Three weeks in and my life is so boring. I have not left this room since I got home from the hospital. I'm supposed to going to the doctor today, he wants to get an X-ray and see how things look on the inside; I'm also supposed to get my stitches out today too. Aunt Cat left two days after the funeral, she never called or came for a visit, not that she would be let in. Rumor has it she went by the bar and started harassing the manager and the manager threatened to call the cops; too funny, if my prim and proper aunt had gotten arrested. They would have to get the van though, so there would be room for her high horse too. The lawyer called and told pops that she had been calling him too. Since mom bought her out and left nothing for her in her will, aunt Cat gets nothing, even if she gets one of her exclusive attorneys to make a power play, I win. She has no legal grounds and I can sue her for harassment. Ain't life a bitch sometimes. Pops left a few days later, after talking with the police again and watching the traffic cam footage. They were really hoping the cars themselves would lead them to someone, but they were stolen of course. He found a stable really close to the compound in Florida, so that's where my horse, trailer and everything that goes with him, is at the moment. They are taking care of him, until I can. So here I sit, staring at the same walls for the past two weeks, twenty-four seven. I really want to repaint this room.
I'm still a target for some unknown entity; guarded on the outside by an ex-military biker gang, the neighbors are loving this, and on the inside, by one horny ex-military sniper. There have been some heavy make out sessions, some hot heavy petting, but nothing as overpowering as the morning of the funeral. He said he wants to wait until I can wrap my legs around his waist, when he slides in. I asked him why that morning he was so desperate for me, and not since. He told me it was the first night we shared a bed, the first time he saw me completely naked, and he wants both my hands pulling his hair and shoving his face deeper next time; apparently one hand was not enough. At the rate he wants to move, I'll be knocked up in no time. And that's something I don't want or need at this moment, especially with someone wanting me dead.
I've been supervising the packing of my room and the rest of the house, as soon as we leave, a real estate agent, who was a friend of mom's, is taking care of setting up the bnb. Which seemed like the best plan, since that would allow me to stay in my own house when I'm ready to visit or move back. Shooter is downstairs now with a cleaning service, packing up things on the first floor. The second floor is mom's room and I want to be there for that, I think. What stuff I'm not leaving is going into storage in Florida, I guess I've made up my mind, I'm not living here. It's not the same anymore, plus this is the house I grew up in and I will always feel like a kid under this roof. They're almost through, I think only the kitchen was left and when they get done, we leave for the doctor. He helped me in the tub this morning, I've given up on trying to cover myself with a towel. When someone has been as up close and personal as Shooter has, he's seen it all, no sense trying to hide. The front door just closed, and I hear footsteps, I guess it's time to go. I'm very ready to have these stitches out.
"Hey baby. You ready?" He picks me up, carrying met to my truck.
"Yeah. I'll be really happy to shave my leg."
"Just the one?"
"For right now, yeah. I have to wear shorts all the time and my right leg is starting to look like yours."
"Now how would you know what my leg looks like? For all you know I know the best place in town to get your legs waxed."
"Well, do ya? Cause a detour would be nice."
Both of us laughing, we settle into a comfortable silence. I love when we have moments like this, both of us completely relaxed and our humor in sync. I grab my wallet out of the console, I never carry a purse; Shooter carries my Chapstick and keys, my wallet stays in the truck, and my card and money stays in the card holder on the back of the phone; a purse is unnecessary. But I might need my insurance cards today, and I wanted to do something special, since I'm free from the house today.
"Alex, can we do something after the doctor's visit? It's not like we have anything else to do."
"What do you have in mind?"
"I want to carry some flowers to the cemetery, and I want to go get a tattoo."
"Flowers yes; tattoo, since when?"
"I've been wanting one and I finally found one that says who I am; it has a lot of meaning. I've been researching designs for about six months now and now's just the right time to get it done."
"I don't have a problem with it, obviously. I just don't want you to get something you'll regret, cause they don't wash off."
"I know and I'm sure. We can go see the vampire artist in the Quarter."
"Do what? Huh? Vampire?"
"It's New Orleans, home of Anne Rice and the vampire Lestat, there's usually a vampire or voodoo priestess on every block."
"We aren't going to get any voodoo, are we? That shit scares me."
"No, never touched the stuff and not starting now. All she ever gave me was a cat."
"And I still question his legitimacy as a cat."
"I heard you talking to him the other morning and promising him the leftover catfish in the fridge from Friday night."
"I don't want to waste food, and how do I know he's not plotting my demise?"
"He's a cat, you never know if they are plotting your demise, just accept that it's a possibility. Is the doctor going to X-ray my arm and collar bone today? Please say he is, and that he will find the bones all mended, and in the end, he hands me a crutch and we all lived happily ever after."
"Love, I really wish I could tell you that, but even if he did remove the cast from your arm, it hasn't healed enough for you to put the pressure on it that using a crutch would."
"A girl can dream."
"Here we are, I'm going to pull up to the door and get you a wheelchair and you can wait there while I go park."
I don't know if it's the unknown person out there that tried to kill me, or the fact that this is the first time in over two weeks that I've been outside, but suddenly I just got really anxious. Actually, it kind of scares me. I don't want him to leave me alone by the door, where anyone could walk up and just wheel me away and Shooter might never see it happen.
"No. Please don't. I don't want to be alone out here."
"Out where doll?"
"Outside, away from you, just don't leave me. Please don't leave me there by myself." By the time the words are out of my mouth, my breathing has sped up and my heart rate has increased. He leans across the console, reaching for my face, looking into my eyes and sees at this point the tears are starting.
"Hey, hey, baby, look at me. I won't leave you. I will not let you out of my sight until all this is over. I would never put you in danger. Are you hearing me? I love you more than another soul on this earth and would put down my life to keep you safe. Calm down, just take slow, deep breaths; concentrate on that. I've got you."
By the time he parks the truck, my tears have stopped, and my breathing has slowed along with my accelerated heart rate. He walks around to lift me out of the truck and pulls me into his arms, just to hold me for a minute. Relishing his strength and feeling protected only when I'm with him. He lifts my face and gently kisses my lips, looking into my eyes and the only thing I see, is his love for me.
"Better?"
Nodding my head, he hugs me one more time and kisses the top of my head, before he lifts me up to go into the office. Sitting me on a love seat close to the front desk, he signs me in and comes back to join me. He puts my leg in his lap and grabs my hand, I know he's looking at me, but I'm in my own head at the moment, going over what just happened in the parking lot.
"Hey, look at me baby, we're gonna talk about what happened later. You know, that right?"
"Yeah, I know. Thank you."
"You're gonna be ok, I promise. I lived through some deep shit on deployment and I tried to get through it on my own and I was not doing a good job of getting through anything, until your pops took me in. You've got me, a whole club in Florida and it looks like the club here has taken you on as well. You could probably join any mc along the Gulf Coast around to the Atlantic."
"Thank you."
"Any time and anything for you."
We pause in a comfortable silence, that's just one more thing that draws us together, neither one of see the point in useless conversation.
After about twenty minutes I'm called back and carried to the x ray department. They take pictures of my leg, collar bone and ribs; they don't want to see my arm today. They would have to cut this cast off and it's only been three weeks and generally it takes six weeks for a bone to heal. I knew this, but I huff anyway. After pictures, I'm carried into a drab room, with the generic vinyl bed. By the time he sets me down, I'm laughing so hard I have a stich in my side. Shooter is looking at me like I have finally lost it.
"You didn't see it, did you?"
"See what?"
"She got pissed, because you wouldn't look at her. She kept looking at you, trying to get your attention, why do you think she walked so far ahead of us? She was trying to give you a view of her assets."
"Oh, she led us to the room from x ray?"
He looks really confused, he never saw her or her looking at him. I just shake my head at him. The door opens and she steps back in to leave the x rays. The thing is, when he sat me on this bed, he never took his arms from around me; one arm around my back and the other holding the back of my head to keep me close to his chest.
"Is she your little sister?"
He doesn't even look at her, he just lifts my left hand up so she can see the two-carat diamond, set in platinum. And if looks could kill, I would be burning alive from her death ray eyes. I look at her with the fake smile, the ugly one, used especially for 'you can't have what I have'. She stormed out of the room, not saying another word. And that's when he begins to laugh.
The doctor comes in, thankfully with a different nurse, (hmm, wonder what bee flew up her butt?) and tells me exactly what Shooter did; no crutches, collar bone and ribs not safe for that yet and the cast has to stay on my arm another three weeks. He removes the leg brace and all the wrapping to reveal my stitches, like it's Christmas morning or something. People don't know this, but stitches make me twitchy; not queasy or sick, I just can't look at them without cringing, a lot. He removes the stitches and he's happy with the progress and tries to show me the hardware now holding my bone together. No thank you to all that! If I want to see screws, I'll go to Lowes. He does tell me if I'm very careful, it is safe for me to get it wet now; I have to be very careful though. I look at Shooter and my only thought, I need to know the name of that awesome waxing place. Maybe tomorrow, if I'm not too tired, I'm already getting sleepy, but we have a couple of other things to do first. The doctor does show me how I can use only one crutch, now, to get to the bathroom and that's it. So, there's that win for the day. We reschedule my next appointment for three weeks and he carries me back to the truck. I let him know the vampire artist is expecting us and will see me as soon as we get there. We stop at a florist and get some flowers for mom. I love old cemeteries. The stones are carved so beautifully, I love looking at the dates and wondering about the person's life. Most people don't see the art in memorial statues, but they are beautiful. We stop at mom's, and I bow my head in prayer, I forgot my rosary, but that's ok, I hope. After a quiet fifteen minutes, just sitting beside her, we leave to go get my own art.
We walk in, the walls are naturally, are blood-red, ceiling black, metal music blaring and my vampire artist greets me. Wearing all black, hair, nails, clothes, shoes, lips, all of it, black. He is the walking epitome of that Rolling Stones song. He hugs me and greets me with a very warm welcome.
"Morris, I want you to meet my fiancé Shooter. This is Morris. A fabulous artist, vampire and all-around great guy. How's your mamma, Morris? I haven't seen Ms. Beatrice around in forever."
"Darling if you would stop hanging around that barn, with those beasts and spend time with normal people. She's supposed to be here in a little while, she always brings homemade cookies for the afternoon clientele."
"Good, I'll get to see her and get a cookie. Now, about my art."
"Of course, right this way, your highness."
I stick my tongue out at him and follow him to his cubby, the sound of tattoo guns echoing throughout the building. I tell Morris what I want, and Shooter looks surprised.
"What?"
"That's perfect for you and where you're at right now."
I smiled back at him as the design was laid out on my wrist and the needle begins scratching it into my skin to last for the rest of my life. Not everyone will know the battles I fought, but the title on my arm says warrior; fighting and not giving up.