Sketch

By Laramie Briscoe

My name is Devin, but everybody calls me Sketch. I opened my own tattoo shop two years ago, and I've finally gotten to the point where I'm going to be able to give my wife everything she's ever wanted. I'm going to be able to take time off and spend a day a week with her. In fact, tonight, I stopped and grabbed some wine, got her flowers, and those chocolates she likes.

What I wasn't prepared for was to be met at the front door by her carrying her sh*t out.

She loves me, but she's not in love with me anymore. What kind of bullsh*t excuse is that?  I've left her alone too often, I've been completely focused on one goal, and apparently she's sick of waiting.

So here I stand. Half the man I was, p*ssed as f*ck, because while I was busy making a better life for us, she was under the impression I was leaving her lonely. I know one day she'll see what I've been doing has been for us, and when that day comes… She can damn well come crawling back to me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laramie Briscoe
• Release date: Jan 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781519924414

Book preview

Prologue

Sketch

"I love you, but I’m no longer in love with you, Devin."

The words echo off the hardwood floor I had paid to have put in our home, they bounce off the walls Nina and I had painstakingly painted yellow. I remember the argument we got into about the trim color; an argument I won by tackling her to the, then carpeted, floor and fucking her into submission. What had happened to that couple? When had that changed?

I don’t even know what to say. And I didn’t. Shock and something akin to anger boil in my gut. I want to scream and punch, ask what the fuck is wrong with her, but those words won’t come. I can’t push them past my lips.

She sighs. "That’s precisely the problem, Devin; you never know what to say. You never know when you’re going to be home, you never know what your schedule is going to be. I can’t do this. When was the last time we had sex? When was the last time you told me that you love me? Devin, I’m done."

There it is again. My real name. For the past seven years I’ve been Sketch. Through my apprenticeship and now at my own shop. Most people don’t even know my real fuckin’ name, and here she’s used it twice in one conversation.

You’re done? I sound like a parrot, but I can’t help it. This shit is coming out of left field for me. I’m standing here like a chump, holding a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine, and a box of chocolates. Following her out to the driveway, I watch as she walks awkwardly, holding duffel bags in each arm.

Yeah, Devin. Done. She rolls her eyes and continues putting her stuff in the car. The car, I might add, I bought her with the first profit that my shop turned.

Do you even see what I’m holding, Nina? I ask, thrusting my hands towards her.

It’s too late, she tells me, finally showing some emotion.

There are tears in her eyes and I wonder why. It’s not like I’m the one leaving her. I still have no idea where any of this is coming from. Too late? This is me telling you that I finally have the time. Babe, we’re gonna live our lives.

"I’ve been living, Devin. She stomps her foot. It’s you who’s had your head up your ass at that goddamn tattoo shop."

That’s it. My stomach drops, and I see for the first time the ungrateful bitch she’s become. I feel anger overtake me. That goddamn tattoo shop has provided you with a good life, Nina, I yell.

Throwing the stuff down I have in my hands, I let it smash into a million pieces and watch it roll towards the car. Just like my life, it’s a jumbled up mess of shattered hopes and a river full of broken dreams.

Chapter One

Sketch

*S ix Months Later*

The pounding of my feet against the pavement is a constant I’ve had in my life for the past six months. The rubber soles of my shoes give as my legs eat up the miles. I breathe deeply and calmly, allowing myself to find my rhythm. In my ears, Godsmack pierces my quiet with heavy drums and blistering guitars. I mouth the words as I continue on my now three-mile journey.

When I first started this route six months prior, it had been because I was so pissed off, because I was so crippled by the grief of my wife leaving me. Today, I do it because it makes me feel good about myself.

Turning into the driveway and running towards the garage, I run around the back and go in through the kitchen, off the deck. So far Nina hasn’t asked for the house, and I don’t think she will. It’s too much upkeep for her, and I’ve made a few changes. Falling into that black hole wasn’t an option, and it still isn’t.

Gone is the cheery yellow that had once been our living room color; in its place is a neutral gray. A new TV is now on the wall, and the frilly couch she had picked out is gone too. Now, there’s a sectional that allows me to kick back, relax, and play games, watch porn, whatever the case may be.

I’m breathing heavily as I walk back into the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, and grab a bottle of water. Popping the top, I lift the mouth to my own and drain it, gulping down the cool liquid before I put the empty bottle to my forehead. Grabbing my cell phone off the counter, I see that I’ve missed a call and have a voicemail. Dialing, I put the phone on speaker as I walk towards the bedroom where the master bath is, taking off my sweaty clothes.

Hey, Devin, I know you don’t recognize this number, but I had to get a new phone since you cut me off our plan.

It’s the voice of my soon-to-be ex-wife. I grin to myself at the thought of removing her from our cell phone plan. She left me high and dry, and as petty as it sounds, it gives me a little thrill to do the same to her.

I have a few things at the house I would like to come and get, she is saying. Please either text me or call me back with a time that’s convenient for you.

So proper. Even when we first started dating, we hadn’t been that proper. I swallow roughly, realizing how far the two of us had drifted from one another. It isn’t like I hadn’t realized it within two weeks after she left, but this is a stark reminder. Glancing at the clock, I see I only have an hour to take a shower and get to the shop. Grabbing my phone, I think long and hard about the text I want to send her.

I work today. Shop closes at ten, be here at ten-thirty?

I don’t hold much hope she will text me back, but I carry my phone with me to the bathroom anyway, putting it on the counter as I let the water warm up. Just before I step under the spray, my text beeps. Nina.

Typical. Put the shop first. I’ll see you at ten-thirty.

Hey boss!

I look up as Jackie, my front counter girl, welcomes me into my shop, also called Sketch. This place, it’s been my home, my salvation, my reason for living for the last six months. I love everything here.

You’re here early, I tell her. Usually I’m the first one here, and she’s dragging ass through the door with five minutes to spare.

Jackie scrunches her nose at me. I had an early class. Figured for once I would be early.

I'm gonna head over to the coffee shop before I get started. I need caffeine, I tell her as I do a quick sweep of the shop. It’s a habit I have; making sure everything is in its place. I have worked my ass off to have it. I want to make sure I keep it.

Can you grab me something too? she asks, bending over to pull money out of her purse.

There’s a reason Jackie is my front counter girl. She’s built for sin, and she dresses for it too. There have been a few times, especially in the last few weeks, when she’s looked at me like she’s interested, but I won’t do that. I value my shop, and there’s still too much to deal with when it comes to Nina.

Yeah, whatever you want, I got it, I tell her.

Thanks. She gives me a flirty smile. Do you want the agenda?

I always want the agenda. Being on top of things here allows me to forget that my personal life has gone to shit. Hit me.

She flips through the paper appointment book we have as a backup to our computer system. First appointment is a cover up, and then you’ve blocked out five hours for some dude named Arson?

I laugh. He’s a friend of mine, in an MC. It’s a memorial piece, and it’s going to take a while.

Is Arson his real name?

If he told you his real name, he’d have to kill you, Jackie. I level her with a look that makes her take a step back.

Some of the guys you know, Sketch, I wonder how you’ve made it this far in life without dying.

I shake my head at her as I make my way out of the shop towards Starbucks before turning around and yelling at her over my shoulder. Text me your drink order.

As soon as I’m out of the shop, I think about the last six months and wonder how the fuck I made it this far without dying too.

Chapter Two

Sketch

My back is killing me, but it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind of hurt that comes after I’ve spent hours bent over someone’s piece of skin, memorializing them forever. I’m the only one Arson allows to touch his skin, and that makes me proud. The tattoo I’m giving him I worked hard to create, and there’s a sense of satisfaction that it gives me. Nothing else compares.

When I’m in the zone, I can go hours and not need a break, but the clients may, and I try to respect that.

You need a break, my man?

Arson stretches out his arm and turns his eyes to admire the ink I’ve put on it. No color for this guy; it’s straight up old-school dark lines and gray shading. Could go for a smoke. He motions outside.

That means he wants me to follow him. Reaching over into my station, I grab out my hard pack of Marlboros and beat the box on the palm of my hand as we walk out onto the shop’s patio area.

How’s it goin’? Arson asks as he lights up and hands me his lighter.

He and I have talked here and there. He knows what’s been going on in my personal life. Taking a drag off my cigarette after I light it, I blow the smoke away from him. Living, man…just living.

Has Nina tried to get in touch with you?

It jars me to hear her name being spoken. Hardly anybody has talked to me about it. It’s like a forbidden topic no one wants to bring up. I got a text from her today asking if she could come get some of her stuff, I tell him, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice.

Who am I kidding? It still hurts. Every day I wake up trying to move on from where I was that night she left me in the driveway, but it’s hard.

That’s rough, Arson echoes my thoughts. Are you gonna try to talk to her?

That’s the question I keep asking myself. I don’t know. I figure I’ll play it by ear. It’s not like I can tell her about my day, she hates this place.

She doesn’t, he argues. I’ve seen her here with you before, dude. She may not love it like you do, but she’s proud of you for havin’ it. I could see that in her face.

When she left, she blamed it on the time I spent at this goddamn shop. Her exact words.

Anger and hurt makes people lash out; sometimes they say things they don’t mean.

I’ve known Nina for fourteen years—since freshman year of high school. We’ve been together just as long. When she says something, she means it. And I know that without a doubt.

Arson looks like he wants to say more, but instead he flicks his cigarette out of his hand and squashes it with the toe of his boot. Then let’s get this over with so you can go do whatever it is you need to.

To say I’m not looking forward to this is an understatement. Nina and I haven’t seen each other in four months. In these four months, I’ve taken a hard look at my life and made changes. Those changes are for me, though; I don’t expect her to notice them. One night, with a bottle of Jack, I made an idiot out of myself at her new apartment building and realized I had to make some changes in my life. It was time.

Gone is the fast food I was so quick to grab when I was on my way home to her; gone are the lazy nights in front of Netflix. Three nights a week at the gym, and I run every morning. I look better now than I did in high school. I haven’t lost a lot of weight, but I’m much more muscular than I’ve ever been, and I do have the beginnings of a six pack, if I do say so myself.

Her car is parked in the driveway as I turn my truck in, parking beside her. Sitting there for a few minutes gives me time to get my feelings under control, and I know it keeps her guessing and on her toes. I see her get out of her car, so I get out of mine.

Nina, I greet her with a nod of my head. I don’t want to give her any more of myself than I already have. If she wants words from me, she’s going to have to work for it.

Hey, Sketch, she greets me with a small smile. How are you?

I don’t miss the way her eyes rake over my body.