I'll Bow for Your King When He Shows Himself

I woke up the next morning at about ten, with my favorite zebra blanket pulled over me and my reading glasses sitting on the coffee table. I had fallen asleep on the couch watching the remaining Star Trek marathon, crying heavily about every little thing.

Andy had come in during the early morning and cleaned up a little; all of the tissues I had strewn around were picked up, and the broken bottles of alcohol were gone.

I rubbed my eyes and groaned. Andy knew I was drinking again. This wasn't good.

I sat up on the couch, pushing the blankets off of me. My brother was in the kitchen, making pancakes.

"Morning," he said, completely bypassing the fact that I had my own emotional party last night and didn't wake him up to tell him I was upset.

"Hi," I squeaked quietly. I wrapped the blankets around my shoulders and went to sit on the counter. As I did so, Andy handed me a glass of water and four ibuprofen. I looked down at his disappointed face, but I knew it was best to just keep quiet. I took the pills and drank the water as he flipped the pancakes over. "I'm going to take a shower."

He didn't say anything. I climbed off of the counter and walked into my room, picking out my clothes for the day: a white, loose fitting Joyce Manor shirt, black leggings and my trusty Doc Martens. Instead of actually showering, I ran the hot water for a little while and settled on just washing my face. It didn't change the fact that I was already late for work and Paula was going to kick my ass. I ran a comb through my tangled black hair and cleaned up my make up a little bit before walking out of the bathroom. I grabbed my car keys off the counter and my bag off the ground, Andy handing me my leather jacket on the way out the door.

Paula wasn't as mad as I thought she would be. She was already working on a customer, coloring in a man's sleeve. Derek, my co-worker, sat at the desk and smirked at me. "Well you look like hell."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, taking my jacket off and throwing it at his face. "Paula, I'm sorry I'm-"

"Don't bother getting settled in, Carrion." I sighed and closed my eyes. The words were coming. You're-

"-going on house call." I blinked at my boss. I wasn't fired?

"House call?" I repeated.

"Ya, some...Matt Nicholls? I don't know. They called late last night and said it was urgent."

I nodded my head and let out the breath I was holding. "Um. Alright. I'll get right on that."

"I already texted you the address," Paula told me, not even bothering to look up from the tattoo. It didn't matter much seeing as I was already packing up my tattoo gun and equipment.

With an armful of items, I kicked open the back door of the tattoo parlor, Derek right behind me. Right on cue, he opened the back doors of our company van, taking a big box out of my arms and stuffing it between the seats.

"Thank you, Derek. Really. I thought I was going to get fired from being late and...ya." I said all of this, out of breath.

He just smiled at me and stretched his tattoo-covered arm out, handing me my jacket. I returned the smile, climbing into the van. I typed in the address and soon enough, I was on my way to my house call.

Derek was good at telling if there was something wrong with me. He had to have been my best friend, next to Andy of course, and he was loving, caring, and hopelessly gay. When he so much as looked in my eyes when I walked in the parlor, he immediately knew I relapsed and began drinking again.

It was a long story, one that involves my selfish parents, and Andy, who they so carelessly gave up on. Andy and I were left alone, and I turned to alcohol. Three months of rehab and years of therapy later, I'm still a mess. But life never did do me much good, did it?

I pulled up to a black iron gate, a long driveway escaping behind it. I squinted my eyes to get a better look at the acreage. It was breathtaking, to say the least. I leaned out of my window and pressed a flashing call button. About a minute later, there was a groan on the other end.

"What do you want?" the person said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

There was silence on the other end and I sighed. "I'm from Total INKstruction. I'm here for house call?"

Another groan sounded and with a buzz, the gate was opened. I rolled my eyes. Another rude customer. Cool.

The driveway stretched all the way back to a white, four story house on the edge of a lake. There was a pool on the right side, under a balcony, and a garage about a hundred more feet up the driveway. I pulled up to the house, parking wherever the van landed.

I slid out of the driver's side, never so much as glancing away from the house. I decided on grabbing a single kit first, and getting the rest later. I walked the rest of the way up the driveway and rang the doorbell. After about three minutes, the door cracked open, and a half asleep man answered the door.

He was rubbing his eyes, desparately trying to keep his them open to talk to me. "Um. Matt Nicholls? I'm Carrion-"

"Ya, ya. Oli's upstairs." He waved me into the house, shutting the door behind me.

"I was told I was coming for Matt." I began explaining.

"I'm Matt Nicholls." He held his hand out for me, waking up a little. I took his hand and shook it. "Do you want something to drink? Tequila, vodka, rum?"

There was a sudden urge in me to say yes, but I was on call and not even technically supposed to be drinking. "Um. No thank you."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, producing a bottle of yellow liquid from out of nowhere and drinking. "Like I said, Oli's upstairs."

I stared at Matt, confused beyond measure. But instead of questioning him, I lugged my case with me to the stairs and began climbing the steps. Matt didn't give me too much detail as to where to go, but as soon as I hit the last step, I heard music playing from one of the rooms.

"Hello?" I called out. I slowly walked in the direction the music was coming from. I recognized the song as Sweet Jezebel by Turboweekend, one of my all time favorite bands. I knocked on a door, smoke coming through from the crack. When there was no answer, I opened the door slowly. "Hello?"

The floor was covered completely with clothes and food wrappers. My nose turned up at the mess, but then again, I really can't say anything. I'd kill to live in a place like this.

"Hi."

My head shot up to look at the guy who walked in from the balcony, closing the door behind him. I gave a friendly smile. "Hello. I'm Carrion MacArthur." I held my hand out and he shook it.

"Oliver Sykes. Sorry about the mess. My roomates don't seem to be too fond of picking up." The man was gorgeous, I'll say that much. He had brown hair cut right below his ears, tamed by a gray beanie. He was covered head to toe in tattoos, and he smelled like cigarette smoke and lake water. He stared me up and down with the utmost interest, pausing at the pirate ship on my chest. "What did you say your name was?"

"Carrion." I gave a small smile.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" His eyes shot up to look at my face just then, and he gave me a small smile. "I'd like to do this outside, if that's alright with you?"

"Wherever you're comfortable."

A half an hour later, the rest of my equipment was brought inside, and Oliver was laying on a couch outside by the pool. I sat by him in my own chair, my legs crossed and a piece of thin paper on a book underneath me. "So what does this tattoo mean to you?" I asked, deep in thought as I drew.

"It basically just mean life and death, you know?"

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes at his response. It was such a cliche thing to say, but he wanted it. It wasn't my job to tell him what to do.

"But what about you?" he asked.

I looked passed the sketch and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"What do yours mean?"

I took a deep breath. "Which ones?"

He pretended to be deep in thought. "Your neck piece."

I set my marker down. "I designed it for my brother when I was about fourteen."

"What happened to him?"

I looked away from him and began picking at my finger nails. "He was diagnosed with Stage IV Thyroid cancer when I was ten." Oli's eyes grew solemn. "He's not dead yet. Don't worry."

Oliver began looking around my body again as I continued drawing. "What about that one?" he asked, pointing to my shoulder that was peaking out from my shirt. The tattoo he specifically pointed out was one of my favorites, a little boy with paint on his face and a bear head covering him like a hood. It was black and white, but it was still detailed enough to understand the meaning.

"My dad's Cherokee, so I guess this was my idea of breaking out my Native American ethnicity." I had a small smile on my face, thinking about how excited I was when I was sitting in the parlor, Derek tattooing me.

"That's really cool," Oli said, sincerely.

"Ya, it really is."

At that moment, Matt came out with two slices of pizza, handing one to Oliver and the other to me. "Oh, I can't. I'm-"

Matt chuckled. "It's not going against your job by eating a piece of pizza, Carrion. You look like you haven't eaten in weeks." Oliver blinked at his friend, silently agreeing with him.

I began picking at the slice, pulling the cheese apart. Matt was already gone, leaving Oliver and I alone together. "I'm really sorry, but I can't eat this. I'm vegan."

"So am I." I looked at Oli, as he folded the piece in half and shoving it in his mouth. "Vegan cheese and tomato sauce. They don't make anything that I can't eat."

I stared back down at my piece and took a bite out of it. It was amazing, as good as a vegan pizza could get. "I didn't even know things like these were possible to make." At that moment, I finished sketching, and I slid my feet out from underneath me, leaving the abandoned pizza on the table. Oli laid back down and lifted his neck up for me to get a good look at. I placed the paper on his neck, lining it up so it wasn't overlapping any other tattoos, and peeling the paper back, creating a perfect outline.

"So why did you call in for Matt and not yourself?" I asked, casually.

"Oliver Sykes is a well-known name around these parts. Can't be too careful, eh?" he answered.

"I guess that makes sense. I mean with your clothing line and everything."

"You know about Drop Dead?" he asked, a look of fascination in his eyes.

"Well, ya. I mean, your store is right down the street from INKstruction."

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Three hours later, we were in the same position, but we were laughing and talking as if this was completely normal. "I'm legit not making this up. I shit myself onstage and had to deal with it for the whole rest of the show."

I had to sit back to keep from messing up. I threw my head back and laughed at Oli's story and he just took it like a man, laughing at himself.

"You're laughing now, but wait till it happens to you."

"I think I can hold my drugs a little bit better than you can," I joked, my laughing calming down a little.

"Ya, ya. We'll see." He settled back down into the couch and I continued working on him.

"Well, I guess you have me beat. This one time I was so high, I watched Kangaroo Jack with my brother and ended up trying to buy my own kangaroo off the internet," I told him truthfully.

He chuckled. "Oh no, you aren't that kind of person, are you?" he joked.

I giggled and nodded my head. "I'm that kind of person," I said in between laughs. "At least my bank called me the next day, asking me why the hell I was trying to spend money I didn't have."

I turned my chair around and began mixing in the red paint. "You're something else, you know that? Any other girl would be preaching me about how I need Jesus in my life and rehab and blah blah blah."

I shrugged. "I don't believe in that shit, man. I always say that one day I'm going to die, no matter what from, but at least I'll be with my brother." With that, I finished the tattoo. I took out a towelette from a box and began wiping off the access blood and paint. "Okay, I think we're done. I pulled out a small mirror and handed it to Oli. He sat up and turned his head in all different directions, taking in his newest piece.

"Holy shit, Carrion. This is awesome. Thank you so much." He put the mirror down and stood up, pulling me into a hug.

I hugged him back. "Aw, don't thank me. Thank you for being so much cooler than any of my other customers."

He pulled back. "What do you expect? We're Brits." I gave a small smile and began loading up my things.

Oli and Matt helped me carry everything back to my van, and when Oli paid me, I was back on the road, driving to INKstruction.

When I got back to the shop, Paula told me I was free to go home for the weekend. It was 4 p.m., the earliest I have been let off in months. All I could think on the drive back to my shitty apartment was about how good of a day I had today, and how I was going to take advantage of my early release.