Tattooed Love (Complete and on Amazon)

Chapter (1)

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Tattooed Love

Chapter 1


There were very few moments in my life when I could definitely say that I had hit rock bottom. Right now, in this moment, I could definitely say I had hit rock bottom.
I was stoned, drunk, and high on emotion, gripping a half-drunk beer; sitting in a gutter outside some pub. I had no one to call, and no one would be wondering where I was, so there was nothing stopping me from throwing back the remaining alcohol in the bottle.



I suppose that is the benefit of hitting rock bottom... you can't fall any lower.



I was wiping my mouth when someone tapped on my shoulder.



"Leave me alone." I grunted. I was at the point where I just didn't care anymore. I didn't care about the looks I was getting, or that I was interrupting the flow of the taxi rank.



"This goes against my better judgment, but you look like a rape case waiting to happen. Would you like a lift?"


It was his husky voice that made me turn my head around to look up at him. Tall, dark, handsome and screaming dangerous; yet he looked familiar.



"Do I know you?" I asked, frowning at him as he lowered himself to kneel in front of me.



"The name is Jackson." He spoke slowly, and immediately seemed to realise that I hadn't made a connection, so he added "We go to the same high school."



I nodded, but still couldn't make a connection; hell at this point of the night I was lucky to be recalling my own name, which was...



"Amber, you alright?" Jackson placed a hand on my shoulder and my eyes snapped back open, stopping me from slipping into unconsciousness.



"Yeah I'm fine. Just had a few too many." I took the hand he now lowered to offer me; when did he stand up?


I pulled myself up on my bare feet; I had managed to lose my heels at some point of the night. "Thanks." I smiled. Even in my drunken haze, I could tell that Jackson was dangerously good looking


"Do you want me to take you home?" He spoke slowly again, as if I wouldn't be able to understand him otherwise.



"Nope." I waved my hand dismissing the idea. "I'm fine and I will have you know I'm not as drunk as I might look."



"Really?" He cocked his head to one side. From the expression on his face, he clearly didn't believe me. "Because the smell from you makes me think you drank the bar dry."



My expression changed as soon as I heard the judgement in his tone. "I had a bad day," I snapped. He didn't know. He couldn't understand. I pressed a finger into his chest. "Don't judge me handsome."



"Handsome?" He chuckled at that. "Didn't think you were capable of compliments Amber."



I suppose he had a point, but it wasn't one I was going to confirm. "Go away, John."



"It's Jackson."



"Then go away Jackson," I corrected with a dry smile.



"You have a bad attitude."



"And you're not the first person to point that out." He was far from. People seemed to make it their personal mission to remind me of my bad attitude; it wasn't my fault the world sucked. My attitude was simply a side effect of this miserable thing called life.



I waved down a taxi, but Jackson wrapped his hand around my wrist, stopping me from walking towards it.



"I'll take you home." His tone was soft, gentle... and was that slight concern I was sensing?



"Why?"



"Don't trust me?"



"I don't trust anyone."



"Wise thing to do." He tilted his head to the side again, looking down at me. "I'm not going to hurt you Amber, and if I did I'm sure you could handle me."



"You seem to know more about me than I do you."



"That's because I'm not self-absorbed."



I took a step towards him, staring up into those dark eyes of his. "No one ever got hurt being self-absorbed."



"Whatever you say Miss Shields."



He knew my name, and my last name. Where did he say he knew me from again? Oh right... school, or hell on earth as I liked to call it.



"Fine then handsome, you can take me home."



"I've got a question first." His eyes flickered to my lip. "Should I be hunting down the man that gave you that cut on your lip, or should I be asking what the other chick looks like?"



My lips curved into a smile. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I smiled. "I always think no question is a good question."



I caught something flash across his face, but before I could read him, he gave a quick nod of the head, and I knew that was the end of the subject.



I would never tell a soul that it was Blake who had done this to me. I knew he regretted it as much as I was trying to forget about it. Our fights were always nasty, but this one had by far been the worst.



"Come on then, I'm parked around the back."



I followed him, walking towards the darkly lit car park, as warning signs flashed through my mind. I should've been terrified. I should've run in the other direction. But I continued to follow him.


"So, where to?" he asked, opening the car door for me.



I couldn't go home; I couldn't risk my dad seeing me this way. I had no other choice. I had to go back to Blake. I silently prayed he had cooled off.



So I gave Jackson the address, unsure of whether this would be my first or second mistake of the night; the first being getting in the car with him to begin with.



***



I got out of the car rather gracefully, or so I thought. As I wiped the dirt from my mouth after falling face forward on my second step, I began to rethink how graceful my exit actually was.


"You alright?" Jackson dropped beside me, placing an arm around my waist and bringing me back to my feet.



"Two left feet" I muttered, not meeting his eye. I hoped right then that I would never see this person again.



"You live here?" Jackson asked as he looked over at the house he was helping me walk upto.


"Yep." No I didn't. I just crashed here with my somewhat boyfriend. But I wasn't about to tell this person that.



The front of the house was packed with cars, motorbikes and motors. It looked like a automobile junkyard. But it was this very look that kept people away, shielding the 'family' from prying eyes.



We reached the porch and I grabbed the door knob. Letting go of Jackson, I leaned all my weight against the door. "Thanks for bringing me home." I looked at him for the first time since I had embarrassed myself.



"You sure you're safe here?" He gave the property a once over before looking back at me, visibly torn. "You know if you need somewhere to crash for the night, I can put up the cash for a hotel or something."


I smiled for the second time that night. "What did I ever do to you to deserve such consideration?" I wanted to know. While I may not have known him, he seemed to know me, and I wasn't a nice person. So why was he bothering?



He exhaled slowly, and then met my eye with an expression I couldn't quite read... "You're the kind of woman who needs a man to protect her from herself, and clearly you haven't found one yet, so I'm just giving you a helping hand."



"You don't seem like you'd be big on community service," I bit back. He certainly didn't look the part. The tattoos and that 'pissed off' expression would scare anyone with half a brain away. My judgement at this point was questionable though, so it was no wonder I hadn't slammed the door in his face yet.



"Maybe I'm a sucker for a good looking woman." The corner of his lips twitched in a half smile. "You know Amber, you're bearable drunk."



I chuckled and pushed his shoulder playfully "You know Jackson, maybe you do know me."



For a spilt moment we shared a smile, an amused chuckle, and then silence fell between us, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was the kind of silence that usually compelled me to step into a man's arms; this was sexual tension, and fuck me if I knew how it had come to this so suddenly.


"Night Amber." Jackson took a step back, his eyes darting around one more time, before he turned his back to me and began to walk down the porch steps.



"Oi Jackson?"



He looked back at me over his shoulder. "Yeah?"



"On Monday if I don't remember this, and I'm a bitch, I want to apologise now." I inhaled sharply and exhaled quickly. "You seem like a nice guy. Perhaps you should try and befriend me when there's an actual chance of me remembering you."



He smirked, nodded his head and walked away.



I wouldn't remember it, but that was the first time Jackson Johnston had saved me from myself, and that was the night our love was born.



***



High school.



It was the dwelling of the stupid, the fake, and the occasional friend. It wasn't like I didn't like school; it was school that didn't like me.
I locked my car, and slowly began to make my way towards the hell on earth.



Once again I was starting a Monday with a headache, a cut lip, and a massive bruise on my arm. I wasn't the normal teenager who spent her weekends shopping or playing some stupid sport. I spent my weekends doing what I loved - drinking and stealing.



I was more than happy to openly admit I was a young offender.



Now closer to the school stairs, I untangled my black sunglasses from my long wavy black hair and pulled them down to my face.



I didn't have to push through the crowd; people always made way for me, mainly because they were scared that if they didn't back off, I would make them. I didn't rush up the staircase; I was in no hurry to attend class.



I was a valued member of a group. (some may call it a 'gang' but personally. the mere word 'gang' to me screamed pathetic. I referred to us as a family.) We didn't care about graduating high school.


But then a memory of Blake and I fighting last week flashed through my mind, and I began to doubt just how long I'd remain a welcome member of this 'family.'

I pushed a stationary middle school student out of my way in frustration. I heard him fall to the ground but I didn't acknowledge it.



Should have moved himself, I reasoned in my mind.


I got to the front yard and did a quick scan of my surroundings.



Happy, immature teens spanned the yard.



I could safely say I disliked pretty much the entire population that attended this pitiful place. Then my eyes landed on Jackson Johnston.



He was sitting on top of one of the picnic tables, arms crossed, hoodie pulled down over his head, sunglasses on. His minions surrounded him; little morons. I could feel his stare through his sunglasses, but I didn't pay attention to him, one because I had never spoken to the loser, and two because he glared at people more than I did.


Jackson. Jax his friends call him.