The Tattooed Flower

15. Did It Hurt?

Friday

Quinn-

"Did it hurt?" He looks at me quizzically, his brows knitting together. "Your tattoo."

"Why do you want one?" He asks looking at me as he turns his head.

We're at the beach, it's not very busy and I needed to get out of that stupid hotel room. Caleb is laying on a towel on his stomach. His back is entirely exposed, his tattoo in plain sight. I wore the yellow tankini today. I wasn't in the mood to have old men ogling at me.

I give Caleb my best "just-answer-the-question face" and he speaks. "It did, a lot."

"Why'd you get it?" I ask. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I wanted something I could control." I don't ask any more questions about it after that. It's something I can understand.

I look at the sand, the ground could just split open at any moment and swallow me. Could make all of these buildings that look to pristine and structured, nothing more than rubble. I look at the sky, in a second it could turn dark and rush into a swirling chaos. I look out at the lake, boats and jet skiis ripping across it, tearing up the water into crashing waves. It's wild and feral and without boundaries. I wish I could be like the water, like the sky, the earth: untamed, unafraid... Unashamed.

"Yes." I can feel Caleb's eyes burning into me and I look into them. "I want one."

***

We end up at a parlor somewhere I'm not going to lie is probably the sketchiest place I've ever been. The alley reeks of danger and Mary Jane. Caleb pulls me through the door I had been dreading would be our destination. He said he knew a guy, who would do it without ID if he asked. I agreed without argument. I'm past precautions, past breaking the rules. What's the point? I'm already a fugitive...
When we step inside and the room is painted in a deep red. The walls are decorated in old school rock posters, there's a counter covered in books and papers filled with tattoos and past clients. Caleb talks to a bald man whose built like a truck with tattoos... Everywhere. I walk up to the counter paging through the tattoos past clients have gotten. Some of them are huge, spanning over their entire back, others are small simple things on the wrist.

I look to Caleb and truck man. Both already focused on me. Truck man smiles and I'd expect it to creepy or dangerous, but it's not, there's a gentleness, a friendliness. I look away back to the books. I find one filled with Arabic words and their translation... Forgiveness.

Caleb and the man walk over. He smiles at me again and Caleb stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders. "Hi, my name is Dave." The tattooed man leans forward shaking my hand firmly. I return the handshake as firmly as I can.

"Nice handshake." He says. His tattoos are impressive and I can't help wondering how many cumulative hours he's spent under the needle. His face is the only thing uncovered. "What can I do for you, Caleb tells me you want your first tattoo." He says, he's smiling, he's got a nice smile. Somehow this huge truck of man, tattooed from head-to-toe, is just not frightening.

"Yes." I say nodding, trying to present confidence. He smiles wider.

"What were you thinking?"

"Um..." I take the book filled with Arabic words and glance back at all his other works. I couldn't possibly end up with a bad tattoo. "I want this."

***

It has been an hour and Dave says it could take one more. I'm okay. I got used to the feeling. Caleb is sitting in a chair at the side of the weird chair bed thing I'm laying in. He's carefully analyzing everything.