Hi everyone, thank you for clicking on my story! It may seem like a cliche, but it is definitely original. There will be twists and turns that will surprise you...
"Just relax your muscles," Theo said. "It'll hurt more if you're tense, Mila. Breathe deeply. Yes, just like that..."
I stopped listening, feeling the telltale pain that everyone talks about. "How long is this going to take?" I asked, my words sounding strained. A small whimper escaped from my lips and I clamped them shut, unwilling to let out another sound.
"Not that long, babe. Maybe twenty minutes." He smiled reassuringly. I closed my eyes, dread settling in my gut. The minutes couldn't pass quickly enough. "It's OK. You're doing fine."
I winced as a sharp spike of pain hit me. It didn't seem like I was OK. Was this normal? Theo was the best in his line of work, or so the advertisement on the window outside claimed. I tried to let this reassure me, but I couldn't quite curb my anxiousness.
With my eyes closed, I began to think about something else, anything else, to distract myself from the pain. It didn't work. I had absolutely no idea why I was even here, or what the hell I'd been thinking.
I opened my eyes after I felt like an acceptable amount of time had passed, raising my head slightly to see Theo's blonde eyebrows furrowed in concentration. It was a weird sight; they were so blonde, it almost looked like he didn't have any eyebrows at all. I glanced at the large, oval clock on the wall, noticing that twenty minutes had passed.
"Are you–" I started to ask.
"There, done!" He finally let go of my hand, looking a little relieved himself. I wasn't surprised. I'd gasped and moaned a surprising amount, and I was guessing from the heavily tattooed men waiting for their turn outside, that his usual clients didn't squeal quite as much as I had. Putting up with complaints was a part of Theo's profession though, so I didn't feel too guilty. I'd leave him a nice tip to make up for it.
I sat up when he moved back, apprehensively bringing my hand up to my face.
All my worries faded away as I took it in. It was perfect; so much better than what I'd pictured in my head. Much better than how it had looked on the transfer paper I'd sketched it out onto for Theo.
"Thank you so much. I love it." I grinned at the big, beefy man.
"I don't know what you're thanking me for, doll, you're paying for it." He smiled good-naturedly at my enthusiasm, a gold tooth twinkling as it caught some of the light shining through a window. "Come here, I need to wrap it up."
I reluctantly let him apply a bandage to my hand, feeling a confusing mixture of relief and anxiety as the tattoo left my line of sight.
I listened carefully as he explained how I should take care of my hand, gratefully taking the pamphlet he offered. "Did you get all of that?" he asked finally, as I paid him.
"Yeah. Keep the change." I smiled, shoving my purse – containing the fake ID I'd used for the very first time – back into my bag. "Thanks again. I love it so much. You could definitely make a living out of this," I teased, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
He rolled his eyes, the bell on top of the door ringing as I opened it. "See you around, babe."
I walked down the street with purpose, my bandaged hand feeling pleasantly warm.
***
I was such an idiot.
My left hand throbbed with pain as I sipped at my cappuccino, staring out of the large, expansive windows of the coffee shop I was in. I glanced down at the bandage and wondered, idly, if there was any way that I would be able to hide it. I owned a few long-sleeved t-shirts, but I tried to remember if any of them came all the way down to my knuckles.
I doubted it.
My mom was going to kill me. She was going to chew me up into lots of small pieces and then spit me right out again.
What the hell had I been thinking? Getting a tattoo had seemed like such a great idea just two hours ago. I'd had this insane impulse to just go through with it while walking past the same tattoo shop I'd passed millions of times before. And so I had.
Since leaving the shop, I'd had time to consider the consequences of my actions and regret was beginning to pool deep in my stomach. I hadn't been thinking. At all.
I'd never had any desire to get a tattoo in the past, none at all. My sudden compulsion to get one, and on my hand of all places, had been sudden. It felt like a whole other person had walked through the doors of that tattoo parlour.
Putting my drink down on the table, I carefully peeled back the bandage on my hand. It was beautiful. I'd never been much of an artist, and I was surprised by the intricate design I'd come up with out of nowhere. I'd gone into the shop, asked for some transfer paper, and had drawn the pattern as quickly and efficiently as if I'd drawn it a hundred times before. Still, I doubted that my mom would see much difference between the stunning design, and a tramp stamp. Her views on tattoos had always been perfectly clear to me.
My heart hammered in my chest as I looked at it. The pattern looked so familiar, though I was sure that I'd never seen anything like it until it had appeared in my mind two hours ago. Now it would forever remain inked onto my skin. Beginning at my wrist on the back of my left hand, it came to a stop near the knuckle of my little finger. It was fairly small, but the mere sight of it had my whole body tensing in baffling excitement.
What the hell was going on with me?
I'd been feeling like a stranger in my own skin for months now and it was having an impact on all aspects of my life, even influencing my relationship with Christian. It was driving me crazy. Maybe I was crazy. The tattoo on my hand sure supported that theory.
I couldn't believe that I'd gotten a tattoo completely out of the blue like that, while I was stone cold sober too. And what kind of establishment couldn't tell the difference between a real and shoddily faked ID? I wasn't eighteen yet, and my mom was bound to throw a cow at the sight of it.
I drowned the rest of my cappuccino and gathered my stuff, heading towards the exit. I needed to move, or I would have ended up banging my head against the table. Repeatedly.
The sun had still been out when I'd left work a few hours ago, but now it had begun to set – a testament of the time that had passed. At least Mom and Dad were on a trip this weekend. I'd have time to come up with a reasonable explanation before they got back.
Possible reactions to my newly acquired ink were running through my mind, when I walked right into someone as I turned the street corner. I looked up, my mouth parting in surprise.
Christian stood in front of me, wearing a black baseball cap back to front. Short strands of brown hair stuck out from the strap at the back of the cap, on the front of his head. His hands had been in the pockets of his jeans as he walked, but a strong arm came around my waist, steadying me when I wavered on my feet. He was quite a bit taller than me, but standing right next to him, I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. He watched me in amusement, a small smile beginning to form on his pink lips.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" I asked, glancing around him. Realization hit as I caught sight of the Starbucks across the street from where we stood. "I was supposed to meet you after work, wasn't I?" I gave him a sheepish smile. In my preoccupation, I had wondered into a coffee shop, just the wrong coffee shop. Meeting Christian had completely fled my mind.
"Yeah, you were." He tried to sound annoyed, but his bright blue eyes were focused on my hand in concern. "What did you do now, Mila?"
"I got a tattoo," I told him, watching him reel back slightly on his feet.
"You got a tattoo?" he asked, taken-aback. "When on earth did you decide this?"
"I don't even know." I sighed, running a frazzled hand through my hair. "I saw the shop and went in, and then one thing kind of led to another..." I was tweaking the truth a bit, but honesty would have sounded ridiculous just then.
"Your mom is going to kill you," he said, a grin beginning to work its way onto his face. Two dimples appeared on his cheeks, and his eyes were alight with mischievousness. Sometimes it was so easy to remember that Christian and I had known each other for most of our lives, that we'd grown up together, and been good friends before we'd fallen in love. He found it amusing that I was going to get into trouble with my parents.
"I know," I said, feeling a little disgruntled at the humor on his face.
"What did you get? A heart with my name in the middle?" he asked, nudging me playfully in the side as we began to walk.
"You'll have to wait and see until I can take the bandage off," I told him, elbowing him back. I breathed an internal sigh of relief, glad that I was joking around with him. I'd been such a moody mess this past week. Sometimes I'd get so lost in my own thoughts, and I'd experience this vast overwhelming feeling of emptiness that would leave me feeling distracted and irritable. "I'm so sorry about keeping you waiting. I'll make it up to you."
"Yeah? How'll you do that?" He smiled suggestively, putting his arm around me.
"Well, my parents are going to be gone for the rest of the weekend..." I trailed off, grinning back. At first, I'd felt like the only time I could really be myself these past few months, and shut off my wayward thoughts was when I was with Christian. That had changed last week. Even when he'd been around, I'd felt restless, finding myself less and less content. The tattoo had brightened my day however and lightened my mood. I wanted to make the most of it.
"I guess I'm sleeping over tonight," he said as we reached my car. His parents had divorced a few years ago, and he lived with his dad. Rob was cool, and wouldn't really mind Christian spending the night at my place.
My parents were a whole other story.
"Tell your dad you'll be at Damian's," I suggested. Rob was friends with my parents, so stealth would be necessary. This was the first time my mom and dad had trusted me to spend the weekend by myself. If getting a tattoo didn't mean that they'd never let me stay home alone again, finding out Christian had spent the night definitely would definitely do it.
"OK." He pulled me closer to him, his hand finding its way into my red locks. My own arms went around his shoulders, as he caught my mouth in a kiss.
"Get a room," a voice boomed in the background, whistles and catcalls making their way over to where we stood.
We broke apart, and I looked over towards the direction of the noise, noticing some kids that went to our school. Although it was summer, I still saw most of them around and about.
I rolled my eyes at them. I wasn't really into PDA, and neither was Christian, but the prospect of having the house to ourselves without any parental figures had us both a little giddy.
"I'll see you in a bit?" I said to Christian, stepping back.
"I'll race you there." He grinned. Leaning his forehead against mine, he stole a quick kiss, before jogging off to his own car.
I unlocked the door and got in, my breath faltering only a little when I looked at my bandaged hand.
I really had gotten a tattoo.
A/N:
Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Things will be picking up in the next chapter, so please turn the page!
Have you read my latest story? It's called Calamity, and here's the synopsis:
Seventeen-year-old Zoe's life is turned upside down when a devastating house fire leaves her and her family homeless. Forced to move into a tiny one-bedroom apartment that is barely big enough for one person, let alone four, Zoe is certain that things couldn't possibly get any worse. And with her mom out of work, having lost her job just when they needed it the most, it doesn't look as though things will be changing anytime soon.
Zoe is all set to have the worst year of her life. That is, until she meets Kane Mathews, the gorgeous guy living in apartment 5c.
It's up on my profile, so go and take a look!