Written by user ggsperanza

"Genevieve, my dear, a moment before you leave?" Amanda's voice sounded through the doorway to her cubicle.

Genevieve sighed, knowing exactly what this was going to be - yet another after-work 'favor' that had absolutely nothing to do with either of their jobs. Amanda was head of Fundraising and Donations of the St. Justin's orphanage and fostering programs, and ever since she had been recruited from another non-profit eighteen months ago, had casually transformed Genevieve's job description from head of corporate donations to personal assistant. Not even a secretary. Just someone who ran around after her, and around 80% of the time, it was for personal errands. So far, she had done everything from pick up her twin boys, to having to lie to Amanda's husband about her affair, and even went so far as to drive two hours out of town in peak hour to pick up desserts for a dinner party she hadn't been invited to.

"Darling, could you please do me the biggest favor? My dry cleaner called and has informed me that my suit, you know the one, the divine little navy one, for my corporate lunch tomorrow, has been rushed and finished for me. Could you pop down and pick it up for me?" She asked, voice dripping with an over-the-top sweetness. "I'm just swamped trying to make sure everything is perfect for this event. You know how much our homes need this money.'"

She tucked a strand of the perfectly maintained blonde hair behind her ear with a manicured nail. Standing in front of her barely 40, absolutely stunning boss made Genevieve feel so dowdy. Her shoulder length, chestnut hair was half pinned back to keep it off her face, she hadn't had her nails done in gosh knew how long, and her blazer barely showed off her too curvy figure. She entwined her fingers, but rather than just saying no, she suggested, "I'm just on my way out now. You know Monday's are one of my early days, But I'm more than happy to drop it off tom..."

'Oh boo!' Amanda exclaimed, feigning disappointment. 'I had forgotten. Perhaps you wouldn't mind then just dropping it back in afterwards then?'

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Rather than finishing at 3 as she had planned, Genevieve was trudging back home well past 4.30, utterly exhausted as usual. Not only had she carried a suit, but the half of Amanda's closet that had been cleaned, and Genevieve had had to maneuver four blocks back to the office with only one eye to see. She hated this job. Hate wasn't even the right word anymore – she despised it. What once had been a meaningful and purposeful position to her had been casually thrown to someone else in her already understaffed and overworked department, and she had been reduced to an assistant because she was 'so good at her job.' For at least eight months, her days had fallen into a sluggish routine – going to work, going home, and falling asleep wondering why her life was so ridiculous. She had never had many friends aside from a close few, but as she continued to be used at work, she had pushed them further away as she had fallen into her self-made pit of misery. She had even pushed away her family after she had found herself growing agitated with their constant questions and persistence into knowing every little detail of her disappointing life.

As she turned onto the busy street of up-and-coming cafes, attractive stores, and local bars, she stopped in front of a store on the corner that she had passed many times, but had never given any notice to. In the corner of a large glass window, in bold black type with a thick white outline said 'Ink'. She looked inside, and past the front desk held a couch in a room with deep blue walls covered with frames of what appeared to be tattoo work. Beyond that was a table at least two meters long that seated a hunched over figure, and two separate rooms she could only assume were workstations. She looked at the path she took every day, then back at the store, and decided she needed to break routine.

She cautiously opened the door, and was immediately enveloped by a welcoming environment. Whilst she had imagined tattoo parlors to be dreary and dingy, this place, while dark walled and covered in photographs, was drowned in sunlight and had a homey feeling. With no objections from the man at the table, she slowly made her way around, admiring the pieces as though in a gallery. There was everything from exceptionally shaded skulls and proportionate pin-up figures, to impeccably detailed landscapes and creatures of a shapes and colours.

She stopped at a photograph of a woman's back, where a crystalized heart of ice was melting to form the name 'Brian'. She reached out and delicately placed her hand over the melting heart; whilst she thought the idea of branding yourself with someone's name was absurd, she was captivated by the crystalized shape - how the shading on this two dimensional piece looked like it was made of iced glass made her own heart seize.

"You should probably ask your boyfriend before you get something like that." The man at the table looked up at her, rolling his pencil between his fingers. "Men tend to get freaked out being objectified like that."

Without looking at him, Genevieve continued to stare at the heart. "I don't have a boyfriend," she said absentmindedly.

He raised a blue eye at her quizzically, "A girlfriend, then?"

This caught her attention. "Do I look like I have a girlfriend?" She inquired curiously.

This was the first time she took note of him. His hair was pulled off is face into a little bun, and he wore small, somewhat reading-style glasses. This what not what she had imagined someone who worked in a shop would look like at all. She then noticed his nicely tailored dress shirt, and then it began to fit. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, and she could see the head of an eagle poking through the gap. His cuffs were rolled up once, and from the quick glance she gave she saw a grey, shaded rose on his left wrist, and what appeared to be waves on the other. What she had given most of her attention to, upon her quick assessment of this character, was the tattoo on his right hand. A simple, red-shaded apple with a stem and a little green leaf. It seemed oddly out of place on a man with this amount of edge in his air. She studied his face curiously.

He shrugged, and gave a lopsided grin that came halfway up only the left side of his face. "I'm going to get in trouble, no matter what I say, aren't I?"

She looked at him and smiled "I guess so."

Yet again, she turned back and looked at the frozen heart. "And no, not a girlfriend, either. I've never dated anyone," she said without thinking too much.

He looked at her quizzically, as in questioning her age and not believing someone of around 28 had never dated anyone. She walked over to the table and leaned down, looking at all the sketches under the glass. "This place is amazing," she whispered under her breath.

She looked up and caught him staring at you. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Am I bothering you?"

"Not at all." He said, extending and arm to a chair. "Take a seat. I'm just waiting for a client." He paused, looking her bare arms up and down. "Uh, are you looking for a tattoo?"

"Not really," she said, feeling oddly naked in this museum of body art. "I was just looking to break routine." She noticed the intricacy of the sketches under the table, and began walking the length, just to examine them all further.

"So why don't you date?" The man asked, setting back to work on his sketch. "One of those poor lasses who don't believe in love?"

She paused at the end of the table and looked up at him, eyebrow raised in curiosity. "No, I do believe in love. I just don't trust it."

She paused and saw him run his hand over the top of his head, loosening a strand of hair as he did so. He stared at his drawing in annoyance. She looked over and saw him look up at her when he realized she had stopped talking.

"Because?" He prompted.

She leaned on the edge of the table and continued to get lost in the abundance of drawings. "I know people fall in love. My parents are very much in love. But people change. I know great people, who can lose their temper and get angry at everything, and take their frustrations out on everyone. Not physically abusive, but bad enough that it will leave a scar. Every day at work I hear of kids coming in who might have a great parent, one who loves them and their spouse, but they can't stop their temper, and things get to the point where the damage is done and will never be repaired. The emotional scars will never leave you."

She paused "And it's the same every time – 'they were never like this before we got married' or 'they do love me, they just can't help it'. How can you love someone and treat them that way? How do you know someone isn't going to just change on you without notice?" As she looked up, she realized where she was, and that she had been expressing her deepest fears to a complete stranger.

She was mortified. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say all that. I never..." She dropped her head into her hands, "that makes me sound like such a basket case. I didn't mean to say that to you. I'm sorry!"

When she looked up, he was looking at her curiously. "How do you know people will do that, though?" He asked genuinely, looking at her with interest.

She stared at him for a moment; bewildered he hadn't called her out as crazy, which deep down she knew she was. As she opened her mouth to answer the door opened, and in stepped a short, yet well muscled man.

"Hey Brad,' the man called out. 'I just finished your piece. Head on back and I'll be there in a minute."

He stood up, gathering his things together when she began, "I'm so sorry. I didn't..."

He looked up at her "I have a client now, but I should be done here around 7.30. Any chance you would meet me at the Green Bird café then?"

She cocked her head in surprised, with mixed feelings of dread and horror filling her. "I, uh," she paused. "No. I don't think..."

"I'm genuinely interested to hear the rest of this, if you wouldn't mind sharing," he interrupted, looking up and giving her another crooked smile.

She looked down at her hands, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. She began to gather her things and hurry to the door. As she passed him she said, without looking up "Thanks. But no." She stole a quick glance and saw he had stepped out from his chair, and was now standing at the edge of the table, at least half a foot taller than her. Looking up at him she said softly,

"No. I..." She stammered, "I don't even know your name."

He smiled and held out a hand. "My name is Matt."