Page 9 of Rox

“Would you belong to me, too?”

“Rox, I already fucking do.”

Five

Roxie

It’s been two days since Mimic kissed me. Two nights of me getting off to the memory of him holding me while I used him to come. Two full days of me wanting him to take me. Fuck. The way he made me feel.

It never occurred to me that he felt the way he did. I’ve been in the dark. Too focused on what I wanted my life to be, I didn’t see what was right in front of me. After we calmed down, he’d let me go, and we sat out in the field. That night was magical in more ways than one.

“Do you really feel that way about me?” I ask shyly. It was hard to believe that he would feel about me the way he said. I’m nothing special. He could have anyone he wants, yet he wants me. I don’t understand why. Am I fishing for compliments? Yeah, probably. Do I care? Not really.

With a deep sigh, he looks away from me. “Roxy, I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

“How long, Mimic?”

He doesn’t say anything. He looks out toward the fields. It’s calm out here tonight. There’s no noise except for the crickets playing their song in the background. As they call to each other, I attempt to call to Mimic. I want to know more. I want to understand. I want him.

It’s as if he unlocked something within me. Opened my eyes to what was right in front of me. I’ve had trouble seeing it, though, because I was too consumed with myself. Building myself up and getting to where I want to be in life. Then he came to my defense and shattered the dirty glass wall that was between us, and everything became clear. When he doesn’t answer, I put myself closer to him, grab his chin to make him face me, and ask again.

“How long, Mimic?”

“From the moment I met you, Rox.”

I inhale, “That was right after my birthday.”

“Yup. I’ve been crazy about you since then.”

I press my lips to his and straddle his lap. His hands hold my ass as I put my fingers through his hair. “Are you still crazy about me?”

“Even more so, Rox. I’m a fucking savage when it comes to you.”

Our lips crash back together, and—

“—Stop fucking daydreaming, and get to work!” Duncan yells from somewhere in the shop. I shake my head and bring myself out of the memory from the other night. I’ve been so consumed by it that it’s taken over my days and nights.

“Sorry Duncan, just a lot on my mind,” I tell him, even though he doesn’t deserve a response.

“I don’t fucking care what’s on your mind. Get your head out of your ass and finish cleaning.”

I don’t respond. He acts like this all the time. Always doing and saying what he can to piss me off. The best I can do formyself is let him have the last word and do whatever bullshit task he demands of me. In this instant, though, I’ve finished what he wanted. It’s part of the reason why it was so easy for me to slip back into the moment I had with Mimic the other night. When nothing is occupying my mind or myself physically, I sink back into the thoughts of Mimic.

“I’ve finished what you needed cleaned, Duncan,” I tell him without any attitude. I learned quickly that if I stood my ground and gave him any amount of sass, he’d make my life even worse. But compliant Roxie is a slightly better treated, but not really, Roxie. “What can I help you with next?”

Good girl, Roxie. Let him think you’re here to help him with whatever he needs, and maybe he’ll go easier on you. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll actually start teaching you how to tattoo.

It fucking sucks that he hasn’t done anything regarding tattooing with me since I started here. He’s turned me into his modern-day Cinderella. Clean this, clean that, and do it again until it’s done correctly. Over and over again. But new techniques, new ways to shade, line, the amount of pressure to use, he hasn’t taught me any of that. I can already tattoo. My legs prove it, but I want to learn more. I want to learn from others who have been in the business for a long time. Every artist has their own set of techniques and ways to do things. I want to take bits and pieces from everyone here and use those lessons to strengthen what I already have. Hell, even from Duncan. He’s a certified dickbag, but he’s fantastic with realism tattoos. Especially in color.

Every tattoo on me shows my growth. I started at my ankles and worked my way up. I haven’t covered anything. You can see my absolute trash bag tattoos from when I first started to my amazing—if I do say so myself—tattoos on my thigh. On my left leg, I have an abundance of flowers that almost wrap around myentire thigh. It’s my favorite piece. It took me a few sessions to get it completed. It has colors, black and white elements, and all the shading and highlights needed to make it look three-dimensional. I’m so proud of this piece. Stanford looked at all my tattoos and acknowledged my skill growing. It’s why he allowed me to apprentice here. Unfortunately, it wasn’t under him.

“Like hell, you’re fucking done,” Duncan calls out before he rounds the corner. When he sees that I did, in fact, clean everything from top to bottom, he lets out an angry growl. I don’t know what his problem with me is, but I’m over it. I want to say something, but I can’t. It’s only going to make this all worse for me. “Hmm, what do you know? You actually can follow instructions.” And there goes my control.

“What the fuck, Duncan? I’ve followed your instructions to a T since starting here. Done every bullshit job you’ve asked me to do. Which, by the way, not a single one has been about tattooing. The thing you’re actually supposed to be teaching me.”

“I don’t have to teach you shit. I’m not the one who wants you here. But since I have no choice in the matter, you’re gonna be this shop’s little bitch boy. Got it?”

“You motherfuc—”

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