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"You just did it?"
Oliver nods. "I was sitting there, on his desk, sure I was a tough bastard. But the second the needle hit my skin—" He motions to the point on the right. It's messy. Skipping spots. "I thought I was gonna die. It hurt so bad. I'm not sure what I expected. Maybe that I'd shrug it off… but fuck. It was miserable. I almost screamed. But I pushed through. Finished before he caught me."
"What did he do?"
"Shook his head stupid kid, you gotta live with that. And told me to go."
"It is crooked."
"Yeah. But that's what makes it mine. That's what makes it perfect."
"That's life, isn't it?" I ask. "The messy shit is what makes it yours?"
"I guess it is." He drops his jeans. Sits. Turns all his attention to me. "After that, I was addicted. Saved all the money I had to get new work. Went straight to the figure drawing class—"
"Naked chicks?"
"Yeah. It sounded hot. But even at sixteen… don't get me wrong. I'm always happy to see a naked woman."
"Excuse me?"
He chuckles. "But when I learned to turn on that artist sense… to see lines and shapes. It's different. Abstract." He reaches out. Runs his hand over my chin. Down my neck. Along my neckline. "Right now, when I look at you, I see Luna. This gorgeous badass with sexy short hair, and red lips, and striking features. But if I pick up a pen, try to put you on paper. I see a strong line." He traces my jaw again. "A long, sinuous line." Then my neck. "A red that's almost pink." His thumb catches on my lips.
"And you think dick lipstick."
He chuckles. "Dick sucking lipstick, but yeah." He raises a brow. "Tell me I'm wrong."
I suppose I can't really claim that. So I flip him off.
He wraps his hand around my wrist. Brings my finger to his mouth. Sucks softly on the pad. "You're distracting me, angel."
"You're the one talking about naked people."
He nods true. "When I shift into that mode, it's just lines, curves, shapes. I can break down the entire world into these tiny pieces that make sense."
"That must feel good."
"It does," he says.
"I wish I had something like that."
"Don't you?" He releases my wrist. "The way you talk about music… it reminds me of learning to draw. You feel that somewhere deep?"
"Sure. I soak in a song. I feel it everywhere. And sometimes it makes me feel understood. But that's it. I might think about the lyrics, but I can't dissect them."
"That's a lot."
Maybe. "There's this Lorde song. About how her boyfriend dumped her because she was too much and he couldn't handle it. I played that a lot after Sean and I ended."
"How did you feel?"
"Better. But worse too. Like I went inside it." My eyes meet his. "I guess… I felt understood. And that helped."
"It always does."
Yeah. And he had all this art. This new obsession. It should have been perfect. "How did you get from that—from this new skill that opened your eyes—to drinking the way you do?"
"I felt better when I drew. And sometimes I held on to it. But sometimes I didn't. Or I'd fixate on it. Like you did, with the Lorde song. Obsess over something that hurt me. Something that fucked me up. Some pain I felt. And… I don't know. I wish I had a good story. That there was this one moment when I snapped. But there wasn't. For a while, I just drank at parties. Bought stuff for friends. Then I started buying for myself. Drinking at home alone. Some nights, when I was bored. Or lonely. Then every night. And when I found out Daisy—"
"Yeah."
"If there was a moment, it was that."
"You couldn't deal with the guilt?"
He nods. "And then I'd drink and hate myself for it. For numbing my shit instead of being there to help her. For being a fucking hypocrite. For lacking the willpower. And it just grew from there. Before I knew it, I had a flask in my pocket at all times."
"You've defended the hell out of that flask."
His chuckle is weary. "I thought it was normal. It was for me."
"Until… something happened."
He nods yeah. Takes a long sip of his coffee. Swallows hard. "I drink like a fish, sure, but I'm usually smart about it. Only this time… I was at a woman's house. Doing my usual—"
"Yeah."
He continues, "she wanted to have a nightcap. Then it became two. Three. She nearly fell asleep in my arms. I had to get the fuck out of there. I knew I should call a car, but I didn't."
Oh.
"It happened fast. A bright light, honking horn, brakes squealing. Then I was in the hospital in handcuffs." He holds up his left wrist. "Sprained some shit, but nothing that wouldn't heal."
