The Perfect Amount of Messed Up

Michelle Eveleen

Tate Turner, a psychology student working at a tattoo shop, lives with his brother, Jace. Both brothers deal with the childhood trauma of having an abusive mother in different ways: Tate has become a womanizer, and Jace has become involved in an abusive relationship. When Tate meets Charlotte Owens, he finally feels he’ll be able to overcome his past.

Age Rating: 18+ (Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault/Abuse)

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The Perfect Amount of Messed Up - Book cover

The Perfect Amount of Messed Up

Michelle Eveleen

Tate Turner, a psychology student working at a tattoo shop, lives with his brother, Jace. Both brothers deal with the childhood trauma of having an abusive mother in different ways: Tate has become a womanizer, and Jace has become involved in an abusive relationship. When Tate meets Charlotte Owens, he finally feels he’ll be able to overcome his past.

Age Rating: 18+ (Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Sexual Assault/Abuse)

1: Jackass Smile

TATE

The Beginning

We live in a world where lust is easy. Attraction is easy. I’ve met plenty of girls willing to drop their panties for me before the first date who then complain when I’m not bothered about getting their number.

You know what’s hard? Love. I mean, if it even exists, because how are you ever truly meant to respect a girl who gives you a blow job before telling you her name?

I know I’m not any better; in fact, I’m probably worse, but in all honesty, why would guys bother about a relationship when they can have all the perks of one without the hassle?

Everything is instant. You don’t wait a week for a letter to come in the mail, you just wake up with nude pictures on your phone, even when you haven’t asked for them.

Emails, Facebook, messaging; it all happens immediately. There is no more excitement as you wait for something to build up—you just get it.

Basically, as soon as I hit sixteen, I realized how easy it was for me to get girls. But not just that—I worked out how easy it was to get rid of them too.

I work at a small tattoo shop that is close to the college where I’m getting my degree in psychology.

The day starts off like any other. I wake up for my early 8 a.m. class, and then by 1 p.m., I’m leaving to go to work. A lot of the time I’m on my own; because the shop is so small, I can do all the work myself.

“Hi, Tate.” Jessica, from one of my classes, walks into the shop twirling her hair and wearing skimpy shorts and a crop top. It’s been unseasonably warm this year in Queensland.

“Jessica, what can I do for you?” I decide to put the charm on because I have to give it to her—she is fucking hot. Especially with half her ass hanging out from those tiny shorts.

“Well, I was wondering if you could tattoo me here?” She lifts her top up and points to a spot just under her breast.

“Sure. What do you want?”

She begins walking around the small shop, admiring all the artwork on the walls.

“Umm, just a small black bird, do you know the one?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course I know the one. There aren’t many girls without that tattoo anymore. “Yes, go take a seat on the bench.”

She does, and I print off the stencil I need and then mix up the ink beside her.

“You know, I really love your tattoos.” She reaches at my arm, stroking all my ink with that “please fuck me” look in her eyes.

“Thanks,” I say, flashing my award-winning jackass smile. “I need you to take your top off now.”

She complies, freeing her perfectly smooth, alabaster breasts with nipples that harden immediately. I pass her a white towel to cover herself.

“I won’t be needing that,” she says with a smile.

So, now I have hot Jessica with her nicely shaped tits in my face as I concentrate while she continues to take any opportunity to touch me.

I place the stencil on and then ask her to look in the mirror to see if it’s the right spot.

“Perfect,” she says.

“You ready?” I ask with the needle in my hand, about to press it into her skin, and she nods with a cheeky grin.

The whole time, which is about five minutes, she tries not to cry.

I hate doing these pieces because they bore me. To be honest, girls like Jessica bore me unless they have their tits out bouncing in my face as the needle vibrates their chests.

I love the clients that come in wanting something fresh that I can design, something that takes hours, and who lie completely still, not shedding a tear.

“All done,” I say as I wipe the tattoo with a disinfectant wipe.

She sits up. “You know, I think you should give me some pleasure after all that pain you just caused me.”

I seriously fight the urge to roll my eyes this time. “What did you have in mind?” But I’m already pulling her on top of me, her legs straddling either side of mine.

She kisses me hard in between taking my shirt off, and as her breasts push against my bare chest, my dick responds strongly.

I don’t enjoy kissing so much, so I turn her over, bending her over the bench.

She does that cheeky laugh that slutty girls seem to do when you’re being a very bad boy. She pushes her shorts down, freeing her stripper ass.

I push her face down, spread her legs, and rip a condom open, shoving it over me as quick as possible, and before I know it, I’m thrusting inside her.

The funny thought I have while fucking all the sense out of Jessica is that I forgot to lock the door, and I almost burst out laughing at the thought of someone walking in.

Luckily, they don’t, but I’m not reassured they can’t hear her. She screams out “YES!” and “HARDER!” So I give her what she wants until I’m shaking inside of her, breathless.

She pulls her shorts up and puts her top back on. “Call me.” She winks and goes to walk out.

I probably won’t, I think. “Jessica?”

She stops with a small glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Yes?” she says a little too eagerly.

“That’s eighty bucks.”

She flushes red, hands the money over, and then leaves without another word.

***

I live in a two-bedroom apartment with my brother, Jace, who is twenty, a year younger than me. We have always been inseparable, even if we don’t always see eye to eye.

Our apartment is basically a modern bachelor pad with two bathrooms and a tiny kitchen that opens up to a slightly bigger living room. It’s just us two, except on the occasions when Jace has his bitch of a girlfriend over.

He really went out and picked a girl exactly like Mum—drunk and abusive. I hate her with every fiber of my being and refuse to let her move in every time Jace asks.

When I get home and see her snuggled up to him on the couch I’m instantly in a pissed off mood.

“Hey, bro.”

“Hi.” I walk quickly past them to the bathroom before I have to say anything to Roxy, an extremely sexy girl with the ugliest personality I’ve ever met.

I strip out of my clothes, feeling the need to wash Jessica off me before I go out because now that Roxy is here, I don’t want to be in the apartment.

Most of my tanned skin is covered with tattoos, apart from my stomach, back, and neck. My blond hair and hazel eyes have won the hearts of many girls, or so they all tell me.

I step into the warm shower, washing my body and then letting the soothing water splash down my back before I get out.

I put on a plain white top and my dark skinny jeans, grab the keys for my old BMW, and say a quick goodbye to Jace. I already know what I want: a girl to bring back to ease my anger and to piss Roxy off.

She hates the pretty girls I bring home because she knows deep down that eventually, one day, Jace will leave her for someone better.

Preferably not one of the girls I bring home because they aren’t exactly girlfriend material, but still, I’d take anyone over Roxy.

Once arriving at the bar, I spot Tyson ordering a drink. “Hey, man.”

Tyson comes up to me, slapping my hand and pulling me in for a half hug. “What’s up?” He signals to the bar lady for two more drinks.

“Oh, you know, on the hunt.” I give him a cheeky smile.

“Wingman me?”

I grab the drink that he bought me. “Would I ever let you down?”

He shakes his head with a smile. “Yes! Every time, you get the hot one, and I get the still-hot-but-not-as-good best friend.”

I spot an easy target, two busty blondes sipping their flavored vodkas and begging for attention with their tight and barely there dresses. I point to them, and Tyson clinks his drink with mine.

I usually let Tyson do all the talking. I hate it, and I’ve found I don’t need it. The mysterious bad boy vibe rubs girls the right way.

While Tyson flirts his magic and the desperate blondes talk and giggle, I notice a girl I’ve never seen before sitting with a friend.

Something about her catches my attention in all the right ways. Long, black hair with full lips and giant eyes. I can’t see the color of her eyes in the dark pub, but I don’t need to. I can tell she’s stunning.

While the hot slut talking to Tys checks me out, I can’t help but watch this strange girl. I consider what she’s wearing, a simple black dress that doesn’t scream “I’m ready to be used.”

I get more of an I-have-a-boyfriend vibe from her outfit. Or “I’m one of those rare girls that will make you work for my attention.”

I notice pretty quick that she is uncomfortable here, stirring her straw around in her barely touched drink as her excited friend talks about things that don’t seem to interest her.

“You ready?” The blonde girl, who probably has told me her name but I haven’t been listening, looks up at me.

Tys has his arm wrapped around the other. “Sure.” I smile down at her.

Tyson fucks his blonde on the couch while I lead mine to the bed. Before she has time to talk, I start undressing her.

“I’ve heard all about you, Tate Turner,” she says with a smile in her voice.

“Mmm?” I say as I push her head down my stomach.

She shakes her head. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

I place my hand on her head. “Come on, sweetheart, you know what I want.”

That’s all it takes, and she starts sucking me like it’s the most important thing to her. Yes, I use girls, but they use me just the same.

They find out my name, immediately know my reputation, and think they will be the ones to change me. It’s some sort of sick game to them; I will probably never understand.

Maybe it’s something to do with competing with one another, which to me, shows me the kind of people they are—shallow.

***

I wake up to Tyson cooking breakfast. Both the girls are gone, but I never let them stay the night anyway.

“Smells good,” I say as he dishes up my bacon and eggs.

“You got a class this morning?” Tyson asks, and I nod my head with a mouth full of fatty bacon. “Me too. Can I catch a ride with you?”

“Yeah, man.”

Roxy walks out of my brother’s room to help herself to a glass of water.

“I can’t believe you brought that filth back last night.” The remark is directed at me.

I shrug. “My place.”

She places the cup down into the sink. “You know it makes me uncomfortable, Tate.”

I seriously hate this. She knows I despise her, yet she has this obsession with pretending like I don’t and we are great friends.

“Good thing I don’t give a shit what you think.” I smile at her before placing some more breakfast in my mouth, and she storms off back to my brother’s room, no doubt to give him hell about me.

“I see she’s still here.” Tyson points to Jace’s room.

“Unfortunately.” I grab my bag and keys before heading out the door.

“Want to have lunch at the café?” Tyson is heading in the opposite direction to go to one of his performing arts classes.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

I sit in my usual spot to the side and get my pen and book out, ready to start taking three hours’ worth of notes. Jessica sits next to me, wearing something similar to yesterday.

“Hey, Tate.”

“Hi.”

She starts arranging her notes. “Maybe you could see how my tattoo is healing after this?” she says while she sucks the end of her pen.

Just then the girl from the pub with the dark hair walks in, and I can barely move.

She wears a pretty summer dress with sandals, and straight away I can tell how amazing her body is, even if she doesn’t show it off the way other girls do.

I start gathering my things.

“Tate?” Jessica says with confusion.

“Uhh, yeah, maybe.” I leave her to go sit next to probably one of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen.

She doesn’t even notice me sitting down as she reads over the lecture notes and sets out her pens and highlighters with a precision I can tell she uses every time.

“Hi.” I flash my usual charming smile, and as she looks up, the color of her giant eyes is revealed—the brightest blue I have ever seen. My breath catches as I stare at them.

“Hello,” she says, and then looks straight back down at her notes. Well, that was different. Girls don’t usually look away from me. Maybe she does have a boyfriend.

“Are you new here?” She shakes her head. Fuck, I’ve never had to talk this much. “It’s just I’ve never seen you in this class before.”

She looks up at me with eyes I can’t read. “I’m studying sociology, but I have to do a course in psychology to go into honors.”

I stretch my hand out to shake hers. “I—”

“I know who you are, Tate.” She doesn’t take my hand.

Ouch. This is something new to me, and I have no idea how to handle this situation. “Okay, well, can I know your name?”

She rolls her eyes and looks at the entrance, probably searching for our lecturer and hoping he would hurry up so this could end.

“I’m sorry. Did I do something to offend you?” It sounds pathetic even to me.

“Nope.”

Oh my god, this girl is driving me nuts. “Really? Because you seem to have a problem with me.”

She sighs. “Can we just skip all this small talk and you get to the part where you ask me back to your place so I can say no?”

I feel my mouth pop open. No girl has ever spoken to me like that. “Maybe that’s not why I’m talking to you.”

“Then why are you here?” She gestures to the small space around herself.

“I get it. You have a boyfriend.”

She starts packing up her stuff. “Nope.” She gets up, clearly wanting to get past me, but she can only do that if I move my legs in, so I decide not to.

She looks down at my legs, sighs, then rolls her eyes again. She climbs over me.

“And here I was under the impression you didn’t want me,” I say, smiling.

She doesn’t say anything, just walks off to find a different seat. As I turn around, I notice Jessica and a few other girls watching in complete shock.

Two things I can’t stop thinking about: first, that she doesn’t have a boyfriend, and second, having her climb over me. I can’t help but picture her naked on top of me, but instead of rolling her eyes, she bites her lip.

Strangest girl I’ve ever met, but yet, I found every minute talking to her exciting, and I have never felt excited talking to a girl before.

***

Sitting at work, I decide to design a tattoo. After I finish, I realize I’ve designed the pretty girl from class with roses and birds surrounding her.

After I realize what I’ve done I throw it out, mainly in case someone wants it tattooed on them.

Jessica walks in, and I try to swallow back my sigh of annoyance.

“Hey, just wanting you to check out my tattoo. I’m worried about it.” She isn’t; she just wants me to get close to her.

“Let’s see.” As she pulls down her dress straps, I ask if she’s been applying her cream.

“Maybe you could apply some more now,” she says.

So I do. As I’m about to lift my fingers off her skin, she guides my hand to her breast.

“Sorry, Jessica. I have a lot of work to do right now.” The biggest lie ever, but I mainly don’t want to sleep with her again because she’s becoming a little bit clingy, and I have a rule against clinginess.

Straightaway she looks pissed off. Girls—they get pissed off when you sleep with them and you don’t want more, and then they also get pissed off if you don’t sleep with them. What. The. Fuck.

“Is this about Charlotte Owens?” she says with venom, like the name of the girl is going to poison her. Charlotte…so the mystery of her name is uncovered.

“No.”

“Really? Because it feels like someone isn’t handling rejection very well,” she says snidely.

Now she’s pissing me off.

“I think maybe you have just lost your touch,” she says, looking at her nails, pretending like she isn’t interested in our conversation.

Right. Well, now I’m going to prove a point. I grab her by the arm and lead her to my tattooing bench and bend her over again.

“This what you want?” I whisper in her ear as my hand travels up her skimpy dress. She nods her head against the bench. I stop before my fingers are inside her. “Say it.”

“I want you, Tate,” she says, breathless.

I pull her underwear down, tear out a condom, and then screw her with anger. I no longer have much like for her, so the sex is very rushed and pretty hard.

I want it over with, and to be honest, in a shameful way, I want her to know I want it over with.

As soon as I finish, I can see in her eyes she knows she was just used, but I have no sympathy. She basically begs me to screw her, and then hates me for doing it.

Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re an adult, and you need to live with your choices.

Once she leaves, I make a mental note to really never sleep with her again, or I could see this getting ugly.

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