Beautifully Broken

Cooper’s arms finally fall to his sides. I open my eyes and take a step back, my anxiety disappearing the instant there’s space between us. I wish I could enjoy our embraces. Years ago, when we were kids, I did.

“Heard you got reamed for having a new tattoo.”

I flash an exaggerated grin and hold my wrist out to him. I’ve got a fresh three inch long black phoenix drawn from a pattern of twisting lines with a red and yellow watercolor-like backsplash. Rebirth among the ashes. It’s beyond beautiful. My favorite tattoo so far.

My other wrist has a cherry blossom branch that stretches halfway up my forearm. I love cherry blossoms. But their beauty while spectacular is short lived—much like everything good in my life.

“When did you get this done?” Cooper drawls, running his thumb across my flesh. Across the scars that went the wrong way.

A lump builds in my throat. I pull my hand back and let it fall at my side with slow, controlled movements. I want to clutch it to my chest and curl up inside myself, but that would only make Cooper worry. He worries enough for the both of us as it is and that’s my fault too. “Last night.”

I don’t have to say where I went. He knows Bane’s the person I go to for ink. This is my sixth tattoo, and Bane’s done them all. I got my first when I was sixteen. A cartoon sketch of a T-rex on my hip and I’ve been semi-addicted ever since.

“You know I hate you

going over there.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t need or want a lecture about my only friend on that side of the tracks. I’m careful, only visiting when I know it’s safe. “What’s up, Coop?”

“Heard you slurped Tad’s gherkin.”

I shake my head. How is it that a man who’s so smart, 3.9 GPA smart, can sound so stupid? Who in the hell says gherkin? It sounds like a medieval weapon or an STD. Both of which I don’t and never have had.

“Where in the world did you hear that?”

Cooper gives me a knowing look. “Everyone’s talking about how you’re open for business again, Pipes. I thought you were done with all that.”

I figured it wouldn’t take long for Tad’s story to find its way back to Cooper. This is high school, rumors spread like herpes, but he knows the truth behind the lies. I think that’s why his disappointed expression hurts so much. He’s looking at me like he believes them this time. I shake my head. “No, Doofus. Gherkin.”

Cooper chuckles and runs a hand through his sandy blond hair, pushing the long strands out of his eyes only for them to fall back in place a second later. He gives me a lopsided smile. “Online slang dictionary. They have some hoopla words on there.”

He’s beyond ridiculous. I bite back a grin and punch him in the shoulder. “Quit or UF’s spies are going to think you’re an idiot and take back their scholarship.”

Cooper’s face pales. I can practically see the gears in his head turning. While the Harris’ have more money than I’ll ever see in my lifetime, Mamma T isn’t rolling in dough anymore. When she and Mr. H divorced, he took all his money bags and ran away with the maid he was having an affair with.

Sure, Mamma T has her restaurant, and she gets a sizable check for alimony and child support, but it’s not enough to put two boys through an Ivy League college. Logan, my other illegitimate foster brother, still talks to the man from time to time and will likely have Daddy Dearest pay his tuition, but Cooper can’t stand their dad and refuses to take a penny of his money.

“They have those?”

I roll my eyes. He's so cute. So gullible. “No, Dipshit. They don’t.”

Cooper lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. I about shit myself. Seriously though, what’s up with you blowing that dickbag yesterday?”

And we’re back to this. “I didn’t.”

Cooper crosses his arms and arches his brows. “That’s not what’s going around. Did you do something with Rex too? Y'all looked pretty cozy after school.”

Really, Cooper? You’re such a dick. If I didn’t love you like a brother, I’d totally nutcheck you right now. “Bite me.”

Cooper flips me the bird, showcasing the only tattoo he has, and no Bane didn’t do it for him. It’s a single letter on his ring finger—P. I swat his hand away, my fingers touching the soft skin of his wrist. There’s no balloon in my chest with this touch. No feeling of being strangled by demons I can’t see because I initiated the contact. Not the other way around.

My anxiety is weird. I don’t try to understand it, just survive it.

Cooper smiles, pleased that I’ve made physical contact. He is one of the few people who know about my anxiety issues. He thinks our hugs help, that he’s healing me. They don’t.

“Why’d mom say your off tonight?”

“I’m supposed to do dinner with Monica because it’s her birthday or some shit.”