Page 78 of The Confidant

Poe’s lawyers are taking care of my ex. The post wasn’t just about me. It basically accused every person in the photos of cutting. It caused a lot of emotional turmoil to have people’s scars exposed. William is facing a lawsuit with a hefty fine attached and the demand that he take down the post. He’s already removed it, but just to get the last word in, he replaced it with a public apology to me. He made sure to tag me in that, too.

It’s a whiney paragraph about how I’ve rebuffed his concern for my health, but he understands my need to retaliate. Basically, putting all the blame for his current problems on me.

Seeing the hateful comments people left on that post made it harder for me to move on.

It started with a lot of tattoo artists upset that William was getting dragged to court for being ‘concerned’ about an ex-girlfriend. Mutual acquaintances and some people I thought were friends calling me a dramatic attention whore. Then, public opinion weighed in and decided I needed to be punished for suing him.

I had no say in the lawsuit, but that doesn’t mean anything to anyone. They see me as evil, just like my family.

Every social media account I had is closed now. The overwhelming hate people started splashing all over anything they could reach of me took its toll. I couldn’t open anything without being reminded of it all. The sound of my notifications of a comment became a source of instant paranoia.

I chose to cut them off. Without a way to mock my entire life, they’ve become ghosts to me.

I turned off all my automatic emails and texts. After a lot of pain and debate, I moved all of my family’s emails to the junk folder to be blocked. They never reply that way but seeing them blacklisted gave me a little thrill of victory.

With the way I tore through my shop, it took weeks to clean everything up. If anyone stopped by to get a tattoo, I wouldn’t know. The curtains have been shut ever since that night, and I refuse to open them. The heavy piece of wood covering the door Poe shattered to get to me helps a lot.

But William knows a lot of people in the tattoo world. Most of them are right down the street from me, and they aren’t shy about their opinions.

My old landlord called me, complaining that they’ve been hanging around the building, waiting for me to show up at my apartment. They left after he explained that I had moved and hadn’t been back. But they had enough anger to not only come for a visit but to stay all night, waiting for three nights in a row.

It took me a while to get out of the house after that.

The day I finally got the guts to clean up, my windows were spray painted with the words attention whore. I had to leave after that. It wasn’t until Poe had someone remove the words that I could go back. My haven turned into a cold, sterile room after that. One more loss in a string of them.

I let the manager of the strip know that I wouldn’t be renewing the lease. Whisper Ink is officially closed. I’m not sure if I’m going to tattoo again. Right now, the thought of it fills me with dread.

Poe is furious over it. Damon thinks I’m giving up. Neither of them gets a say, though. I’m taking my time raccoon-rolling my way through this one. I feel like I need this to heal, and I’m doing it. If I ever pick up a tattoo gun again, good for me. But that decision isn’t going to weigh heavy on me. I won’t let it.

Instead, I became an informal manager to Poe.

Hisrealmanager appreciates my wrangling him into getting work done. I had no idea how much convincing Poe needed to go to other cities for work. I haven’t gotten the courage to go on a trip with him yet, but it will come.

The first few times he got called away for a shoot, he adamantly refused. He was gone when I fell apart, and he wasn’t budging from my side again. Like his leaving was the omen that tipped the scales for my breakdown.

I’m not comfortable enough to be in the public eye right now, so going on a trip with him sounded like absolute hell. I can barely leave the house now. The thought of going to another state is too far out of reach yet.

It took a lot of convincing and constant texts to get him to agree to leave. His manager was ready to skin him alive at that point. I’ve never seen a grown man beg on his knees for me to fix something like I was a god before. It was an over-the-top drama that finally earned a smile from me. Poe agreed to leave just because of that. His damn manager made me chuckle a little, so now he’s dipped in gold and invited to dinner every other weekend.

My man may have perfect words, but he’s a little crazy-obsessed with me. I love every second of it, no matter how down I feel.

I’m trying to calmly get back to a new state of normal when Damon tells me that someone bought the space where my shop once was. All the changes in my life hit me all over again.

My first impulse is to pick up my phone and call Asher. I stop myself before my finger taps his contact.

Why would I think he would commiserate with me? He hasn’t contacted me in months. With how Maman was talking when we last spoke, I’m sure he despises me now. He’d celebrate over the loss. He can do that on his own time, not mine.

The idea of that space being something else,anythingelse, makes everything feel surreal. Like I’ve been floating around, and this is the first anchor to pull me back to reality.

For some reason, I decide to go check it out. As if I need to confirm that this is my new life.

I make sure to cover up my hair with a beanie, resolved to finally cut it off. I’m tired of seeing the light ends of my hair. I don’t like the brown at my scalp either. I need to pick something just for me. Something that feels right. I’ll get there.

Showing up on that stretch of the strip mall was a mistake. Seeing the shop is painful. A hollow echo of the night that I tore it all apart.

A craft store is opening up. There are shades over the windows, but the glass front door has been repaired for me to peek inside. I can see overflowing boxes of yarn and paints inside the window. Shelves are getting put up. There isn’t anyone there right now. The owners aren’t ready to open yet. They took down the for-lease sign, though.

I stand there for a while, readjusting to the new world I live in. I poured my heart and soul into this place. I’m mourning the loss. I keep thinking there could have been a million ways to save my business. My therapist says it’s a guilt compulsion that I need to break out of. I can’t control everything.

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