Yours Truly ❁ n.k.h

• chapter four •

I find myself dreaming of you when I'm sad. Wishing I was there to hold you, and brush your hair, and tell you everything is going to be okay. Wishing I didn't leave you there alone to fend for yourself.

On the days that you aren't feeling your best or thinking about all this in the future, I hope you get to read this. I hope that you remember how much I love you, how much when the sky fell you were the first person I wanted to protect from the blow. I hope that you remember that when I think of my family, I see you.

Sleep is taking me a little longer to find than it normally does, angel. The days are longer without you, lonelier too.

It's getting harder to ignore how sad I am. Right now I'm just doing what I have to do. It doesn't feel the easiest, but in some ways it feels right. But each and everyday, I miss you. And I think about you all the time.

I promise I'm still writing and drawing, I'm still doing the things you loved about me most. I'm just not doing them with you and I know that probably hurts a lot right now.

But maybe one day soon I'll come home to you. I'll get to give you this in person and apologize, I'll make it all right.

Until then, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Until I'm black and blue all over.

The bus guide was full.

My heart soared and slammed into my chest, once, twice, then repeatedly. I couldn't help but stare at my thighs. At my naked body that was just visible from the bathroom light. At a body that was so full of nothingness, it could burst into something.

This was a moment that felt too real. That even if it was so insignificant, I would remember forever. Because as I stared around the room at a tv, a desk, a lamp, drawn beige curtains, and a doorway leading into a bathroom, I couldn't be reminded any more of how I was completely alone. And that this was the life I chose.

I chose the reality where I had no friends, no family, no wife. One where I no longer had a joint account to share, just a personal one. And one where I was now living in a hotel that was more than happy to take my money for a three month stay.

A week ago, I was living off of home cooked meals, and pancakes every Sunday. I woke up alongside my wife. I went to work at a tattoo shop with friends I grew to love over the
course of three years.

Today, I woke up to vending machine snack wrappers and old Chinese takeout boxes that room service hadn't picked up yet. While it hasn't been officially confirmed, I think it goes without saying that I no longer have a wife. And my friends and family have all given up on trying to reach me.

So this is it.

This is the new life I chose.

My hands feathered into my coils, pulling first at the ends and then weaving into the roots to tug at my scalp. The tension felt freeing almost. A pain I could control.

I know it wasn't a great thing to do but I think even God would give me a pass considering the circumstances.

Sleep feels so hard to come by now. All I do is sit here and stare at the wall. Sometimes I turn the tv on just for the sake of background noise. But I can't find it in myself to even be entertained or dare tune into the world. I was too scared of seeing myself on the news or something that would make me run back. Something that would make me forget this new life and go back to the old, do what I always do.

I put the pen and paper down on the nightstand and rose to my feet. Pins and needles pricked in my lower extremities. I squinted and uncomfortably tried to shift around in hopes it'll wake my body up and push my ugly feelings aside.

The light flooding into the room gave way to the bathroom, or a poor excuse of a laundromat as it looked. My damp clothes hung on the towel rack, on the door, anywhere I saw fit. I did a half assed job of washing them with the soap I could find, complimentary of the hotel. But I know I'll have to get actual stuff soon. Detergent, a notebook, maybe even some real food. It might've been smarter for me to pick somewhere that I'd actually be able to cook, but fuck it. Maybe I'll get a hot plate or something and deal with the consequences of that later.

I pushed the shower curtain back a bit, reaching for the shower knob and turning it a little more than halfway. Today felt like a hot shower
kind of day.

I ran a hand in my hair, taking a deep breath as I faced the mirror.

My scars were doing considerably less damage now, thankfully. They weren't healing in the most ideal way, but even the blotchiest of scabbed over skin was beginning to fade into a flesh tone. If I was lucky, it wouldn't take away from my face much.

I flexed my left hand, peering at the gash that complimented the others. This one was a little longer and thicker and a bitch to disinfect, especially in a shitty Maryland rest stop.

All of the pain was past manageable though, more so fading into complaints of pressure by now. I'm just happy my dominant hand went unscathed, save for minor cuts. I needed that to work, I can't tattoo with my left.

I bet ambidextrous bitches get paid more.

I shook my thoughts off, stepping into the shower slowly. I drew the curtain behind me and then reached forward to pull the knob further. The steamy water fell onto my body from head to toe.

God, I wish I could stay here forever. This almost felt better than sleep.

I was living in my own little world here in Asheville. So far it was just me, my mind, and I guess, Gary fucking Fenway.

I've met so many tattoo artists and he definitely stuck out to me as... esteemed? I don't know, maybe that's the word. Whatever stands for highly regarded but needs to be reminded me he isn't the right hand to God.

He was both intimidating and irritating if those two qualities could exist in a person. There's been a few times where I've been around people who backed me into a corner so much it made me want to avoid them, but to get this from someone who's supposed to be mentoring you? I feel bad for anyone young under his wing.

At the end of the day, I was interested in the guy and if I wanted any chance at normalcy, I needed him to give me a chance. I just have to be okay with downplaying my skills a little, which is fine. I can play coy.

A shrill ringtone almost had me jumping out of my skin, so much that I had to do a quick look around at where I was. The shower, right. Hot water and relaxation. Soap.

My phone continued to ring incessantly for what felt like an hour before the person just resorted to texts. I could hear my phone hit the floor after all the constant vibrations.

I sighed, shutting the water off and stepping onto the shower mat. My phone was still dinging, this time from what was probably the two minute iMessage notifications. I pulled the nearby towel off the rack and onto my body before walking over. I picked the phone up from near my feet.

Through the droplets on the phone from my hair I could read Dinah's name.

Be it missed calls or texts, her name was all over my screen.

Dinah: You pulled half of the money from our joint account?

Call me back.

I rolled my eyes, beginning to ignore the others and turn my screen off when it buzzed again.

Dinah: Angel wants to talk to you.