The Dark Prince(The Dark Light Series #2)(30)

Once again, my big mouth has hurt someone that I love. And even if Dorian hurt me first, there's no excuse for what I've said. I am no better than his father. No, actually I'm worse. I knew how to hurt Dorian, I knew what triggers took him to his dark place, and I did it anyway.                       
       
           



       Chapter Twelve




The next few days pass excruciatingly slow, a little piece of me dying with each day without Dorian. I know I should call him but my pride- well, what's left of it- along with sheer humiliation, won't let me. If he wanted to see me, he'd be here. The looming truth that Dorian has finally seen me for what I really am and would rather do without the headache is unbearable. But I can't fault him; he deserves so much more than me. Regardless of what he is, regardless of his past, he is perfect in every way.



After a tortuous sleep that I eventually aided with an entire bottle of red wine, I awaken Thursday morning feeling confused and anguished. My head is pounding and my body feels like it's been dipped in cement. Dorian still hasn't called nor texted and my mind is beginning to sprout painful musings of him running to Aurora's waiting arms and warm bed.

Maybe this is it. Maybe Dorian has had enough of me and my childish ways. He didn't deserve that considering he's devoted his life to protecting me. Yet, because I was feeling irrational and scorned, I had to have the last word. I had to make him feel as demoralized as he made me feel. Right or wrong, I took it too far, and I am dreadfully afraid that I've pushed him away for good.

Luckily it's my day off, so I slowly nurse my hangover, watching bad TV and eating junk in bed. I'm in a dark place; I can feel myself slowly ticking towards self-destruction. Even with the faint remains of my alcohol-induced headache, all I want to do is drink until I can't feel anymore. It's only noon but I head to the kitchen to pour myself a shot of tequila and grab a cold beer to chase it.

With Morgan at work, the apartment seems cold and desolate, yet I feel like I'm suffocating, the feelings of loneliness and remorse tightly gripping my chest. I have to get out of here; the longer I stay, the more I'll have to feel. I down my shot, letting the hot, burning liquid scorch my aching chest. Then I pick up the phone. There's only one person who could begin to ease my discontentment.

"Hey Jared, what's up, buddy?" I say after he picks up after two rings.

"Gabs! Didn't expect to hear from you! I'm glad you called," he says cheerfully.

Jared. Always a breath of fresh air. His sincerity instantly begins to soothe my troubled soul. "I wanted to see if you were busy today. It's my day off, and I was hoping we could hang." Translation: I was hoping you could help me forget what a massive screw up I am.

"Really?" he replies incredulously. "You want to spend your day off with me? Not Dorian?"

Crap. Of course he'd bring him up, causing the tightness in my chest to return with a vengeance. I take a deep breath, trying to level my shaky voice despite the large lump in my throat. "No. I want to spend it with you," I say, hoping he can't detect any sign of suffering.

"Ok," he says cautiously. He knows there's more to it than what I'm giving away. "Where do you wanna meet up?"

"Um, actually, would you mind coming to pick me up? I've already been drinking."

A long beat passes before Jared speaks again. "You ok?" He knows me better than anyone else and I can't hide from him. Yet, he also knows when not to press the issue with a barrage of judgments and questions.

"I will be. See you in half an hour?"

After downing my beer, I rummage through my closet in search of something to wear. I don't even feel like getting dressed at this point but I couldn't subject Jared to the embarrassment of having to be seen with me in pajama pants and a t-shirt. I decide on jeans, a charcoal grey tank and black flip flops. It's not much better than my PJs but at least I've taken the time to comb my unruly hair. Before Jared arrives, I take another shot of tequila to ward off the threat of melancholy that keeps trying to creep its way to the surface. He's punctual as always, and I instantly notice the worry etched in his face when I open the front door.

"Don't," is all I say shaking my head. I don't want his concern; I don't deserve it. I grab my purse, and we head for his car in tense silence.

"Where to?" Jared asks once we are on the road, headed towards Academy Boulevard.

"Just drive. I'll tell you when I see it," I respond.

I see Jared's CD booklet, housing his music collection. I flip through until I find what I'm looking for before ejecting The Script, singing a heartfelt melody. I can't hear this, not now when I am trying so hard to hold it together. I pop in Eminem, knowing that only he could relate to my afflicted state of mind.

I instruct Jared to pull into the first tattoo parlor we see. He looks over at me with hesitation and question in his eyes.

"My treat," I say opening the passenger side door. Lord knows I can afford it since I started working at Cashmere. Thanks to Dorian, my salary as a store manager rivals that of a CEO of a major corporation.

Dorian. Just thinking about him causes me to gasp in agonized desperation. I can literally feel my heart splintering, sharp little shards poking me in the chest.

"Gabs, I just hope you know what you're doing," Jared says, opening the door to the shop for me. Always a perfect gentleman. Even though I am far from a prim and proper lady.

"I do too," I smile weakly.

Jared and I flip through dozens of giant photo albums in search of body art. He has a few random pieces already and has taken me up on my offer for some new ink. He's chosen to get a tribute piece to mark Tammy's miraculous recovery. I honestly have no idea what I want which is no surprise.

"So things are kinda rocky with Dorian?" Jared casually asks about thirty minutes into our search.

"You could say that," I sigh. "We got into a fight. Well, he said something that upset me and I let him have it. I really went too far. Now I'm afraid he'll never speak to me again."

Jared nods, knowing the routine all too well. I don't let myself just hurt; I get angry. And when I'm angry, I see red, unable to control whatever venom falls from my tongue. Then the damage is done. And rather than trying to mend the broken relationship, I simply punish myself for my misstep, too ashamed to face my mistakes and the real issues festering within me. Unfortunately, the people that I love the most are usually in the line of fire. If it weren't for my family and the few friends I actually do have refusing to give up on me, I would have pushed them away years ago rather than reveal just how insecure and broken I really am.

"You really do love him," Jared remarks.

I take a deep breath, feeling a swell of emotion rise in my chest. "Yes. So much."

"Then it will be ok. He'll forgive you. You're worth it, Gabs," he smiles warmly.

I struggle to return his sentiment then return my attention back to the book. A grouping of eight photos grabs my attention and I nearly drop the album.

"What's wrong, Gabs?" Jared asks, gauging my startled reaction. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

I shake my head, unable to verbalize my shock and horror. Just then, the tattooed receptionist walks by and I wave her down.

"Excuse me, who received these tattoos?"

The young lady, who looks more like a 50s pin-up girl with her jet black hair and red lips, takes a closer look at the collection I'm pointing to with a shaky finger. "Uh, I think it was a group of some Emo kids a while ago. I remember because they were really odd, kinda freaked me out. Since then, not too many people have asked for them. Is this what you want?"

"No, thank you," I respond. "Just wondering."

Once she returns to her station, I pull out my phone and take a picture of the page. I take a long look at each word, fashioned in what I assume is ancient Greek. I touch each one, feeling somewhat drawn to them, connected to the exotic scrawl. Under each photo of foreign characters etched on pale skin is the phonetic translation.



Algea

Apatē

Thanatos

Mīsos

Oinos

Polemos

órexis

Skotos



"That looks like Aurora's last name. And isn't Skotos Dorian's last name?" Jared asks casually while orchestrating a text message on his cell phone. Luckily, he's been so wrapped up in his task that he still hasn't caught on to my anxiety. I nod and quickly flip to the next page to avoid further questions. I couldn't explain it even if I tried.

Once Jared and I are each in an artist's chair, I mentally prepare myself for my first tattoo, a lotus blossom accented with feminine filigree extending from the nape of my neck, down my spine and ending at the middle of my back. It's a beautiful piece and though I've opted to do without the vibrant pinks and greens in the photo, it still evokes feelings of serenity and peace, exactly what I so desperately want to channel. Reluctantly, I remove my shirt and unsnap my bra, then carefully shield my breasts as I turn to sit backwards on the reclining chair.

"Pretty big piece for a first timer," the bearded artist warns before touching my unmarked skin with the buzzing needle of the tattoo gun. "This'll hurt."

I turn my head a fraction to look him in his eyes, demonstrating my absolute certainty. "Good."