Broken but Breathing (Jinx Tattoos 2)

She laughed, and he relieved her off the sheet cake featuring a pink puppet with ponytails on either side of her head. A plastic bag was tapped to the box with a wand and a crown for accessories. He shook his head. Girls get all the cool shit. Little boys never had swords and motorcycles.

A few minute later, parents began to arrive, and the chaos began.

§

I’m suffocating. He felt like a drunk stumbling onto his bike. He was a fish too long out of the water. His brain screamed for silence and numbness. The sounds of baby laughter had ripped his wounds open like a razor blade. He revved his engine, acknowledging to himself he was running scared. He hadn’t been prepared for the all-consuming grief that had sucked him into a tar pit of depression. He pulled out of the parking lot relishing the wind and the feeling of being weightless. On his bike, he was one with everything. He could smell the night air, taste the dampness that came with impending rain on his tongue, and feel the cool wind blowing against him. Usually, the experience put him in a zone next to nothing could touch. Today, the ride wasn’t enough. Visions of his curly-haired angel haunted him. Her broad smile, still chubby face, and sassy attitude were front and center in his brain. He pulled into a gas station and let his bike idle off to the side. Mike was prickly at best, and no one else knew his real story other than Data. Support. He pulled the telephone out of his cut and paused. Fuck it.

His fingers made the decision before his mind could talk him out of it. He placed the ringing phone to his ear and held his breath.

“Hello?”

“Hey, support, you busy?” he asked, careful to keep his tone light.

“Snake,” she whispered. He closed his eyes, taking comfort in her kind voice. “Everything okay?”

“Not really. I could use some support myself tonight.”

“Do you want me to come to you?” she asked.

“No, I’m at a gas station, and the club house is just too much to deal with right now.”

“Y-you could come here.”

“To your place, Sprite? You sure you want to risk scandalizing your neighbors like that?”

She snorted. “If anything, it’ll get them to keep their opinions to themselves.”

“Oh, you got a little rebel in you. I thought I saw it back at the clubhouse.”

“Hah, I’ve never been called anything close to rebellious. I was a good little girl who wanted to please everyone, and followed every rule to a T.”

“Sure ain’t that now,” he said, intrigued by the self-portrait she’d drawn with her words.

“No, I don’t think I am. My place isn’t much, but you’re welcome here. I don’t have any alcohol, but I can whip up a meal if you’re interested.”

“That’s perfect, Sprite. This time, you feed me and I’ll ply the bartender with alcohol.”

She laughed and rattled off her address, telling him she’d see him when he got there.

As he parked his bike, he frowned at her apartment complex. He pictured her in something more upscale. She drove a BMW for Pete’s sake. Survivor’s guilt. You did just enough to get by. He’d lived a year in and out of hotel rooms for the same reason. At least she had the sense to wallow in one place. Climbing off his bike, he took the stairs two at a time to climb the two stories to her door. Part of him was damn near excited to see her. She sounded good on the phone, like her time at the club had worked wonders. That was normally the case with people coming onto the scene from clean cut backgrounds. She was a strange creature indeed.

He knocked on the door and rocked back on his heels. The sight that greeted him a few seconds later had his jaw ready to drop. She was dressed in a pair of body-hugging black jeans, fierce heels, and a fitted black vest that highlighted her full breasts.

“Are we going out to eat?” he asked, confused. No one walked around their house like this.

She laughed. “Nope, the sister-in-law, came over and played dress up with me.” She stepped back. “Come on in.” He watched her walk away and imagined her body lush and ripe for the picking. I wouldn’t mind playing dress up sometime.

“It smells amazing in here,” he said, handing her a bottle of Scotch.

“Thank you. Steak and homemade garlic potatoes sound okay?”

“Damn, I haven’t eaten that good in a while.”

“Steaks are finishing in the oven and potatoes are boiling. Please have a seat.” She gestured toward the lone grey couch against the wall, and he took in the threadbare apartment. There were no pictures or décor. It felt cold and barely lived in.

He sank onto the cushion, and she sat on the opposite end.

“What happened tonight