Every morning for the past two weeks I’ve woken up with this vibrating cat either on my chest or curled at my side. Even though he can’t see, he’s watching me all the time. He follows me from room to room like a furry shadow and sits close to me, sometimes resting with his paw on my leg, or his head leaning against me. He craves closeness, and I let him have it, even though I don’t like to be touched. Somehow he’s crept over my walls.
Katie would have loved Sterling. Sometimes when he’s playing with a toy—yes, he plays, don’t ask me how—or does something unexpected, I catch myself laughing and I can almost hear her giggle echoing around me. I’ve never been one to think about the afterlife, but lately I wonder if maybe she’s watching over me.
This house is haunting me with memories of Katie, and I feel as if I’m going mad most of the time. A few days ago, Lukas suggested I get out of here for a while and go up to the small house I have on the lake that Gram talked me into buying two years ago, claiming we all needed a place to “get away sometimes”. At first, I’d told her she was fucking crazy. I’d never owned a house in my life—the thought of having two seemed insane to me, and a severe waste of money. I hardly even lived in any houses growing up, being bounced from foster home to foster home until I said “fuck it” when I was sixteen, and then lived on the streets or with friends who were much older than me. I went from sleeping on ratty couches to living in a shitty apartment to owning two houses. Not bad for a tatted-up white boy with long hair.
I call Lukas. “I’m gonna go to the lake for a month. So don’t freak the fuck out if you stop by my house down here and I’m not around, okay?” Leaning the phone against my shoulder, I fill the cat’s dish, which is empty again. How much does one cat eat?
“Try to get off the shit while you’re there,” he suggests. “I was thinking, why don’t you come back to the shop in about a month? The clients miss you, and I could use the help. I was gonna hire someone else, but I’d rather you were back here.”
“Lukas, I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” I say, watching the cat playing hockey with a ping pong ball.
He continues babbling. “Just hear me out, Van. Even if just for a few months and you go back to playing with A and E, I think it would be good if you were back in the shop for a while. You know, to get out of the house and be around people.”
“I don’t like people.”
“Van, I know … but you you’re an amazing tattooist. Don’t just sit around and rot because you’re not playing. You’re fuckin’ sick at both, so don’t give both up. You can’t be tattooing people wasted, though.”
“Lukas, I’m not fucking stupid. I know that. I’ve been doing this shit way longer than you have—”
“Man, calm the hell down. I had to say it, all right? It’s my name on the line here too. We’re partners. This shop is my life, and I can’t afford to let anything screw it up.”
I start to pace around the living room, annoyed that everyone thinks I am going to screw up his or her life, or band, or ink shop. Not that they’re wrong, but I’m sick to death of hearing it.
I know Lukas is right, though. I gotta do something. I’m just not ready yet. Jabbing tiny needles into people all day actually might make me feel better. Pretending it doesn’t hurt them but knowing it really is, and watching the tiny blood bubbles erupt from the flesh. Yeah, I could get into that again.
“I’ll call you,” I say after a few moments. “I think you’re right, though. I do miss it. Who the hell knows if Ash will let me back in the band? Lemme chill for a few weeks and get my head together, and then I’ll come back and see how it goes.”
“Sounds good, bro. Call if you need anything.”
I end the call, still thinking about going back to work at our tattoo shop.
I make another call, this time to Evie.
“Hello?” She answers on the second ring.
“It’s me.”
“Me, who?”