Bastard(26)

Stubbing out my cigarette, I light up another. That’s not helping either. Reaching across to the passenger seat, I slide my hand underneath and pull out my sketchpad. It’s been months since I’ve drawn anything. Maybe that may calm me the hell down. It’s worked in the past.

Flicking through the pages, I study some of my other drawings. They’re pretty dark; skulls, demons and snakes, shit like that. It suits my personality I guess. Retrieving a pencil out of the glove compartment, I start to draw. When I’m done, I stare down at my work.

Usually I get into the zone and let my hand draw what it wants. Of course today it chose to draw her. Those big eyes framed with long, thick, dark lashes and those beautiful plump lips that taste like fucking heaven. Christ she’s beautiful. Damn her.

Tearing the drawing from the sketchpad, I screw it up and toss it on the floor. Grabbing my cigarettes, I get out of the car and walk across the park, eventually settling under a tree.

I open my pad to a fresh page. This time I make sure I control what my hand does. No fucking kid. It ends up being a picture of a skull with a snake coming out of the eye sockets and black roses wrapped in its tail. That’s more like it. Placing it on my lap, I light another cigarette and I sit back and admire my handiwork.

“Hey, buddy. Got a light?” someone asks. I look up to see a guy approaching covered in tattoos. He has a huge silver spike piercing through his eyebrow and one-inch ear plugs in his lobes. I don’t mind the odd piercing, but stretching your earlobe seems extreme to me. It’s not like you’re gonna be wearing plugs in your ears when you’re seventy years old. What are you gonna do with those huge-arse fucking holes then?

“Sure,” I say throwing it to him.

“Thanks. I left mine at the shop.” He leans forward and passes it back once his cigarette is lit. “Hey, did you draw that?” he asks looking down at my sketchpad.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“That’s pretty good. Mind if I take a look?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out,” I say handing it to him. I’ve never shown anyone my work before, but I don’t know this guy, so who cares what he thinks? I don’t.

“That would make a fucking awesome tatt. Ever thought of selling these?” he asks.

“Nah. I just do it for fun.”

“I own the tattoo parlour across the road,” he says pointing across the park towards the line of shops on the other side of the street. He flicks back through some of the other drawings. “Fuck, these are wicked.”

“Thanks man,” I answer. I’ll admit I’m pretty stoked that he likes my work.

“I’m serious. I’d love to buy some of these. I’m always looking for new designs. You wanna sell them?” I shrug. Do I? I’m not really sure. It would be kind of cool to know my drawings were inked on someone permanently. I’ve even considered getting a few myself when I can afford it. Tattoos don’t come cheap. “Do ya wanna come check out my shop?”

“Sure, why not,” I reply, standing. I’ve got nothing better to do.

“Jax,” he says extending his hand to me.

“Carter.”

I walk with him across the street. His shop’s pretty cool. It doesn’t look like much from out in the street, but inside the setup is wicked. My eyes dart around before landing on the girl behind the desk. She has a full sleeve tattoo on both arms and hot pink hair, but believe it or not it suits her. She’s pretty hot. She has a nice rack, too. I’m guessing she’s in her early twenties.

“Candice, this is Carter,” Jax says as we approach her.

She makes no attempt to hide the fact she’s checking me out. “Hi handsome,” she winks.

“Hey,” I say with a flick of my head.

“Check out these drawings,” Jax says giving her my sketchpad. I know my drawings are good, but I’m uncomfortable about her seeing them for some reason.

“Wow, these are amazing. Did you do these?” she asks making eye contact with me. I nod. “They’re great. Oh I’d love this one on my arse,” she says pointing to the image of a skull laying across a bed of roses. Her comment makes me smile. I bet she’s got a nice arse, too.

“I’ll give you a hundred and fifty dollars,” Jax says suddenly. I shrug.

“I guess.” I still can’t believe he wants to buy them.

“Alright.” He flips through the book and counts how many drawings there are. “Fifteen,” he says leaning over to pick up the calculator off the counter. He presses some numbers into it. “That’s … two thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars,” he adds. “You happy with that?”