Path To Resolution (Fighter's Den, #5)

Chapter 1 - Lenny

She gasps dramatically. "Oh. Em. Gee! That is perfect! You're really good."

"Thank you." I appreciate the compliment and try not to get hung up on the fact that she actually spoke the abbreviations of "omg" out loud. Who does that? Still, she's a nice chick and that's more than can be said for myself.

"Which hip?"

"Right." She says, which is perfect because that's the side closest to me.

"Cool. Just pull your shorts low and lay back."

She does as I ask and I poise my needle where she wants the tattoo, stretching her skin back with my other hand. I use my foot to press on the pedal that switches my gun on and the familiar loud whirring noise takes over the room. I love the sound of a tattoo gun. I can't think when it's on which happens to be perfect for me. I just erase my mind and get lost in the art, away from my head for a few hours of the day.

"Is it going to hurt?" Chloe squeaks, eyeing the needle like it's going to eat her.

People generally start getting cold feet when I start up the gun. The noise is intimidating as hell for starters and when they feel the press of the cold needle on their skin, it freaks them out.

"It is." I shrug. I don't sugarcoat shit. "But I know it's nothing you can't handle. Chin up, buttercup."

"Right. You're right. I can do this." She tells the ceiling more so than me.

I grab a cloth before stretching her skin back again and put the needle to her skin.

"Ah!" She screeches. "Jesus, that stings!"

"You got this." I sound as bored I feel. Every first tattoo will obviously hurt but I also know she'll adjust in a few minutes. I've done this more times than I can count.

"Can I hold your hand?" She whimpers.

I frown, concentrating on the needle that starts to form the outline of the butterfly in black ink. "You're not giving birth, Chloe. And I kind of need my hands to get the job done."

"Oh, yeah." She sounds put out.

"It'll stop hurting soon." I assure her. "How about you play a song you like to calm you down?"

"That's perfect!" Her pain is immediately forgotten and I sigh deeply. That's why I hardly sympathize with screamers anymore—most of the time the pain in just in their head and they need it knocked out. "I have just the song! Jake and I slow-danced to it for prom and it was the single most romantic moment of my life! Of course now he's not romantic anymore and it's like he forgot I'm his girlfriend. I mean, I'm such a catch! How can he just—"

I tune her out, focusing on the task at hand. I don't know what it is with people and thinking that getting a tattoo means indulging in a therapy session while they're at it. Maybe it's the reclining chair? Either way I've heard the craziest stories from the other side of my needle and it really puts in perspective what I think of the world—it sucks. I've heard drunken heartbreaks and losses of parents and the end of careers. It's funny how people think tattoos are painful but they usually come to get one when they're experiencing something inside of them that hurts so much more than what my needle will ever do. And I sympathize with that. Truly.

I hate people and I hardly have any in my life I give a shit about. But I happen to prefer it that way because I've seen the worst of life enough to last me for as long as I'm alive. I'm not interested in getting hurt more than I already have. So as much as I'd like to give my total attention to the countless sob stories from my clients, I just don't have the time or patience anymore. I'm here to give them the art they ask for and nothing more. It's just better that way for me and them.