FORREST

3

My head snapped, eyes squinted to the sunrise streaking through the window. I couldn't help but chuckle bitterly. What happened at the parking lot edged my mind fiercely.

"It means I don't need you, okay?"

"Of course, you don't. You're a big girl."

After two hours, I already showered, dressed, and already standing in front of the tattoo parlor, Fluer.

"Coming?"

My head snapped to the glass door, Milo already pulled it opened for me. His body was tattooed just like mine, but he was skinnier than me. If I haven't known Alan would beat his ass raw, I would've thought Milo was snorting coke.

"Yeah." I got in. "How's your sister?" His sister was newly diagnosed Diabetic. And I felt bad that as young as nineteen, she had to suffer from that disease.

"Still adjusting, but she'll be fine. It runs in the family anyway. My skinny ass is just waiting for its turn."

The reception area was painted in light gray, two shaded lamps were hanging loosely from the dark ceiling. Their masterpiece designs were framed and nailed proudly on the wall.

Milo approached again, showing me his new design on the iPad. "What do you think?"

I glanced down at the screen. It was a Hawk with fierce, blazing red eyes that screamed chaos. Its frightening black shiny wings spread widely that could soar across the sky. The striking claws were long, black, sharp, and curve pointed downward promising hideous scars and excruciating pain to its prey. Amazing!

"What do you think?" he asked again impatiently.

I shifted my gaze to his slim face, finding him showing me his signature grin and gleaming brown eyes. "That's good."

"Just good?" His brow arched. "Man, I did this since the shop opened this morning. You should have at least a better word to say than just good." His shoulders drooped, walking away to the long black counter. He placed the iPad on top, collapsed himself on the black glossy sofa, and sighed heavily.

I was terrible at anything related to art, but I could appreciate a good one. And good was not the right word for his aesthetic work. I gave him that.

"That was awesome, Milo. Shut that scowl off your face. That can bring bad luck for the business." I walked past him to the hallway. There were six small tattoo rooms. At the end of the hallway was Alan's office. "Is he there?"

"Yeah."

I heard the soft buzzing of the tattoo machine from one of the rooms. I could still feel the biting sting of the needle piercing my skin when I got my first tattoo, but nothing could compare to the agonizing pain on why I had to ink myself.

After knocking softly on the single panel glossy black door, Alan said to come in.

I entered and closed the door behind me.

"Don't you have work tonight?" A grayed-hair sixty-six old man looked up at me. For his age, he was still a diet conscious and managed to stay fit. Though he had already wrinkles, and his olive skin started to sag around his neck, he was stronger as a horse.

"I do." I slumped my back on the black chair and leaned my elbow on his wooden desk. Bartending was exhausting and tricky, but I liked this job.

"Keep your heads down. You don't wanna attract unwanted attention. Did you understand me?"

I rubbed my clean-shaven chin, waiting for him to talk.

He stared at me for a moment, squinting his sharp whiskey-colored eyes on me. "How was your trip?"