✓ KISS TO KILL | JAKE

34-reminders of him

34-reminders of him

she wanted to forget him for a little bit but she couldn't. She had been dreaming of him and his tattoos since the day he left, she wanted a reminder of him with her- she wanted something screamed Jake.

That's why she stood outside the tall glass doors of the tattoo shop, her gaze fixated on the mysterious depths that lie within. what the heck she was doing?

The walls of the tattoo parlor are cloaked in darkness, adorned with an array of intricate sketches, creative ideas, and snapshots of past clients proudly displaying their inked masterpieces. The floor beneath her feet is covered in sleek black tiles, amplifying the edgy allure permeating the space. The lighting, deliberately kept dim and hazy, casts an ethereal glow, while a veil of smoke gently wafts through the air, creating an almost surreal ambiance. Within this realm, she spots a couple of guys aimlessly milling about, taking advantage of the momentary lull between customers.

Behind the counter, one individual catches her attention. He lounges lazily on a stool, engrossed in the endless scroll of his phone. A cigarette dangles from his lips, its dull orange glow reflecting off the lip ring that encircles the slight plumpness of his bottom lip. Despite his healthful appearance, his body serves as a canvas adorned with an abundance of ink, each stroke revealing a tale of its own. Notably, a tear-shaped tattoo etched on the crest of his cheek, just beneath the corner of his eyes, imparts a haunting aura as if perpetually symbolizing eternal sorrow.

Summoning her courage, she inhales deeply, filling her lungs with determination, before gently nudging open the door. As she crosses the threshold, the doorbell above jingles loudly, a melodious signal announcing her entrance into this enigmatic domain. The previously slouched figure behind the counter abruptly straightens, snapping to attention in response to her presence.

As she steps inside, a blend of odors assaults her senses—cigarettes intermingling with the lingering fragrance of robust men's cologne. She wrinkles her nose, privately deeming it an unpleasant combination. Her eyes sweep across the white walls, now transformed by an eclectic collection of pictures showcasing an assortment of masculine figures adorned with striking tattoos. 

"What can I assist you with today? A tattoo or a piercing?" the man inquires, his demeanor unremarkable, yet brimming with an air of casual confidence that befits his surroundings.

"Tattoo," she responds, her words slipping effortlessly from her lips. "Actually, I'd like a tattoo—one of my own design."

Curiosity piqued, he probes further, "Is this your first time?"

Her response drips with defiance, a hint of defiance lacing her words. "Does it truly matter?"

With a reassuring smile, he assures her, "Not really, but if it is your first time, we'll ensure a slower, more gentle process."

She relents, confessing, "Yes, it will be my first."

The slender, slightly crooked finger of the artist directs her attention to a selection of designs hanging on the wall, clinging to life in their colorful splendor.

"Which one catches your eye?" he queries.

Her eyes wander, but none of the designs resonates with her innermost desires. Gathering her resolve, she declares, "None of these. I have my own design in mind. I want to tattoo the name, indigo"

"Ah, I see," he acknowledges, his voice tinged with intrigue. "In that case, I will retrieve the necessary form for you. Please wait here."

Nodding in acknowledgment, she watches him disappear into a dimly lit corridor, his footsteps fading into the distance. The weight of anticipation settles upon her shoulders, and a touch of impatience sparks within her.