Jean Haus: Ink My Heart

I need a beer, a shot, and a woman. Or several of each. And not necessarily in that order. After five hours of singing, my voice is hoarse, my throat is sore, and I want to get away from the three other twits in my band. I’ve been playing and arguing with them all day. The van has been tranquil since we left the recording studio. The echoing bump of the highway is the only sound other than snores as we travel north from Detroit to mid-Michigan, where we go to the local university as juniors—well, except for Gabe. The loser goes to community college.

We’d still be in the recording session if Gabe, Sam, and I hadn’t forced Romeo to call it quits. Romeo the perfectionist, our lead guitar player and my annoying roommate. His fingers should be bleeding after playing the guitar so long, but no, the bastard is one big callus. He could have put in another five hours, but instead, he’s had a pissy look on his face the entire drive home while I’ve been in the passenger seat ignoring him and trying to doze. Snores are coming from behind us. Sam is sleeping on the first-row bench seat. Gabe is passed out next to his drum set on the floor in the back.

It was Romeo’s asinine idea to make an album of his originals. He hopes it will make us a few bucks on the indie scene. He may be right, but after the hell of a day we had at the studio, we’d better make more than a few bucks.

A beep from my phone wakes me up fully. I dig it out of my pocket. A picture of Mara, one of my regular girls, appears on my screen, and the text: You coming out tonight? I don’t text back but keep Mara as a reserve while hoping for the possibility of meeting someone else. A sexy new adventure.

Romeo takes the exit ramp into town, and I drop my feet from the dashboard. “Just take me to Rats.”

He gives me an irritated glance. “I’m going over to Riley’s. Not coming back into town to pick you up later.”

I shrug. Though the main strip of bars downtown isn’t as busy in the winter, I can usually find a girl to take me home. If no one else, there’s always Mara. “I’ll find a ride.”

Waking up, Sam stretches and yawns. He runs a hand over the fuzz of his buzz cut, then punches the back of my chair. “Shit, Justin, you’re a machine. How can you go to a bar after partying last night and working all day?”

“It’s Saturday,” I say with a tone of obviousness. Sam likes the attention we get from women too. He just likes partying a lot more and, as usual, went overboard last night. His bright blue eyes, which the girls gush over, are bloodshot today.

“Thought you would have got enough ass last night,” Gabe says from the back.

“Never,” I say.

“Well, that was one seriously big ass you went home with.”

I recall Emily—or was it Emma?—with a slow smile. Gabe’s girlfriend is stick skinny, with huge tits. Nothing wrong with that, but I like all women. I like the way they smell. I like the soft sighs they make. I like how they ease my loneliness, if just for a night. I like them in all shapes and sizes. Toned and angular or round and soft. Lingering on that last thought, I say, “Oh, she was big in all the right places.”

“Dude, there’s nothing you won’t sleep with,” Gabe says sarcastically.

“I have standards.” I raise one finger. “They have to be hot.” I raise another finger. “They can’t be wasted.” I don’t take advantage of the incoherent. “And they can’t be a bitch,” I say with the flick of a third finger. Because Gabe is always such a prick about everything, I add, “Which is why I turned down your cousin.”

“Stay away from Rachel,” he snaps. “But what is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, the girl is hot and she didn’t drink too much last night. Figure it out.”

“Mother fucker!” Gabe yells, and dives toward the front of the van as instrument cases clank and roll around the back.

While I laugh, Romeo throws up his arm in a clothesline move and Gabe’s lanky body bounces backward.

He crashes into Sam, who immediately sits up on the first-row bench seat and says, “Shit, Gabe! I was sleeping!”

“I’m kicking his ass,” Gabe shouts, his longish brown hair falling into his face. “In this van. Now.”

Sam hauls Gabe back by the sweatshirt, but he kicks at my seat. I keep laughing. I have several inches on Gabe and almost twenty more pounds of muscle. “More like get your little bitch ass kicked.”

“Fuck, Justin. When are you going to grow up?” Romeo says, clutching the steering wheel. My laughter instantly dies. I’m sick of Romeo telling me I need to grow up. I’m busy staring him down when a fist connects with and then slides from my jaw. “Asshole,” I gasp, letting my seat belt loose and turning.

“Stop it, Gabe!” Sam yells. “And Justin, shut the hell up!”

I’m ready to pounce when the sight of Gabe struggling like a hyperactive kid in Sam’s grip makes me pause. I want to punch Gabe back, but I’m not like him. I don’t throw blows when a guy is being held down or not looking.

Gabe starts repeating, “I’m going to kill him.”

Sam is becoming red in the face from holding Gabe. Though Sam is the most muscular of us all, Gabe is wiry, pissed-off strength.

Trying to control my urge to sucker punch him, I glance out the window. I want to relieve Sam. “We’re almost downtown. Just let me out.”

“Good idea,” Romeo says under his breath, hitting the brakes. I brace myself on the dashboard with a spread hand.

Sam and Gabe bounce off the back of my seat, then thud to the floor as I jump out of the van.

Before slamming the door, I say, “Tell Riley I said hi.”

Ignoring me Romeo takes off with tires squealing. He’s in a rush to drop Gabe off at his hovel across town and dump Sam at his apartment so he can race to his girlfriend’s house. Romeo’s pussy whipped in addition to being a band dictator.

The brisk air stings my arms. The cement under my feet is crusted with dirty bits of remaining winter snow. Shit. I forgot my coat in the van. Cars whiz by as I take in my surroundings while rubbing my sore jaw. I’m in a part of town I don’t know well, but I can’t be too far from Rats. Fucktard Gabe. Ever since he joined the band more than three months ago, he’s been a prick because I didn’t pick him to be our drummer when he’d first auditioned. Instead, I’d picked Riley—a girl—and the dude was never going to get over it. The little bitch wasn’t pissed at Sam, who also wanted Riley, just me. Now I’m walking because of his stupid ass, and freezing.

After trudging through the cold, I get my bearings and realize it should be less than ten blocks to my favorite bar. Two blocks later, a bright neon sign across the street catches my eye—DRAGONFLY INK. I stop rubbing my jaw and stare. Either the tattoo parlor is new or I’ve just never noticed it. In seconds, after waiting for a car to pass, I’m crossing the street.

My motivation isn’t just to get out of the cold—I’m addicted to ink and body piercings. My body art started as a silent fuck you to my parents, but even though it didn’t get their attention, I continued doing it because I liked it. The sting of the needle and the bold statement of the ink on my skin has become addicting. Adding a bit of tarnish to my pretty boy looks is a bonus.

I warm up in seconds inside the shop, but it takes my eyes a minute to adjust after leaving behind the cold dusk outside. Track lighting illuminates the framed art on the walls, and the space is filled with glass display cases of jewelry.