almost helped me forget the turmoil that my life had become. But by the time the day ended, I knew that my mistakes were waiting for me, shamefully, back at the apartment.
“Your last appointment is here,” the guy who worked the front desk said, sticking his head in the door. “You ready?”
“Sure,” I answered as I grabbed some new gloves from the box at my desk. “A walk-in?”
“He made an appointment earlier today,” the receptionist said. “A new client.”
I nodded, then stepped around the small corner that divided the studio rooms from the rest of the shop. My vision went blurry for a moment, and I pressed my hand against the wall to brace myself. It was like the earth had disappeared beneath me, and any moment, I might plunge into the horrible feelings I had been battling down all afternoon.
Clark was standing in my doorway.
CLARK
I took in a deep breath as I squeezed my right hand first, then released the breath and the muscles at the same time. I took in a deep breath again, squeezing my left fist, and released once more.
Clarity, I thought.
And I needed a lot of it because I was more out of place than I had ever been before. More than when I had followed Mars to his piercing appointments, even. In a dark shop with rock blaring over the speakers and oversized men hulking around, I made as little sense there as a Romulan made on Kobol.
“Is this a mistake?” Rip asked. He had one hand pressed against the wall, and I could see how tense his muscles were beneath his thermal shirt.
“Mars told me you weren’t answering your phone,” I said. My voice came out icy, but I didn’t try to correct it. “I didn’t want you to avoid me.”
Rip’s eyes squinted into a wince, and I focused on my breathing. A tall man in a leather jacket was sitting at the end of the hall, and his eyes were trained on me, like he was studying my every move.
“I can’t talk to you,” he said, turning away. “I’m so sorry for how I acted, but I can’t. I’m not ready.”
