Stitches

I felt itchy in the expensive suit Brooke had bought for me. I straightened my jacket as we waited for an answer at the door. Brooke smiled and hooked her arm with mine.

There was a warm light emanating from the house, I got the feeling that it would be the complete opposite of warm. The door swung open, Brooklyn’s mom stood on the opposite side. She wore a glitzy dress that was likely intended to draw the intention of an heir or wealthy businessman.

“Come on in.” Traci said, ushering us inside.

The inside of the house smelled like Christmas, though it was far from Christmas. It was an aesthetic detail, the reality of the situation was that this was a gathering of Oakland’s snobbiest.

Brooke laced her fingers with mine and I secretly thanked God that most of my tattoo’s were covered. She led me into the house and the further I got the more disgusted I became.

Please run, please run away with me.

“Well, if it ain’t Brooklyn!” An older man exclaimed as we entered the living room. Brooklyn’s face lit up, her cheeks turned pink as she pulled me over to him.

“Hey, Grandad.” She said then bent down to hug him, I fought to keep my eyes off of her ass.

He beamed, it was clear that he loved her, “Last I heard you were in England with your dad gallivanting around with some boy. What brought you back here?”

Brooke’s cheeks turned bright pink, “Me and Oli came to visit. England was getting old.”

I felt two inches tall. I had no idea what to say, because I wasn’t sure where my place was. I didn’t want to be the overbearing boyfriend who thought he belonged and I sure didn’t want to be the one who faded into the woodwork.

“I’m guessing that young man hanging onto you for dear life is your boyfriend.” Brooklyn’s Grandfather joked. I smiled.

“I sure am.” I said, with every word I spoke my heart eased. Brooklyn kissed my cheek then exited the room. My heart rate sped up.

He stuck his work gnarled hand out for me to shake. I hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand. He looked at my ink covered skin and grimaced.

“Tattooed hands?” He said, suddenly becoming defensive.

“Yes, sir.” I replied, hoping to regain his respect with the use of polite words. I sat on the chair parallel to Brooke’s grandfather.

He rolled his eyes, “How do you ever expect to get a job looking like that?”

“I’m a musician, I don’t have to wear uniforms and things. We have no real dress-code.” I tried to joke with him but it didn’t do an ounce of good.

“A musician? What do you think this is son, we’re in a recession, you kind of job stability do you have as a musician?” He said, the tone in his voice mocked me. He mocked the very thing I lived for, what made me thrive, and I stood there and took it.

“I can assure you that I’m very capable of taking care of her. My band is doing good.”

He sighed, “You’re puny.”

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat, “Excuse me?”

His eyes became fierce and defensive, “Weak, son, you’re weak.”

“Uh…” I stumbled for the correct words to reply with.

“Grandad!” Brooklyn said, appalled. She stormed into the room.

The room had grown silent by now, random people I didn’t know stared with their mouths gaping wide. Apparently nothing like this ever happened.

“Logan! Be nice!” An elderly lady, who I assumed was Brooklyn’s grandmother.

Once again; I felt small.

“Don’t ‘Grandad’ me! He’s not good enough for you.” The man I now know to be Logan yelled as he moved to sit on the edge of his seat.

“Don’t say that! You don’t know!” Brooke yelled, the room was perfectly silent, making my cheeks turn bright red.

“Yes I do, now you deserve better.” He said as he struggled to get up out of his chair.

“Let’s go. I’m not putting up with this.” Brooklyn said then went to leave. It’s not me to just take things like that. It’s just not me, but I guess I gave up who I am for her. Was she worth it? Hell yes.

----

“Oli, it wasn’t your fault.” Brooklyn said as she wrapped her arms around me from behind. Her cheek rested against my shoulder. She sat behind me on the bed. I held my head in my hands.

“Yes it is. If I weren’t tattooed and if I had a normal job then this wouldn’t be a problem. They would like me.”

Brooklyn sighed then kissed my shoulder. Usually, her touch could cure any of my woes, she was like the catalyst for all of life’s problems. This, however, I don’t think could be fixed with wise words or a kiss.

“It’s not your fault, Oli.” She whispered, causing me to stand up.

“I’d rather have you tell me the truth, instead of trying to tip-toe around the fact that in their eyes, I will never be good enough for you. To tell you the truth I’m starting to wonder about that myself.” I spat the venomous words that, if soured enough, could sear flesh.

She sat on the bed, slumped over. She changed her clothes first thing when we got here. I just took my tie and jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt. Brooklyn held her head in her hands, the heart-wrenching sobs that erupted from her lungs almost made me cry.

I just turned and left. I walked out. I hated more than anything to leave her there but my clumsy lips weren’t capable of fixing this. I exited the lands through the front gate, still dressed in my formal attire the warm California air made me sweat.

I walked down the street, my hands tucked in my pockets.

He told me I wasn’t good enough. Not good enough. He clearly had no idea how much I had forsaken for this girl. I fought desperately for her, I rescued her. I’m risking my life for her, yet I’m not good enough because I have tattoo’s.

I scoffed out loud at the mere thought of me not being good enough.

I walked until the neon lights of the ‘rusty spoke saloon’ caught my eye. Saloon = medieval term for bar. Exactly what I needed, alcohol.