Not Broken, Just Bruised

[18]

"what a plot twist you were.."
- unknown

•

"ID?"
The lady at the front desk questions, her facial expression very grim.

"She's 18."
Ian mutters.

The lady lowers her glasses to the edge of her nose, staring directly at the both of us.
"She looks 12. I need an ID."

Woah.
I get it, I'm hella short - but do I really look that young?

Ian opens his mouth, attempting to talk back, but I don't let him - placing my hand on his arm as a "it's not worth it" signal.

I then plaster a kind, but terribly fake, smile on my face as I pull my ID out from my wallet - handing it to the grouchy receptionist lady.

"Thanks."
She mumbles, inspecting it closely.
"So you are 18?"

Ian throws his hands up in the air, clearly agitated.
"What do you think we've been trying to-"

I whip my head towards him, holding a cold glare.

He groans.
"-can we just get a tattoo done?"

The receptionist lady makes no effort to answer him, aggressively typing things down, before lifting her head back up to look at us.
"She's in. First room on the left."
She sighs.

What's gotten her panties in such a twist?

Ian wastes no time grabbing onto my arm, pulling me to the back.

"Sir! Only 1 person per-"

"-I don't care, lady!"
Ian hollers back.

I giggle, following behind him.
Well, it's not like I have much choice - he's practically dragging me.

We've soon entered a small, cluttered room.
The scent of bleach fills the air.

A bearded, heavily tattooed man is sitting on the green chair at the back of the room
"Which one of you is this for?"
He asks, with a low voice.

"Her."
Ian says, pushing me closer to the tattoo bed.

The man pats at the bed, motioning for me to sit down.
I do as he says, rocking side to side with anxiousness.

"What do you want done?"

That, I hadn't thought of.
My mind was filled with too many other questions and concerns - I forgot to come up with a tattoo idea.

I turn to Ian for support, my face holding an expression of clear panic.

Ian sighs, reaching down towards his pant leg.
"A rose, just like this one."

My heart stops.
The rose..
"I was hoping the right woman would come along and get a matching tattoo to go with it.."
No.

"Where do you want it?"
The tattoo man questions.

I scan my body with my eyes frantically, trying to come up with a good place for it.

"How about my arm?"
I smile awkwardly, pulling my sleeve back to expose my skin.

"Have you ever gotten a tattoo before?"
He asks, messing around with some pins and needles - preparing for the tattoo.