Trashed and Scattered

Peyton stepped out from the shower, exhausted from the past two days of nonstop tattooing. She’d handed out more business cards than she’d imagined was humanly possible, eventually depleting her supply. She wasn’t sure how much good it had actually done to hand them out, considering most people at the event were California natives and she was based miles away. Nevertheless, she was happy to scrounge up more potential clients. Maybe they’d take a trip to come and see her.
As she ran her brush through her hair, she checked the time on her cellphone.
1:04
She hadn’t decided yet whether or not she’d follow through on her arrangement to set up shop at a tattoo party. What the shit was a tattoo party anyway? Surely it was made up; but it was sweet that he’d asked her anyway.
Was it just a ruse to try and steal some of her time? Was it founded in admiration of her work or admiration of her looks? Did it matter? Money was money…and exposure was exposure.
She mulled it over as she blew hot air through her long brown hair.
Once her hair was thoroughly dried, she wrapped the cord to the blow dryer around its base and stuffed it back into the cupboard under the sink. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but notice just how very exhausted she looked. The bags beneath her eyes had doubled in size and painted themselves in an unnatural blue.
“Not enough concealer in the world,” she muttered to herself, pulling lightly at the soft creases that fell outward beneath her piercing green eyes.
As she dug her makeup bag out from the cupboard, her phone danced across the vanity top.
Hannah.
“Hey, what’s up?” Peyton breathed into the phone, rummaging through her bag for her foundation.
“Hey,” Hannah answered. “Nothing really. Just wanted to see how the convention went.”
“It was good,” Peyton replied. “Filled up all my slots; gave out our info. All in all, it went pretty well.”
“Did you see Vern?” she asked curiously.
Peyton smeared light beige across her cheek, “Yep. We went for a few drinks Friday night. It was a decent time…He’s married now. Crazy, huh?”
Hannah laughed, “I don’t know Vern well enough to pass a judgement on that. So, is it crazy?”
“It is,” Peyton informed her. “He used to be a bit of a manwhore from what I remember.”
“Ah,” she smirked. “So, he dated like you do?”
Irritation welled up in Peyton. She set down her tube of liquid miracle and found her eyebrow had cocked itself.
“What would you like, Hannah?” she asked impatiently. “Was that it?”
Hannah cringed, knowing full well that she’d accidentally stepped on her friend’s toes. It wasn’t a secret that Peyton couldn’t maintain a lasting relationship, she’d always grown bored and restless with each new suitor faster than they’d come around. But Peyton was weirdly guarded about it; she could joke about it, but no one else was granted that privilege.
“Sorry,” Hannah mumbled. “Yeah…That was it.”
“Okay,” Peyton replied shortly. “I should get off the phone…I’m just getting ready to head out.”
“Where are you going?” Hannah asked curiously, using her friendliest voice in an attempt to smooth over the accidental carnage she’d created.
Peyton sighed, “I was propositioned.”
“Like…sex?” Hannah laughed awkwardly.
“I’m not sure,” Peyton replied slowly, resuming her determination to make herself somehow presentable. “I don’t think so. Have you ever heard of a tattoo party?”
Hannah smirked, “A tattoo party? No.”
Peyton groaned, “Yeah, that’s what I thought…”
“What is it?”
“Apparently as it sounds,” Peyton chuckled softly. “One of my clients asked me if I’d come out and spend a day tattooing him and his friends.”
“Paid?” Hannah asked.
Peyton smiled, “No, Han. I work for fucking free. That’s how I make the payments on my student loan; with hopes and dreams and sometimes opportunities.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hannah laughed. “Well that sounds…interesting.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Peyton thought aloud, giving herself serious intention to actually attend the made-up event.
“Was he cute?” Hannah grinned. “He must have been if you’re actually going to go do that.”
Peyton nodded, “He was…Not my type though.”
“What is your type?” Hannah asked pointedly, genuinely curious of Peyton’s idea of attractiveness.
“Oh, who knows,” she smirked. “It changes all the time.”
“Well,” Hannah said into the phone, meeting the gaze of a client strolling through the door. “Let me know when you get back, so I know you weren’t murdered... Have you told Joanna?”
“Fuck no,” Peyton chuckled. “She’d never let me go. She’d fly out here just to hold me by my ear until the day had passed by.”
“Ever the skeptic,” Hannah smirked. “I’ve got a client. I’ll let you go.”
“Have fun working, loser,” Peyton teased cheekily.
Hannah smiled, “Yeah. You too.”
Peyton flipped her phone closed and tossed it back onto the counter, muttering “damn” to herself as she realized she, too, would spend the day slaving away behind her gun. One more day wouldn’t kill her; back home she’d often work six days straight, ten hours at a time. So why, then, was she so exhausted?
Her eyes glanced around the dimly lit bathroom. She decided the house was the problem. Its weight was tying her down and force-feeding her gloom.
“It’s an excuse to get out,” she told herself sternly.
With a decided nod, she smeared pigments across her face and worked double time on the bags under her eyes. Once she was satisfied that her goblin face had been appropriately covered, she set off to start gathering up her things.
She was making good time once she’d actually made the conscious decision to attend her torturous fate. As she clipped her case of equipment shut, she gave herself one last run down. Satisfied that she wasn’t leaving anything of importance behind, she grabbed the case with both hands and set off for the unknown.
Without much thought, Peyton hopped into her car and set off toward the cute stranger’s address. It was remarkably close; so close, in fact, that she could have walked the distance in no more than ten minutes. However, her equipment carried a bit of weight to it and she was confidently lazy.
The short journey didn’t give her much time to prepare. As she triple checked the correct house number and pulled over next to the curb, she found nervousness creeping up through her veins. What if he was joking when he’d invited her?
“He wouldn’t have given you his address if he was joking,” she told herself sternly.
Mustering the last of her courage, she forced herself into the road and unleashed her tools from the confines of the trunk. The house was a fair size, as most homes in Huntington were. It screamed ‘ordinary’, much to Peyton’s relief. This hardly seemed like the proper neighborhood for murder.
Her knocks were braver than her soul. She waited impatiently, contemplating running back to the car and abandoning her attempt. But the door flew open within thirty seconds and an unfamiliar face greeted her with a cheesy smile.
“Are you the tattoo girl?” he asked.
Peyton shifted her weight, taken aback by his greeting, “Uh...I guess so.”
“Cool,” he smiled, pulling the door open all the way and gesturing for her to step inside.
She obliged him, keeping her steps small and calculated. The house opened up immediately and she was impressed by its tall ceilings.
“Come on,” he laughed nervously. “We set up a whole room for you!”
She tried to feign comfort as she followed him through the front entranceway and passed a doorway. Her eyes doubled back into her skull as they scanned across the room.
“What...” she started.
The stranger grinned, “You like it?”
“What the fuck is this?” she burst into laughter.
“It’s your shop for the day,” he told her seriously.
She snickered, daring to step closer to the weirdest scene she’d ever come across, “What is wrapped around this bed?”
“I don’t know what it’s called,” he smirked.
“Why is there a whole bed down here?” she asked confusedly with wild amusement flaring up within her.
He stared at her blankly, “So we’d have a place to lay and shit.”
“But did you need the whole damn bed?” she laughed. “The headboard? Really?”
He frowned at her, like they were old friends and she’d ruffled one too many feather.
“It’s great,” she chuckled. “Really. Oh wow; you guys even ran an extension cord through here...Okay.”
As Peyton continued to marvel at the weird set up, a familiar face turned the corner. Their green eyes met up in the middle.
“Hey! I thought I heard Johnny talking to someone in here,” Zach smiled.
Peyton nodded sheepishly, “Just me.”
“You know,” Zach cooed, “I realized today that I’m an idiot. I didn’t even catch your name.”
“Oh, it’s--”
“Peyton?” a husky voice sounded.
Her blood ran cold at the distinct sound of recognition. She dared herself to look up—but it took her a second to place him. His hazel eyes gleamed in the light as his face melted at the sight of her.
She found herself swooning; not just because he was hunky as hell, but because she hadn’t seen that dimpled face in thirteen-odd years.
“Matt?” she croaked, disbelief ringing through.
“Holy shit!” he laughed joyously, quickly moving around the bed to wrap her up in his muscular arms.
She equaled his effort, squeezing him tightly with all her might. He pulled back after a second to get a good look at her; and she at him. He’d grown up real nicely. She couldn’t help but blush a little, catching herself tracing the edges of his biceps.
“Wait, you know each other?” Zach asked confusedly.
“Yeah!” Matt grinned. “Peyton and I go way back!”
Peyton shook her head as subtly as she could to her old friend. While it was great to be reunited, she didn’t want to divulge her history to this group of strangers. Matt caught it immediately, letting his jaw fall flack as he struggled to control his damage.
“We, uh,” he managed weakly. “We met...in New York! Yeah, New York! Remember when I was there a few months ago?”
“No,” Johnny and Zach answered in unison.
Matt smiled, “Well, that’s how I know her. Yep. That’s it.”
She mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to him as he took her into his arms once more.
“The other two are taking their sweet time,” Zach informed the room. “I’m going to go see if I can hurry them along.”
Johnny followed Zach out back toward Jim and Brian, which allowed Matt to immediately get down to business.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, elated to see her but confused all the same.
“It’s a long story,” she rushed in hushed tones. “I don’t have time to get into it...But right now I’m here to tattoo you, I guess.”
He laughed, holding her tightly against him as she turned out to sift through a stack of drawings on the table.
“Our friend drew them up,” Matt told her as she picked each picture up one by one.
“Why?” she laughed, holding up a picture of a cowboy skull.
Matt chuckled, “That’s Johnny’s.”
“Wow,” she muttered playfully.
She picked out a design adorned with two identical handcuffs. They were a little too cartoon-based for her taste...and entirely skewed and unbalanced.
“He did that one drunk,” Matt smirked, noting Peyton’s unimpressed face.
“I’m going to fix it,” she told him. “Any chance you guys keep pencils around here?”
“Maybe in the kitchen,” he shrugged. “Come on, I’ll help you look.”
As they walked together through the living room to the kitchen, they couldn’t keep their eyes off of one another. It was like seeing a ghost...like Casper.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Matt gushed as they rounded the corner and got to work searching for a pencil. “How long’s it been?”
Peyton smiled, “A long fucking time.”
Matt opened his mouth to berate her with more questions, but the back door flew open and thudded loudly against the wall.
“Found them!” Zach cheered happily, leading in a pack of men.
They strolled in one by one; Peyton paid little mind.
“Got one,” Matt called to her back, holding a mechanical pencil proudly into the air.
She spun around to check out the find and was immediately faced with piercingly familiar eyes. Her heart thudded to a stop as his face contorted with confusion...and then with requited familiarity. They each took a second to work out how it was that they knew each other.
“Lexi?” he asked in almost a whisper.
She let a conflicted smile spread across her face, nearly bursting into tears as she settled on the man in front of her. If she thought seeing Matt was like seeing a ghost...Her eyes blinked rapidly as she fought back the urge to pull him into her body and never let him go. But she was blindsided and stunned. She was stuck in shock and by the look on his face, it was safe to assume he was, too.
With an influx of emotion coursing through her like venom, all she could think to say was, “Hi, Wiley.”

Notes

Almost there....

This should at least narrow it down ;)

xx