Trashed and Scattered

“Can you stop making that sound?” Peyton groaned loudly, sinking her fingertips into her scalp.
Jonas snickered, “Well sorry, Little Miss Hangover.”
Despite Peyton’s objections, Jonas continued to tap his pen against his desk. The constant pattering was nearly enough to drive Peyton straight off the nearest cliff. Her head pounded with a fury, her existence an abomination to free will. All she wanted in that moment was to crawl into her bed and sleep until it twisted itself into death. Jimmy’s offering was suddenly sounding quite appealing.
“I can’t handle you today,” Peyton whined. “I’m going to fucking hang myself.”
Jonas nodded, “Can you do it outside though? I don’t really want to clean that up.”
“Sure thing, Jonas,” she sighed. “I will hang myself outside. No problem.”
“You’re so accommodating,” he smirked. “I appreciate you.”
She rolled her eyes, “Shut the fuck up.”
“I’m going to miss your upbeat attitude,” he teased.
Peyton frowned, “That bullshit jab aside, I will actually miss you.”
“Well…You know…I’m always here if you decide California is better than New York. Which it is, for the record. I’ve always got a spot here for you.”
“A spot, huh?” she scoffed playfully. “You think I’d go back to being an employee after being a business owner?”
“What’s the alternative?” he asked curiously.
She shrugged, “There is no alternative. I’m not moving my life here.”
“Maybe you should,” he grinned. “We could be best buds.”
“Seriously, shut up,” Peyton laughed, giving her head a light shake as she tried her best to focus on the design her hands were in the process of drafting.
Jonas smiled, “You could always move Omen here, no?”
Peyton cocked an eyebrow, taking her time to glance callously over at her friend. He was laughing like an idiot by time her emerald gaze landed.
“I know, I know,” he rushed, hands in the air. “You’re not moving your life here.”
“Can we play the quiet game now?” Peyton grumbled. “You’re giving me a migraine.”
Jonas smirked, pointing his pen in her vague direction, “You’re giving yourself a migraine.”
The bell above the door jingled in its daily song, sparking the attention of both artists in the room. A young raven-haired girl lingered near the chestnut desk, looking timid as all hell.
“Hey,” Jonas called over to her, making absolutely no effort to get up. “Can we help you?”
“Y-Yeah,” she said nervously. “I have an appointment…My name’s Natalie.”
Peyton was overcome with relief. This shaking limb of a creature was a far cry from Jimmy’s former love. It wasn’t that Peyton was necessarily fearful of a confrontation with Natalie—Jimmy’s Natalie—but she really wasn’t sure what there was to say. She hoped the opportunity never presented itself, for she was sure it couldn’t turn out well if ever it did.
With client obligation enveloping the room, Peyton smiled over at the trembling girl, “Hey, you can come on over. I’m just finishing up your stencil.”
The young girl nodded weakly, her steps slow and calculated as she meandered her way across the shop. Upon Peyton’s instruction, she plopped herself down into the black chair.
“Nervous?” Peyton smirked.
The innocent Natalie nodded.
“First tattoo?” the artist guessed, pulling her pencil from the paper and spinning around to face the sheepish creature.
Natalie nodded again.
“Lilies are a good choice,” Peyton offered, despite her serious objection to floral tattoos.
It wasn’t that she didn’t think they were beautiful or that they couldn’t be done tastefully. She was just sick to death of drawing petals. She’d dedicated more hours in her life to sketching the edges of roses than she’d spent doing literally anything else. Sometimes she wondered where the creative expression associated with visual art had disappeared to. But then her rent would be due and suddenly florals weren’t so obnoxious after all.
“My boyfriend used to give me lilies,” Natalie volunteered uncomfortably.
Peyton glanced around with uncertainty, “Oh yeah?”
“He passed away last year,” the young thing nodded.
Blindside by the open vulnerability, Peyton doubled back. She was never sure what about her chair suggested that she was open for business in the feels department, but clients were constantly offering up their trauma to her ears.
“I’m sorry,” was all Peyton knew to say.
Natalie smiled, “It’s okay. I thought lilies might be a nice way to…you know, remember him.”
Peyton wasn’t sure remembering was the problem. Perhaps, though, the lilies might be a nice way to counteract the grief. A constant placeholder for the void in their life, filled by some pigment and a needle.
“For sure,” the artist smiled politely, holding the design up for approval. “What do you think?”
“Beautiful!” she gushed.
Peyton nodded, “Cool. Where are we putting this thing?”
The two women filled the next several minutes with awkward waiting, several glances in the mirror, and finally one last reassuring look from Peyton’s end.
“Ready?”
The nervous girl sighed, “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”
Peyton smirked, pressing the gun into Natalie’s skin as gently as she could. Not entirely surprisingly, the girl flinched immediately. Peyton was well-versed in tattoo virgins and had prepared for the initial shock.
She loved to tattoo people like Brian—or Jimmy. People accustomed to the pain with a perspective of expectation. They knew what they were in for and didn’t make a habit of continuous complaining or flinching. She and Brian had laughed away the time as she’d meticulously carved an old tree into his arm. If it hadn’t been for the swirls of chemicals smearing across his skin, they may have forgotten the needle altogether.
“Sorry,” Natalie winced. “That hurts!”
Peyton laughed lightly, “Yes it does.”
“I’m good,” she assured her. “I’ll be okay.”
“Don’t worry,” Peyton smiled as she hunched back down over the lily stenciled on her client’s wrist. “Your adrenaline will kick in soon. That’ll take the edge off a bit.”
Natalie smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling as she cringed, “Good to know.”
“I like that you chose tiger lilies,” Peyton mused casually.
The girl smiled, “They were the last kind Jake ever bought me.”
Peyton could only assume Jake was the infamous late boyfriend. The name registered in her mind with her uncle’s face, bringing a distant but fond smile across her lips. She really should make a point to visit him, she reasoned.
“They’re my favourite,” Peyton said, glancing up at the nervous creature in her clutches. “Of all the flowers.”
Natalie tried to keep upbeat despite the burning in her arm, “I like the pink ones.”
“Of course you do,” Peyton grumbled, her distaste for the colour eluding her filter.
“What? You don’t like pink?”
Peyton smirked, “No, I do not.”
“Pink is a good colour! I like all the happy colours,” she smiled.
The artist leaned back, pulling her gun away from the skin, “What the shit are happy colours?”
“You know,” Natalie replied simply, “pink and yellow and orange.”
Peyton scrunched up her face with an appalled groan.
“Really?” the girl chuckled. “What do you like? Black?”
“Among the other shades,” Peyton grinned cheekily. “I find yellow fucking offensive.”
Natalie giggled, “You’re funny.”
“Am I?” Peyton smirked, leaning forward to continue her creation.
Jonas piped up from his half of the room, “You should hear her first thing in the morning! She’s a fucking riot!”
Natalie laughed, glancing over her shoulder to meet the gaze of the rude man. He winked in her directions, inspiring a flurry of pinks into her cheeks. Peyton shook her head, endlessly annoyed by the boundless flirtations Jonas was willing to offer to anyone and everyone. The girl had just confessed her boyfriend had died and he was winking at her? Peyton made a mental note to scold him later.
“Anyway,” Peyton spoke loudly, effectively rendering Jonas non-existent. “Yellow sucks.”
Natalie smiled fondly, “Yellow was Jake’s favourite colour.”
“Fuck,” Peyton grumbled.
“And now you’re an asshole, Pey!” Jonas called over with a pointed laugh.
The artist nodded, “Yup.”
“No, no,” Natalie rushed nervously. “You’re not. It’s no big deal.”
“If I say yellow isn’t entirely nauseating, can we just pretend this didn’t happen?” Peyton asked lightly.
The young girl agreed.
They seamlessly moved into conversations about Peyton’s art, followed up obligatorily by questions about New York. That inquisition was followed closely by questions about Peyton’s return to California. She wasn’t sure how to properly word it for a stranger.
“I’m just here visiting,” she lied. “Doing some tattooing on the side for fun.”
Jonas scoffed pointedly from across the room.
“That’s nice,” Natalie smiled. “Do you get a lot of customers?”
Peyton found the question odd but answered it anyway, “Not as many as I do back home. But…My friends like to force me to tattoo them, so I keep busy.”
“I wish I had an artist friend,” Natalie chuckled. “I’d get them to draw me some cool stuff!”
Peyton rolled her eyes, pointing a finger at the black-haired girl, “You are part of the problem. You’d fit in nicely with the band of miscreants I spend my time with…Two of them in particular.”
“You should take it as a compliment,” Natalie informed her lightly. “They must think you’re talented.”
Peyton smirked, “Yeah, I guess.”
“Are you here for much longer? I might need a second tattoo at some point!”
Peyton half-smiled, “Nah, I’m out of here next week…”
“It’s bullshit!” Jonas interjected again.
The artist glared over at him, “Can you find a fucking friend or something? Stop it!”
Jonas pouted, shrugging his shoulder before shrinking away into his office.
“I take it he doesn’t want you to leave?” Natalie giggled.
Peyton sighed, “He’s not the one who’s opinion matters.”
“Who’s does?” Natalie asked curiously.
The artist furrowed her brows, “What?”
“You said he’s not the one…So…I assumed there was someone…Never mind.”
Peyton swallowed down her accidental slip, shaking her head, “Not what I meant at all.”
“Have you liked being in California?” Natalie asked, now embarrassed by her misstep. “I’ve lived in Fountain Valley all my life…Sometimes I wonder what else is out there.”
She smirked, “A whole world is out there.”
“Yeah,” Natalie nodded slowly. “But my whole world was here…”
“Sorry,” Peyton frowned.
Natalie’s exuberance fell, “It’s just weird now. Everything feels kind of empty…Even everyday things like washing the dishes. He was my best friend. Now everything is…dull.”
Peyton caught a vision of her future hidden beneath this stranger’s words. She could only imagine the lifeless void that would crawl over her once she was far removed from Jimmy’s grip. Tearing herself from her Wiley had nearly killed her the first time around—and she wasn’t much more prepared the second time around.
Natalie continued solemnly, “It’s always on my mind, that he’s gone…Maybe it would be easier to move on if I went away.”
Peyton’s hand hesitated, lingering less than an inch from the skin. With one empathetic bow, she pulled away and sighed.
“Sometimes leaving just fucks things up,” she said slowly. “Sometimes…I don’t know. Sometimes you just need to be where things feel right. If you’re going to leave, make sure it’s for the right reasons.”
Natalie considered this, “Have you always lived in New York?”
Peyton laughed, “Nope. I used to live here. Or…in Huntington Beach, anyway.”
“Really?” Natalie gasped. “So you’re a California native!”
Peyton nodded, “I guess.”
“When did you leave?” Natalie pressed. “Did you do it for the right reasons?”
The artist pursed her lips together, letting her gaze fall to the floor tiles, “I’ll let you know.”
After a series of unprompted, but not entirely uninvited, stories about Jake and their whirlwind romance, Peyton gave one last wipe down to the two magnificent lilies forever embedded in Natalie’s skin. She smiled at her work, the irony of her hatred for orange but love for tiger lilies seemingly apparent as she marveled at the colour.
“All done?” Natalie asked excitedly.
Peyton nodded, “All done. Just let me get you cleaned up and you can check it out before I bandage it up.”
By time Natalie’s arm was wrapped and taped, Natalie had already gushed until she was blue in the face. Peyton didn’t mind, but it didn’t make her any less uncomfortable. She used the aftercare procedure explanation as opportunity to put a quick stop to the incessant ego stroking.
“I’m serious,” Peyton told her sternly as she led the girl to the front desk. “Moisturizer will be your best friend. Do not neglect it. Let it love you.”
Natalie giggled, “Okay, okay. I will.”
“Promise me, Natalie,” Peyton grinned. “If I see you out in the street one day and all your ink has faded to shit, I’m going to be pissed.”
The black-haired girl shook her head, “I’ll take care of it, I promise.”
“I had to literally force my best friend to cream his stupid neck tattoos,” Peyton reminisced fondly, almost without thinking. “Learn from his mistakes.”
Natalie caught the twinkle in the artist’s eyes with affection. She’d had that same twinkle once—it was nice to see it reflected in someone else.
“I will,” she swore.
“Good,” Peyton nodded.
Natalie smiled, “So how much do I owe?”
Peyton waved her off, “It’s on me.”
“Really?” the girl gasped. “No, no. I can pay you!”
“No need,” Peyton insisted. “But if I’m still around next time you need a tattoo, you can pay me for that one.”
Natalie’s eyes brimmed with gratitude, “You’re so nice.”
“Sh!” Peyton hissed playfully. “Jonas might hear you.”
“Jonas did!” he called from the back of the shop, lingering in the open doorway with his arms folded across his chest. “And she’s not. Don’t lie to her.”
Peyton groaned, “Shut up.”
“Thank you,” Natalie said to the artist. “Seriously…Thank you.”
Peyton smiled, “No problem. Stay out of the fucking sun too! I mean it!”
“Okay, okay,” she giggled, waving one last time before disappearing through the glass door.
Peyton lingered for a moment, watching as the young woman vanished down the street. She couldn’t imagine the pain of losing someone she loved forever. It had been bad enough to lose Wiley temporarily. Her heart suddenly began to ache for things to come.
Tearing herself away from the emotional waterfall, she caught Jonas eying her in her peripherals.
“Don’t say it,” she warned lowly.
He grinned, “You’re fucking nice. Since when?”
“I don’t know,” Peyton laughed. “Maybe it’s all the sunshine. It’s made me soft inside or something.”
“Or you’re happy,” Jonas suggested with a sly grin.
Peyton laughed, “Maybe.”
“And yet, you want to leave…” he hummed. “Uh-huh. Makes total sense.”
“We’re not getting into this again,” she whined, plunking herself back down into her black chair just as the bell above the door jingled. “Oh, and look! Your appointment is here.”
Jonas chuckled, “We’re not done with this.”
Peyton nodded her head, “Yeah, yeah.”
As Jonas distracted himself with his work, Peyton busied herself with mindless drawing. Although she’d acquired her sketchbook from the trenches of hell, she’d still found herself favoring the book Jimmy had purchased. The paper was of lesser quality and it was a bit smaller than she preferred to work with…but for whatever reason, she wildly favored the gifted book.
Her mind was so busy buzzing with her future heartache that she didn’t realize she was actively filling yet another page with Jimmy’s eyes. Another page to add to the twenty her subconscious had already manifested, perhaps as a last-ditched effort to bring a piece of him away with her.
While she knew she couldn’t physically pull Jimmy along with her, her mind desperately grasped at straws to keep him entangled in her being. Peyton and her art were one in the same. She’d promised herself a long time ago that if ever she’d found her Wiley, she wouldn’t let him escape her grip again.
And Peyton kept every promise she made.

Notes

xx