It's 5:12 AM and I've never felt so nervous. I stared at my ceiling, hoping that staring at something with nothing would clear up my mind. It didn't. My head was racing with so many scenarios—worst case scenarios—for today's event, hoping it would be enough for me to chicken out from this predicament, but I knew that a part of me wanted to pull through with it.
Why? Because I already had an idea of what tattoo I wanted. Where I want it. It was simple, and probably won't hurt at all if I don't think about it, but will I pull through it?
Why did my mother agree for me to do this? I wanted to back down—hell, just the mere buzzing of the tattoo gun scared me for a moment, but when will I ever do this again? I'm going to graduate next year, I'm going to become an adult and isn't this something most teenagers want to do? I've got a parent's approval, so shouldn't I use that to my advantage?
One minute you were against this, and now you're considering—as your subconscious, I am quite confused. I'm just saying that maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible idea to get inked. I live only once, I have permission—might as well.
So later that morning at a more reasonable hour, I sat across from my mother at the table, breakfast in front of us as we ate in silence. "Have you considered?"
I nodded, chewing on the bacon in my mouth, "I did, but do you have to sign a permission slip or something?"
"Yeah, Brennan texted me that she'll be coming over with a slip printed for you," she explained, but some part of that statement caused my mouth to drop open, brows knitted together. My mother noticed, looking up and tilting her head to the side. "What?"
"Texted? You guys exchanged numbers?" I couldn't help but ask. I've known her for a little over a month and we'd been communicating through direct messages online, she never gave me her number.
"I didn't have an Instagram, so she gave me her number instead—told me to not give it to you though," she explained, "something about that you might get too attached."
I scoffed, "Attached, pfft." But I could see my subconscious in the back of my head, raising a brow towards me before repeatedly hitting its head against a wall. I continued with breakfast before cleaning up the dishes and headed back upstairs to get ready. Brennan would be hear an hour or two before lunch, since my mom insisted we out as the three of us.
There wasn't a place for me to say no since the one "attached" is my mother.
I changed into an orange jumper and black jeans once I was done with my shower, not bothering to do anything with my hair because it will dry up and with how nervous I am, I'll be frequently running my hand through my hair to try and calm said nerves. As I was pacing back and forth in my room, I could hear Brennan's laugh along with my mother's downstairs and contemplated whether to lock the door, ditching this idea entirely or go down and face it like a man.
"Come on, Daniel, it's just a little needle—the tattoo you want isn't even that big so chances of it hurting, is quite low," I tried to convince myself in my mirror, then a worst case scenario popped in, "but what if he forgot to clean the needle and the client before him has some sort of blood-transferred disease with no cure whatsoever—"
"Daniel, if you're done being a wuss, we need to leave," Brennan's taunting voice echoed from the outside of my room before the door slowly opened, her now cherry red hair peeking through before her eyes landed on me, a teasing smile on her lips. "Let's go." Her eyes then shifted to my shirt, the playful vibe faltering before she cringed. "Ugh, orange."
"Hey!"
_____
"Thank you for changing... for my sake," she sent me a playful grin, nudging my shoulder. I looked down at the now long band t-shirt, rolling my eyes.
"You wouldn't stop glaring at me, so I felt the need to change," I muttered, "I would've kept it on, if I weren't going to my inevitable death with you—I needed someone to call 911 if the chance came."
"You're not going to die over getting a tattoo, Seavey," she mumbled, "it's like being poked by a needle."
"That's because it is."
"Yeah... well," she shrugged.
"You're of no help whatsoever," I stated, staring flatly at the side of her face to which she threw me a wide smile before averting her attention back on the road. Talk was minimal and we let the music on the radio play to fill the silence as she continued to drive towards the tattoo parlor. We arrived not too long after, the parlor sitting between a hair salon and—conveniently—a pharmacy. "Nice location placement."
"I used to come here after getting my hair dyed to get a new piercing," Brennan informed, "but then I decided to just keep one ear crowded, with the other with only two piercings—now, I just help with cleaning up clients, the artist is a close friend of mine."
"So you come here after each hair dye?" She nods.
"And I go there if there's an accident," she pointed to the pharmacy. My eyes widened, a chill running up my spine.
"Define accident." She noticed me tense, and I could see the teasing grin appear on her face.
"Bloody," she taunted, earning a glare from me and a soft shove to the side, a laugh spilling from her lips. "I'm kidding, sometime's people are sensitive and bandages run out, it's normal."
"Sure it is."
"Hey, I'm half-way to a sleeve," she pointed, pulling down one side of her jacket, revealing her sleeveless shirt, her arm filled with ink. "I just don't feel like finishing it—but nonetheless, I'm the one that knows more about tattoos than you."
"Yes and you're not calming my nerves—doesn't these sort of things affect it?"
"Yes," she simply replied before walking inside the parlor. "Hanson! Hey, I'm back." Hanson appeared behind curtains, wiping his hands. He was a well-built man, balding and buff. He had a thick beard, his arms covered in tattoos and spotted a piercing in his eyebrow.
If I were to say I wasn't a bit scared, I'd be lying.
"Who's this?" He nodded towards me, his deep voice causing me to tense.
"Ah, that's Daniel, the guy I was telling you about yesterday," she introduced me, "he's here for the tattoo."
"How old is he?"
"Seventeen," she answered for me, "but I got his mom to sign the permission slip." I watched as Brennan pulled out the sheet of paper, handing it to him. He looked over it before at me, and approached me.
"The name's Hanson," he extended his hand, before a really friendly smile etched across his face, "nice to meet you."
"Daniel," I answered, but my voice cracked in the end, and I coughed to clear my throat, my ears burning up, "nice to meet you, too." I could see Brennan behind him stifling a laugh, earning a glare from me.
"This your first time?" I nodded. "Don't worry, we've got numbing cream if you need it, but the process is faster without it."
"I, uh..." My eyes glanced passed him, seeing Brennan mouthing 'without'. I'm going to kill her later. "I guess without?"
"You sure?" I stiffly nodded. "Alright, just sit there and I'll be back with tools, until then, tell Brennan where you want it and she'll clean you up." I nodded, following his orders and sat down on the seat beside Brennan, who was pulling on gloves.
"Where you gettin' it, my boy?" She teased, snapping the band of the glove as she rose a brow. "And what are you getting? I still don't know."
"I was hoping he'd surprise me, honestly, I wanted to go with my zodiac sign, but that seemed a bit too cheesy and simple, so no," I rambled, "but I don't want it to be too big, not too small either—something I can see, but also hide at the same time—"
"Wow, it really is your first time, holy crap," she gaped at me. "It's alright, he knows what he'll do," she assured me, "so where do you want it?"
"My back?" I stated unsure, before turning my body a bit and motioning at the area by my shoulder blades, "like around here." She stayed quiet for a moment, then I looked to her to see her sending me a flat look.
"You know that requires you to remove your shirt, right?" She reminded.
"Oh yeah, right," I mumbled, pulling the shirt over my head and adjusted my cap. Her wide eyes didn't go unnoticed, but it did cause heat to rush to my face.
"I didn't expect you to have abs," she muttered, before I lied with my back towards her, my chest pressed against the chair.
"I still work out once in a while, just not too much," I told her. I stayed still while she cleaned the area I wanted inked, as Hanson came in, asking me multiple questions so he could come up with a design for me.
"Favorite thing to do?"
"Listening to music."
"Do you have a favorite instrument?"
"Guitar."
"Genre?"
"It differs." The questions lasted until Brennan was done with cleaning me up and Hanson wordlessly got to work.
"Oh my, Daniel, are you crying?" Brennan asked. Hanson had just started working on the tattoo and I never thought that this pain could exist in the world until now.
"It's okay, buddy, deep breaths– Brennan, hold his hand," Hanson instructed. She nodded, a sympathetic smile on her face as she sat across from me, her arm propped onto the back of the chair as she took one of my hands and gave it a squeeze. "The pain is bad, but it won't last forever." She reached up, wiping the tear that fell from my eye and chuckled. "You look ridiculous."
"Hey," I mumbled.
"A cute ridiculous," she added, patting my cheek. "And wow, you have a strong grip." At this point, I was in pain because of the tattoo, and she was in pain because of my death grip.