Page 78 of For You I'd Mend
“Stop being weird,” I told my reflection in the mirror above the sink, which pretty much cemented my weirdo status. I draped the washcloth on the side of the tub and hung the towels on the bar next to the sink. With a huff, I went ahead and tinkled because might as well. After I flushed and washed my hands, I contemplated putting on a towel again, but a badass bitch would strut back to the room like a runway model, so that’s exactly what I did.
Theo was propped against the headboard, waiting. He looked exhausted, and I felt a stab of guilt for taking so much from him before he’d had time to recover from the panic attack. He smiled and flipped back the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world to welcome me into his bed. I slid in beside him, and he pulled me close, my head on his chest, his arm resting low on my bare back.
“If I didn’t hurt you, what’s on your mind?” he asked. “And don’t say you just had to pee. I know that’s a lie.”
“How?” I asked, raising my head from his chest. His eyes looked sad. All the playfulness of earlier gone.
“You scrunch here when you fib,” he said, running a finger down the bridge of my nose. “And you bite your lip when you’re worried,” he added, tugging my bottom lip free from my teeth.
“Pretty sure you already know,” I said.
He nodded.
I propped myself up, so we were eye to eye. “I meant what I said before, Theo. I can’t be afraid you’re going to hurt yourself every time we’re together. More than that, when I see marks likethis,” I said, placing my hand lightly on the thigh he’d recently cut, “It breaks my heart.”
“Kardoula mou,” he said, cupping my face. “That’s what it means. My heart.”
Holy shit. All this time, he’s been calling me his heart, and I’d thought he didn’t like me enough to date me. “But you’ve called me that for months.”
He nodded.
“Damn it, Theo,” I said, swatting his chest. “I swear, if I see another mark on you, I’m wrapping you in bubble wrap, throwing you in the back of Tallulah, and driving your ass to your therapist. Then I’m ghosting you. Got it?”
He smiled and rescued my lip from my teeth again. “Would it make you feel better if I started seeing someone now?”
“Excuse me?” I said, sitting up.
He threw his head back and laughed. The fucker laughed. I crossed my arms over my bare chest and waited.
“A therapist,” he said when he got himself under control.
“You don’t have one?” Most artists I knew had a therapist, let alone an artist with panic attacks and self-harm tendencies. Mom put all of us in grief counseling after Dad died, and I’d used the mental health services in high school when I felt overwhelmed with my senior project and the choices I had to make after graduation.
He shook his head and my chest ached. “Because you don’t think they work or because you don’t think you deserve to feel better?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, but his amber eyes looked a million years old. I climbed up his body and buried my face in the crook of his neck because if I looked at him any longer, I was definitely going to lose it.
“Prepare yourself for the longest snuggle of your life,” I said with my face smushed against him.
He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “I promise,” he said rubbing my back, “it won’t be long enough.”
Chapter twenty-four
Theo
Since Max didn’t workSundays, I had the shop to myself. He’d stopped trying to convince me to take the day off years ago. Sundays were for families, and I didn’t have one. I’d rather leave early whenever I needed and start late the other days I worked. I reserved Sunday for custom work that required long chunks of time and focus. These tats weren’t cookie-cutter hearts or Chinese symbols. Most required several rounds of sketches and lengthy discussions with the client. In other words, the most artful.
Mr. Snuggles’s biker dad had come through with multiple referrals for this type of work. Today’s was a challenging piece for a guy who called himself Phoenix.
“These are always tricky,” I said, running my hand over his marred skin. The burn scar wrapped around his entire forearm and looked older than the ones I usually covered, more faded. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you decide to cover it now?”
“I lost my kid sister Lacey in the fire that did this,” Phoenix said, pointing to his arm.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “It felt wrong to cover it. She was gone and I’d survived. The scar was proof of that. But the other day, I was taking my daughter to the park, and we passed a stained-glass window. She called it a ‘princess window’ and kept walking. I couldn’t move my damn feet. Lacey’s favorite Disney princess was Belle. She watched that movie over and over. There’s a part at the beginning and the end where the story is told in stained glass. Have you seen it?”
I nodded. Max’s girls loved the movie and had watched it in the shop more than once when they came to work with their dad.
