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With each buzz of the needle, the emptiness inside my chest hurt a little less, but only temporarily.
I was so incredibly grateful for Yamin and his friendship, but I missed Tommy, and I was unable to stop thinking of Freya. Every day was haunted with memories of her. Cars, steak, bed, showers, they all reminded me of her. It was fucking exhausting.
While I was getting this tattoo, however, was the only time I let myself think of her. I ran back every single second of our night together, and the subsequent times we interacted before that. Joking and laughing together, house hunting and karaoke... Working on that car with her had been a highlight of my whole fucking life. I agonized over everything I should’ve done and everything that I wanted to say. Life wasn’t so forgiving, though, so all I had left were the memories. I’d thought of calling Tommy a few times, but hadn’t gotten up the courage to do that yet because I wasn’t ready to hear about Freya’s new relationship or boyfriend, or, God forbid, husband. Yeah, I’d been gone long enough for the girl to marry and I was completely, blissfully, achingly, unaware.
When the color was finally done, I took a deep breath. I’d promised myself that once the tattoo was done, I’d move on. It’d taken a full two years to finally get it done, but I had. Now I was regretting that promise.
I left after paying. It was long dark outside as the little doorbell chimed above me. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Pulling my phone out while heading to my bike with my helmet dangling from my hand, I saw one word appear from an unknown number.
Unknown: Dick.
I snorted, knowing exactly who it was, and it made my heart just a little bit lighter.
I couldn’t help myself, I sent a message back right away, because Goddamn, Tommy Gun was finally talking to me again.
Me: Missed you too, asshole.
Immediately connecting the name to his phone number, I sighed and shoved my phone back into my pocket before heading to my car.
As the key turned in the ignition of my Indian Scout motorcycle I pressed the start button. Funny, but I found motorcycles so much less satisfying without a kick start.
When I got back to the place I shared with Yamin, I parked the bike under the garage portico and went inside to the empty place. Yamin had been gone for a few weeks now, training up for his next mission. What I would’ve given to be with him, getting the details of a new target to take out. Instead I was driving around on my little motorcycle, going to work for a nine to five fixing shitty cars and coming home to a quiet house and a chest full of regrets.
The soft buzz of my phone brought me out of my self pity.
Tommy Gun: Missed you but you’re still a total dick.
Me: I know. I know what I did was a total dick move. I never meant to hurt you, Tommy.
Tommy Gun: You knew it would, Ash.
Me: I knew. But I’m also not sorry.
Tommy Gun: So don’t wait for an apology, then?
Me: You’d be waiting forever.
The phone started ringing with Tommy’s name rolling across the screen.
I hurried to open up a beer, then answered.
“Hey Tom.”
“I can’t tell if I’m happy to hear your voice or if I want to find out where you are to finish the job,” was his response.
I snorted another laugh.
“You can feel both. I probably would in your position.”
He sighed hard.
“I’ve been keeping in contact with Yamin. He’s the one who gave me your number.”
“Yeah, uh, he told me you text sometimes.”
“I just had to know you were ok. I still care about you, even if you’re a fucking asshole.”
