Sketch - Laramie Briscoe Page 0,4
spent all my time drawing, it was her who had suggested I become a tattoo artist. It was her who had done the research, who’d worked hard so that I could apprentice and we had food to eat. Back then, it had been us against the world. Somewhere along the line, we’d become two individuals who were no longer part of a cohesive unit.
“Every time I looked at those yellow walls, Nina, they made me think of a time when we were happy with each other. I couldn’t take it.” I let my bravado fall down, but not completely.
“This hasn’t been easy for me either, Sketch.” She licks her lips and goes to stand at the wall opposite me, folding her own arms over her chest. “I’ve rethought the decision a million times.”
“Could have fooled me. You seemed pretty damn sure when you left.”
She growls in frustration, kicking her head back against the wall. “Stop saying that!”
“It’s not a lie,” I remind her. “You did leave.”
“I did.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Only because you made me.”
What? Now I’m wondering if she’s on drugs. I, in no way, told this woman I wanted her to leave. “I made you?”
“The long days at the shop while I waited on you to finish someone’s piece, the long nights you spent at the shop leaving me here, the countless long weekends we were supposed to have when something came up. You never wanted to spend time with me, Sketch. Never.”
“Nothing you’ve said to me has ever been further from the truth. If you weren’t such a spoiled brat, you’d see that,” I tell her, pushing against the wall as I launch myself at her. “Nothing has ever been good enough for you. Why do you think I was killing myself? To make things better for us, and where did that get me? Standing in my driveway like a dumbass as you drove away.”
She shrinks back from me as I approach her. Scared of me is something she’s never been.
“Scared?” I taunt.
“Pissed.” she answers in a clipped tone. “I have never been a brat.”
This shit flies all over me. When we first got married, she hadn’t been a brat, but she’d slowly evolved, and I knew that. “The hell you aren’t. I bought you the car you’re driving out there. You bitched because it didn’t have a sunroof. I bought this house. You bitched because it didn’t have a basement and that it was only two bedrooms, because when we had that kid we always talked about, you wouldn’t be able to have your craft room anymore.” I tick the items off on my fingers. “But that’s the big stuff. Should we go into the everyday, nit-picky shit you’ve stuck me with?”
“Stop,” she begs, her bottom lip trembling.
This is her MO, and I’m not stopping. “I can’t make it to your aunt’s birthday because I have a client who booked with me five months in advance. We’re doing a memorial piece for his seven-year-old son who died of cancer. This is the only time he can come in, and the first chance I’ve been able to fit him in. Your aunt decided two days before that she wanted to have the birthday party. Somehow, me not being able to go turned into my fault. Never mind the fact that my client had worked up the nerve for a year to make the appointment, he’d saved for even longer, and I’d stayed at the shop late every night the week before to draw the perfect piece.”
I stop to take a breath because shit’s getting serious and it’s getting personal, but maybe it needs to. “You know why I do that, Nina? Because that means something to me. I want the person who comes in broken because they have gone through the worst thing that life throws at them to leave with a huge smile on their face because I’ve made a difference. That feels good to me. They appreciate me, unlike you.”
“That’s not true, Sketch.” She swallows roughly.
“Could have fucking fooled me.”
This is enough for one night. I can’t take anymore. “Like I said earlier, get your shit and leave. I’ll be in the shower. Lock the door on your way out.”
I don’t wait around to see what she does. All I know is I have to get away from her before I say a million things I’m going to regret later.
Chapter Four
SKETCH
I’m sitting in my office, head bent over the sketchbook