FIGHT Part 1 by M Dauphin Page B

me, and I will forget about her faster. Not likely.
    Finally Dave finishes and walks out front.
    “Ready?” he asks as he shoves the massive tip from the kid ahead of me in his pocket.
    “Hell yes,” I say. I love this. I love relaxing in the chair while he turns my marred skin into a piece of art.
    I sit, bringing my arms up to rest my chin on, and lean forward to rest against the bench. He’s adding more texture to the wings, making them look almost broken. The buzz of the gun starts and I take a breath waiting for that initial sting. Once it’s started I relax into the chair, listening to the music of the gun as it glided across my skin. Over the years I’ve gotten used to the pain of tattoos, and in a way it brought me peace. The first ones I had ever gotten were just tribal shapes, all big and bold and meant to cover the scars. I still remember how freaked I was when I realized that a few scars didn’t take the ink, and I had to go back to have it redone. I was so worried that I just made them more visible by surrounding them with black ink, but Dave was so good, he assured me it may take one or two cover-ups, but he would get the ink in there. There was nothing he could do about the raised portions of scars, some of the worse ones you can tell just by looking at, others you can’t tell are there unless you feel them.
    Of course the thought of feeling the scars brings my mind to lying in bed with Red. Gwynn. I wonder if that’s her real name or if Gwynn in a nickname. We were lying in bed the morning after she stayed the night, I knew what she was doing but I was loving it too much to let her know that I was awake. Her fingers traced every line on my arm, every spot the ink took over my skin, she traced. I can still feel the heat from her fingertips on my skin. I knew the minute she came across the burn scar. It was one of the smaller ones I had received in my three years of being under his roof, but it still didn’t make it any better. I heard the small gasp when she realized what it was, felt her fingertips graze over it. God that girl, so innocent, so spunky, so spontaneous. And so much of everything I never wanted. Why, then, can’t I get her, and her bright red hair and tattooed body, out of my mind? Hell just sitting here, straddling this chair, is making me incredibly un-fucking-comfortable. I need to stop thinking of her before I get even harder.
    “Any interesting jobs lately, Ed?” Dave’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
    “Nah. Savages needed something small last week, no biggie though. Thank god, I needed a break.”
    He laughs, shaking his head at me.
    “Dude, you are only a year older than me, stop acting like a grandpa.”
    “Very funny.”
    He finishes up shortly after that and I’m finally able to head home and hit the sack. I’m fucking tired of my mind not letting me have a break from her.
    Making it up to my apartment I notice a light coming from under her door. She’s home. Fuck, she’s so close to me, but I can’t bring myself to knock on her door. I want to actually sit and talk to her. I want to know about her. I want to know what made her want to fight, what made her put on this show of a tough girl when she is anything but. I want to know everything about her that I have never wanted to know of any other girl. Shit what is happening to me.
    I need to get away from this place, from her, before she made me break every last one of my rules.
    ***
                  The next morning I get up as early as I can to head to the gym. I love early morning work outs when there’s barely anyone in the gym. No having to wait for machines, no having to listen to other people grunting from lifting things way too damn heavy for them. It’s just me and my music. I turn on my IPod to shuffle and start warming up. Rancid comes on first and it pisses me off because the very first damn thought was of her wearing my fucking shirt. Damnit she still has that shirt, too. I switch the