“What kind of butterfly?” I watch as she holds up an image on her phone.
It’s a simple design, and I bite the bullet and nod.
Rafe winks at me from the back room, and Heather gets the consent forms sorted.
I prepare my equipment, glad I've already sterilised it, whilst the girl giggles excitedly.
“Is it gonna hurt?” she asks, holding her wrist out to me.
I smile, and she blushes.
“Of course, it is.”
I’m a dick.
Heather hands me a stencil of the image, and I clean the girl's skin, trying to remember everything Rafe told me.
Pressing the stencil to the skin, I peel it off slowly, nodding to the girl.
“What’s your name?”
“Jerri.”
“Okay, Jerri, how does that look? I can change the position if you need me to.”
Jerri squeals.
“No! I love it. Oh my god!”
I set about getting everything ready, my heart hammering in my throat.
It’s one thing to be able to draw, but quite another to ink someone’s skin. I’d practised on fake skin a few times, and Rafe said I was good enough to start out.
Christ.
The buzz of the tattoo machine excites me, and I double check the length of the needle before going ahead with the contour line.
I’m so focused I forget to breathe, and I stop to take a breath, checking Jerri is okay.
“It’s not even that bad,” Jerri says with relief, relaxing a little.
Thank God I got such an easy client.
The tattoo takes about forty-five minutes, and when I wrap it in cling, Jerri stares at it in awe.
“It’s perfect.”
“Yeah?” I grin, lifting up my phone. “Can I grab a photo?”
“Is it going on your Instagram page?” Jerri asks with excitement.
Heather strolls over, leaning down to inspect it.
“Not bad, Crane. Not bad at all.”
“I don’t have a page yet,” I confess. “That was my first tattoo.”
I snap a few photos, as Jerri gapes at me, scrutinising her freshly inked skin again.
