Tattooed Emotions Read online

  Copyright © 2015 by Alicia Rae

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website at www.aliciaraeauthor.com

  Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To my family,

  for your undying love and support in everything I do.

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Tattooed Scars

  Dear Readers

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  In every storm, there was a looming darkness that could never be deterred or escaped. Its path would be unpredictable. The winds could shift in an instant, causing untold damage.

  The only way to be rid of it would be to let nature run its course and let faith guide us, hoping to still be standing in the end.

  After three excruciatingly long and painful months, today was finally the day I’d been waiting an eternity for. It would decide if my tumor would win and take my life or if, by some miracle, my body had survived the fight, and I would have a future. Given the nature of my aggressive glioma tumor, the odds were highly stacked against me.

  Sitting up in my bed, I faced my nightstand and allowed my feet to hit the old wooden floor. A cool breeze swept across my naked scalp as I eyed the three clean bandanas on my table. My choices today were a pastel pink and white, blue and silver, or dark purple and white. Going for optimism and cheeriness, I selected the pink-and-white one to brighten my spirits. I folded the material in half from corner to corner and raised my hands to tie it around my head.

  Losing my hair hadn’t bothered me as I viewed it as a battle wound. Even though I was at ease in my own skin, I wasn’t comfortable with all the stares that came along with being bald. Hiding it from the world was much easier than enduring the lingering inquisitive eyes that had probed me all day, every day.

  As I shakily rose from my bed, my empty stomach twisted and churned, causing me to dry-heave for oxygen. My mouth was bitterly dry. I craved water so much these days, so I forced my weak limbs to carry me to the kitchen to fetch a glass. Each movement was slow and took great effort as I was still recovering from the horrid effects of the vigorous chemotherapy treatments.

  As I tipped the glass up and let the water glide down my throat, I had to bite back my natural urge to vomit. I briefly closed my eyes, inhaled a deep breath before gradually releasing it, and sipped at my drink, hoping this technique would quell my queasiness.

  My abdominal area grumbled loudly, and I knew that I would have to stomach some sort of food before my morning appointment. Nothing appealed to me in the slightest. My taste buds had up and left me three days into chemo and had yet to return.

  I lifted the Sara Lee bread off the top of the microwave and pulled out one slice of bread to pop it down into the toaster. Then, I grabbed the butter from the fridge and the peanut butter from the white pantry.

  When I went back to the toaster, I numbly stared at the glowing red light on it while accepting that there were no words to describe the feelings I harbored inside me or how rapidly those emotions could change.

  I was hollow, a lifeless empty vessel. My throat and stomach would tolerate a minimally sufficient supply of food and nutrients in my bloodstream. If I pushed my limits with my meals, especially breakfast, it would come up in seconds. My limbs moved only enough to carry me where I absolutely needed to go, and sometimes, they’d refuse to do even that. My heart beat just enough times to keep me alive. Some days, since the odds of survival were so greatly stacked against me, I wondered if I would care if my tired cardiac muscle stopped. I was that weak, that defeated, and that desperate to not feel any pain.

  A ping sounded, and my toast popped up. I reached for it, snatched a paper towel from the roll on the countertop, and began to lightly spread the butter and peanut butter on the warm bread.

  I took my food to the brown stool at the kitchen island and sat down while listening for my roommate and best friend, Iris, to see if she was awake. No noise was coming from the hallway, so I assumed she was still asleep. I’d heard her come in around three in the morning, so she must have had a busy night at the bar where she bartended part-time.

  I bit into my toast and chewed. Even though I couldn’t taste it, my gag reflex kicked in full force, and I had to resist the urge to spit out my food. Breathing in and out through my nose while chewing, I pondered over all the other times when I’d been strong and on top of the world, back to the days when my faith had been unbreakable, when I had wanted to live, and when I’d solemnly vowed to make this tumor my bitch.

  This was going to be one of those moments where I so desperately needed to cling on to my faith and my dream to live my life to its fullest potential again.

  Just ninety days ago, I had been happily engaged to a man who made me believe the world was ours to conquer. Nick and I had been eagerly counting down the eight months and four days until we would say the words I do to forever.

  That blissful countdown had come to an abrupt end less than twenty-four hours after I’d received wind of my new countdown. I’d been given an estimated six months to live, if the tumor proved to be unbeatable. A mere six months—that was it. At that time, I’d only had half of a year to scratch off every single dream on my bucket list.

  At first, chemotherapy had been a breeze. It’d numbed the pain in my heart from being ditched by the man I’d believed was my soul mate, someone who would stand by me till the end of time. But I’d quickly learned that Nick had no intentions of sticking it out during good times and bad—or poor health, I should say.

  I managed another bite of my whole-wheat toast and swallowed. It tasted like garbage, but then again, everything did.

  As a distraction, I let my mind drift, thinking of how quickly life could change. One minute, I had been planning a wedding, and the next, I was on death row with a low percentage rate of survival.

  My harsh reality had given me a raw slap in the face. I had welcomed the pain though because it was less agonizing than the truth. And the truth was, I had been left to face this storm alone—with the exception of Iris. She was all I had.

  Other than Iris, I had no family here in Sarasota, Florida. My foster parents, Joyce and Frank, had kicked me out of their home two days after my eighteenth birthday when their state aid for me had come to an abrupt halt. Needless to say, we hadn’t spoken since, and I was going to turn twenty-six at the end of this month.

  But Iris was my savior, my angel in the flesh. Morning, noon, or night, she would be my shoulder to cry on, giving me words of affirmation when I truly needed them the most. She’d force me to fight on days when I wanted to let the darkness swallow me whole, praying it would carry me away
to a place without excruciating pain and heartache or the impending feeling of defeat.

  I managed to eat my entire slice of toast within fifteen minutes, which was rather good for me. I rose from my spot and dumped my napkin into the trash bin before turning to go to my bedroom to dress for the big day.

  To my right, Iris’s door opened, and she came bouncing down the hallway with her arms open wide for me. “It’s finally here! Today’s the day we’ve been waiting for, Raelyn!” She gingerly threw her arms around me, as if I were a frail twig that might break.

  Iris had a natural ability to make me smile, even when I simply didn’t want to. Those big hazel eyes of hers always seemed to aim straight at my heart, sparking a sliver of hope and light into me.

  But as much as I wanted to believe in a positive outcome, I had to make sure she knew that the likelihood of this appointment working out in my favor was slim. I needed her to be prepared. If she fell apart on me in the doctor’s office, I’d undoubtedly lose it and have no one to hold me up. And I was already on the verge of crumbling.

  “Iris,” I began softly, “I hope you understand that there is a high probability that today might not go as you’ve planned in your head.” I searched her gaze while holding back an onslaught of tears. “I…I just need you to be prepared for the worst.”

  Iris slowly drew back and tapped her fingers across my cheek, giving me a friendly slap. “Stop it. I won’t tolerate any of your negativity,” she demanded sternly. “Your body has kicked this cancer’s ass these past few months, and Dr. Enright is going to confirm my beliefs in less than an hour,” she added confidently, referring to my oncologist, as she set her hand on her slender hip and tilted her head at me. “And after he does, you’re going to take me out to Starbucks, so we can have mochas.”

  The thought of tasting chocolate on my tongue sounded heavenly. However, I knew I wouldn’t be able to taste its awesome flavor because everything I ate or drank tasted the same—bland. I tucked the negative thought away. I’d sacrificed enough recently. If by some miracle Iris were right, I’d have a mocha and drink all of it, praying it’d agree with my sensitive stomach.

  Returning my attention to Iris, I was in complete awe of her. She was strong, resilient, and confident enough for both of us. Her inner faith was unbreakable and admirable. I wished I could reach into her soul and borrow just a sliver of it, especially for this meeting with my doctor.

  Feeling the moisture running down my cheeks, I finally let out a deep breath. “Okay.” I nodded. “If he tells me I’m cancer-free, we’ll have a chocolate date.”

  “Not if he tells you.” Iris narrowed her eyes. “When he tells you.”

  I rolled my eyes in exasperation, knowing this was a losing battle. Iris’s determination was not something to be argued with, so I laughed. “Fine! When! When he tells me!”

  “Attagirl.” Iris grinned and lightly patted my shoulder, as if I were a delicate flower. “Now, go peel yourself out of those pajamas and put on something cheery, so we can go hear the doc’s good news.”

  So, I did, all the while clinging to Iris’s hope.

  By the time Iris pulled into the hospital parking lot, I was regretting not bringing a paper bag with me. I was damn near hyperventilating, and we hadn’t even walked into the doctor’s office yet. My fingers were trembling, and my skin felt clammy. I was unsure of if I would pass out, have a panic attack, or cry. My emotions were getting the best of me, and I didn’t like feeling so vulnerable.

  Choosing a vacant space in between a minivan and a truck, Iris parked her white Honda Civic, and then she quietly withdrew her keys and slipped them into her purse. When she finally glanced at me, her eyes were tender and filled with compassion. “You ready?” she asked softly.

  I adamantly shook my head back and forth. “No,” I admitted truthfully. In fact, I wanted to deny how important this moment was going to be. It would decide my fate, my future. I wanted to run away and hide forever, but I could only escape the truth for so long.

  “You got this, Raelyn.” She set her hand atop mine and reassuringly patted me. “Today, you’ll get your life back. No more chemo.”

  If my treatment option hadn’t worked, I’d be looking at another considerable choice to make. Either I would have to do another round of chemotherapy—the thought chilled my bones and made my stomach roll—or I’d have to live out the rest of my days being ill.

  As if reading my thoughts, Iris squeezed my hand. “I want you to know that, no matter what Dr. Enright says, I will be by your side, and I will support you unconditionally, Raelyn. We will make it through this—together.”

  Gosh, I love this woman.

  She was my rock. I’d never have survived this unwelcomed card that life had dealt me if it wasn’t for Iris.

  “Thank you.” I smiled, choking back another round of tears.

  “You’re welcome.” She let go of my hand and opened her door. “Now, get your ass out of the car, so we can get this over with.”

  I had to laugh at her abrupt mood swing. One minute, Iris could be the sweetest person someone had ever met, and the next, she would be a complete hard-ass. She was a teddy bear with a grizzly bear heart.

  I exited her car, and Iris came up to me. She looped her arm through mine, and the two of us made the short walk through the parking lot to the front door of the brick building.

  Once inside, the waiting room was rather quiet. Only two other people were in the office. One was a gentleman, who appeared to be in his mid-sixties, and he was reading the newspaper with his wife by his side.

  As Iris went to take a seat, I passed by the aquarium and headed to the counter to greet the receptionist. With all my visits, I knew her by her first name.

  “Hi, Beth. I have a nine o’clock appointment with Dr. Enright.”

  “Hello, Ms. Jennings,” Beth greeted me with a kind smile while slipping on her black-and-gold reading glasses. She picked up a white clipboard and handed it to me over the beige countertop. “You know the drill. I just need your signature.”

  I signed my name and the date before giving the clipboard back to her.

  “Thank you,” she said, grabbing what appeared to be my chart. She opened it and scanned the first page. “Is your address, telephone number, and insurance still the same?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Great.” She motioned to the row of blue chairs by the bay window where Iris was sitting patiently. “Please have a seat. Dr. Enright will be with you shortly, dear.”

  I joined Iris and placed my hands in my lap. To the right of two bold water paintings across the room, the clock displayed that it was ten minutes till nine.

  As I waited for what felt like an eternity, my heart hammered uncontrollably in my chest, and my pulse throbbed at my temples. Nerves crept in with every passing second, and my fingers began to shake. I linked them together to stop them and inhaled a calming breath.

  At five till nine, I was fiddling with the lower button of my blouse while quietly tapping my feet on the tiled floor. I itched to go up to the clock and fast-forward it to a measly five minutes before my mind went crazy.

  This appointment would determine everything, my whole life, and I was powerless to alter the outcome of it. All I could think of was that I should have rested more during my chemo treatments so that my body would be at its best, I should have eaten the proper foods to make sure I would have adequate nutrition to beat this tumor, and I should have drunk a sufficient amount of water, as it was a key factor to good health and flushing out my system.

  What if I did something wrong, and I worsened my chances to survive?

  I forced myself to stifle the profound urge to cry. I didn’t want to die. I desperately wanted to live.

  Iris grabbed my hand and enclosed it between the two of hers, causing me to gaze up at her. “We got this,” she whispered to me so that only I could hear her. “You’re going to be okay, Raelyn.”

  I tried to let her strength seep inside my every nerve endin
g, including my mind and heart.

  “Raelyn Jennings,” Olivia, the oncologist’s nurse, called from the door straight ahead of me. She was dressed in purple scrubs and clutched a manila folder in one hand.

  “That’s me.” As I leaped to my feet, my heart plummeted to my stomach. My knees trembled so badly with every step toward the nurse.

  “How are you today, Ms. Jennings?” Olivia kindly asked me once I was in the corridor with Iris on my heels.

  I was always uncertain of how to respond to that particular question. Surely, honesty was the best answer, but that wouldn’t be too bright of an answer. Instead, I offered, “I’m okay. Thank you.”

  I automatically stepped on the nearby scale, and Olivia jotted down my weight. A frown marred my features when I saw that I’d lost another three pounds. I had truly been trying my best to eat, but it had been so difficult. I didn’t enjoy being scrawny and weak. I yearned to have my curves back, so I promised myself to eat a little extra at lunchtime.

  The nurse proceeded to pull out a metal tab from the back of the scale to document my height. At least I had that going for me, and I never had to fight with that number.

  Finished, Olivia led Iris and me into a room where she routinely checked my pulse, blood pressure, and temperature. She went to Dr. Enright’s desk that was placed against the left wall and lowered herself into the plush leather chair. “Any new medications or changes you’d like for me to note for Dr. Enright?” she queried, rotating to face me.

  I shook my head from side to side and told her, “No.”

  “All right,” she replied, jotting down another note in my chart. “Any fevers?”

  “Not since about three weeks ago, and I informed the doctor of it.”

  “Okay.” Olivia smiled and rose from the small desk while closing my chart. “Dr. Enright will be here in just a few minutes.”

  I thanked Olivia, and then she left Iris and me alone. My legs automatically began to pace the room from the two waiting chairs to the doctor’s desk to the cream-colored cot in front of me to a small sink and mirror on the far right corner of the room, only to repeat my tiny confined circle all over again. There was no soothing my anxiety. I was strung far too tight. One twitch of a muscle, and my short fuse would ignite, causing me to shoot off into the sky like a rocket. It was pure torture at its finest.