The Ripple Effect

Chapter Two - True and Honest Garbage

The flight had taken several hours, and jet-lagged did not begin to describe me. Believe me, I would have slept if I could, but my mind and body had been out of sync for months. It was seven a.m. and my infamous uncle was late.

Uncle Jem wasn't a guy you could count on. Last Christmas, before a certain someone took a swan dive, he got so hammered he slipped me a hundred dollar bill just for getting him another bottle of whiskey from my dad's stash. If that Christmas was anything to go by, he wasn't planning to change anytime soon. Having his brother's kid - for who knows how long - would only be an inconvenience for a man like that.

I sat slouched back in a seat in the lobby, watching people to pass the time. I checked my phone for messages every few minutes, but there was still no sign of Jem. When I looked up a girl around my age was walking in my direction. From the look of it, she had just come off the terminal with a backpack on her shoulders and a rolling suitcase in tow. I sat straighter in my chair, pretending not to notice her. Don't be a creep who stares.

She sat in the row of seats across from me, two chairs down with her eyes on her phone. The girl was pretty considering the short, shaggy dark hair. I only saw long hair on most girls, but it fit her delicate face nicely. To each their own, right? Whatever makes her happy. I thought about it more. Well if she cut it that short, this girl doesn't care what anyone thinks... I can dig it. I huffed a small laugh to myself, too quiet for her to hear. The hair wasn't the most interesting part of her, though. It was her tattoos that drew me in. She was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt with a black collar and black arm sleeves. On one of her inner arms was a watercolor tree, so skillfully crafted that I wanted to know who the artist was. On the other arm sat a red rose covering her wrist. Above the rose, laid an intricate dagger.

My eyes darted to her face once more. She was staring at the exit now, probably waiting for someone to walk through and pick her up. Her heart-shaped face screamed innocent. What made a sweet face like that sit through hours of pain to get permanent art on their body? Tattoos told a story, and I wanted to know hers.

I put on a smile. "Waiting for someone?"

Her head snapped up. She took me in and then answered. "Uh, yeah. My aunt."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's funny. I'm waiting for my uncle.

She grinned. "Are you another castaway?"

"Fresh from the island of misfit toys." Keeping my smile, I outstretched my hand. "My name's Corren."

The girl shook it. "I'm Emory."

I had meant to let go, but the proximity of her tattoos caught my attention. "Wow..."

They were even more incredible up close. The color was still bright, as if the tattoos were recent. Without thinking I turned her wrist over for a better look. I traced my fingertips over the image of the blade, mesmerized by the designs. I knew I needed to stop staring, stop touching her, but the artwork trapped my eyes in a trance. 

The shrill ring of a phone made me flinch. I let her slip from my numb grasp and leaned back, wondering what the hell just happened.

"That's-uh-my-um," she stuttered, "my aunt. She's probably here."

I pasted on a smile, not about to let her see how that moment affected me. "It was nice meeting you, Emory."

"Y-yeah, you too." Emory gathered her things, blushing, and walked away.

I watched her leave, kicking myself for not getting her number. I sighed when her figure disappeared through the doors. Maybe it was for the best. You're the definition of damaged goods.