Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

nothingness was even worse than the bored expression. He shook his head this time, just a small movement but enough to make the point clear. Chase tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed while he looked at Ty. "Are you sure?"
    "Yes."
    And he was. And he stayed still, paralyzed with fear until a small smile crept on to Chase's lips and he seemed pleased with Ty's response. Then Ty no longer felt afraid. And the feeling of relief was even scarier than the thought of leaving.
    ****
    Chase's daily schedule became the extension of Ty's. Ty worked for however long he had to while his own staff left from work as soon as the clock hit five, but he stayed longer. Shipping, phone calls, emails. Hardware that wasn't working and needed to be fixed, programs that needed to be updated. Software that wasn't working as it was supposed to and Ty usually made the best of it before sending it forwards. And if during the day he'd received a call or even a text from Chase, he'd end up spending the rest of his evening on the floor. And as twisted as it somehow was, Ty felt his day a little undone if he didn't end up on the floor. Like he'd left out a part of his normal routine.
    Chase wasn't interested in anything more than tying him by his hands and telling him to get on the floor. And Ty was just as bored every time but he felt calm too. The time he spent kneeling became longer and longer, and while the time extended, the tightness of the belt around his wrists wavered. Sometimes it was tighter, sometimes looser. At times it was so tight Ty felt it as painful, but those times were very short and not nearly long enough. And then at times the belt was so loose Ty wouldn't have even had to try to get his hands out, and that made him a bit worried, because during those times he held his hands perfectly still out of fear of losing the belt. As if that would've been the worst that could happen.
    Chase kept his shop open now even though Ty was there. Before the doors had been locked and he'd done his drawings and sketches while Ty had been kneeling on the floor. Now the doors were open and people came in and out. Chase had promised he wouldn't take anyone into the back room so no one would see Ty, and Ty was glad of that promise. He would yank his hands out and rage his way back home if anyone saw him the way he was now. But no one came in. People booked for times, brought in pictures, asked for prices. Men, women, young and old. And Ty discovered that Chase wasn't any more polite with anyone else either. He was just as short-worded, just as close to snapping if someone happened to get on his nerves. He even refused to work on someone because the person was condescending or rude or just annoying. He also wanted to mold certain pictures, and Ty believed Chase had an eye for what would actually look good on skin and what would not.
    While Ty spent hours and hours on the floor, he had nothing more to do than to investigate the room around him. He found Chase's way of organizing a little more than messy. There were papers everywhere. Sketches, drafts, notes. The only place that was spotless and in perfect order was the quilted table and the small metal table he used while tattooing. Everything else was placed on the other side of the room and it looked as if Chase's actual working section came from another world, because there was nothing excess in it. All of his tools were lined up, organized. Like no one had ever even touched any of them though Ty knew someone had. He waited for the exhibition, because that was the last time he'd get any ink done on his body. He had kept his promise and hadn't had any more work done on him. And he wouldn't, not after the highlights. And then it was done. He really didn't need anything more, and there wasn't all that much he would want either. Well…that was until he started seeing hazy sketches hanging from the notice-board above Chase's desk.
    Just lines. Individual at first, but the next day he came by, there was a new line and then a new. And while the days went by and Ty's time spent on the floor grew from days into a week and then into another one, he saw those lines transforming into a picture. And the picture was eventually so beautiful, he wanted it done to him.
    It was a tree. Sort of. A bonsai tree. Made out of sharp, black lines but somehow they all connected and created a delicate piece of handwork. Lace-like mist on white paper, lines that went from thick to too narrow for his eyes to see them