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It’s been three weeks since that guy showed up at the studio steps and kissed Lyra, and he comes in everyday to bring her lunch. Lacy told me his name was Jason, but I don’t care. He can have Lyra and they can live their stupid perfect little lives together; it doesn’t bother me.
What bothers me is that I’m stuck here until I can secure a place. I don’t want to be here, constantly reminded of her, the smell of her, the sight of her. Everything about her disgusts me now and I severely regret ever going near her; I regret applying for this job to begin with.
I find solace in working with my clients. Tattooing is therapeutic to me and I love bringing my pieces to life, especially when it’s a watercolour piece; that’s my favourite. I’ve had some nice ones to do lately. Abstract, outside of the box and challenging, all the things that help me thrive day to day.
Lyra hasn’t tried speaking to me again, unless it’s to ask if I need specific stock or if I can handle the phones while Sheldon’s out. Other than that, we haven’t said two words. No stolen looks. No being alone together in the back.
It’s better this way.
I don’t want to think about her and yet I do. I’m angry with her, but I think about that anger and her constantly. I can’t seem to get her out of my mind, no matter what emotion is associated with her.
I just want it all to be over.
It’s taken me seven weeks since the incident with Lyra before I find the perfect place to set up my coastal studio. I’m excited and nervous at the same time. The current owner seems to be a gent though and has agreed to rent it to me the first year, and then I can make an offer to buy it or not. I like that arrangement. If things don’t work out in a year, then at least I won’t be up to my eyes in debt.
I’m excited to tell Heather about it, so I plan to take her out for a nice dinner tonight and explain the situation to her. I want it to be a celebration so she’ll be more excited than sad. I know uprooting her isn’t what I wanted, but I need the fresh start and it’ll probably do her some good as well.
After I see her off to school I head towards work, my typed letter of resignation in my hand. I’m giving Lyra four weeks’ notice which gives her plenty of time to find an artist to replace me. That’s more respect than she gave me, my mother clearly raised me better.
When I walk into the studio everyone is there, doing their stations or milling about talking. I greet like I always do, before I head to my booth. Luckily I wasn’t like everyone and had a lot of stuff to pack. It really was just my art supplies and my docking station for my phone. I set my phone on it now and put on some blues; I feel completely relaxed and ready to do this.
I place my letter of resignation on Lyra’s countertop and I go back to my booth. No need to create a stir about it, Lyra can read into it whatever she wants. Facts are facts, I am a grown ass man and can make whatever decision I want to.
And I want this.
I hear the door slam open and turn around curiously. Lyra’s burst in, tears streaming down her face and her one eye a nasty shade of blue. She pauses and looks around, shaking her head and bursting into tears. Lacy rushes to her side and gets her to sit on the sofa close by. I can hear them talking from my booth as Lyra explains that she fell down the stairs and that’s how she got the blue eye.
She fell down the stairs.
That’s how she got the blue eye.
Then how did that red ring around her neck appear? Or did she forget about that? I know exactly what happened.
I get up and go to her booth while everyone crowds around her trying to make her feel better. I pick up my letter of resignation and stare at it, before I crumple it in my hands and toss it in the bin.
To be continued…
