The drone started again and the pain took her breath away.Harper focused on a knot in the wooden flooring and counted to five with every breath.Trent had promised her that endorphins would kick in at some point, but unless they were laced with some heavy-duty pain meds, they weren’t going to do much.
The first hour passed in a blur, the pain becoming more bearable as she adjusted to it, with Trent checking in frequently to see how she was doing.He told her tattooing trivia and said he didn’t like the term “tattoo gun,” hating the connotation that the tool of his trade was a weapon.A tattoo, he said, had never killed anyone.He preferred the terms “tattoo machine” or “irons.”On ink versus pigment he really didn’t care one way or another.It was a colorful liquid that was left behind in the skin, and the fact that ink contained pigment made the whole conversation kind of moot.He hated the word “tatted” to describe someone who had tattoos, liked to be called a tattoo artist rather than a tattooer—which, in his view, sounded like aStar Warsplanet—and hated someone bringing in a picture of someone else’s tattoo and asking him to re-create it.
Though listening to Trent was soothing, at the word “weapon,” a trickle of ice passed through Harper’s veins.Trying to shake it, she went back to counting her breaths.She tried to focus on an intricate realist painting on the opposite wall—a hand clutching a piece of fabric.She closed her eyes, but behind her eyelids, images started to flicker.She opened her eyes to escape them, but still they came.
She could vaguely hear Trent in the distance asking if she was okay.He sounded so far away, like he was at the other end of a really long tunnel.And she was back there.Lying on their bed, Nathan yelling at her.She felt the cold edge of the blade slice through her skin.No resistance.A hot knife through butter.A wave of bile started to rise.
Harper blinked back the images furiously, refocusing on the knot on the floor.Counting wasn’t working.Her breath became shallow.She tried to focus on Trent.He’d said hyperventilating was bad.Nathan’s scent flooded her, the smell of alcohol mixed with body wash and sweat ripe in her nostrils.His rant reached a crescendo in her ears.She was a whore.She could never leave him.“You’re my bitch.Nobody else’s.You’ll never get away from me.”
“Stop!”she sobbed, putting her hands over her ears.
***
Trent pulled the machine away, ditching it on the table as he quickly slid around to the top of the bed.She sounded like a wounded animal crying out for help.
Her hands were over her ears.Christ, he’d considered there was a chance that the tattoo was too close to what she had already gone through, but thinking it and seeing it were two horribly different things.
He desperately wanted to hug her close and kiss away her demons, but touching her was probably not the smartest move right now.He felt useless.
“Harper, sweetheart,” he said softly, “can you look at me?”
Her shoulders were still trembling, her entire body rigid as her forehead pressed down into the leather.
He needed to touch her.She needed someone to touch her.Harper had carried all of this alone for too long.He took off his gloves and placed his hands on top of hers, covering her ears.He kissed the top of her head.
He coaxed her hands from her ears, his thumbs rubbing her wrists.“Hey, sweetheart.I need you to look at me.”
Harper raised her head slowly.Trent gently wiped her tears from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out, not looking at him.
“Wanna tell me what just happened, darlin’?”He smoothed the hair from her face.
“I ended up back there.Like I always do.”
“Let’s take a break.Grab some water.”He didn’t want to push her into some psychotic break.They should probably stop for the day.
“No.”Harper pushed up on her forearms.“I want you to keep going.I have to stop this cycle.If I leave this bed right now, we both know I won’t come back.”
The rest of the session was uneventful as they fell into a comfortable rhythm of tattooing and talking.Trent wiped Harper’s back gently to remove any surplus ink before helping her off the table.
“Holy shit.”Harper’s mouth was open and her eyes were wide and bright as she twisted and turned in front of the mirror.“You weren’t kidding, were you?”
The black lines of the sword, granite, and flames really stood out, as he’d intended, and that they were angry looking and likely very tender did nothing to dampen the visual impact of the progress they had made in the session.
“About what?”Watching her reaction was priceless.
“You really are amazing at this.”She looked straight at him.
It meant more than any of the competitions he had won or awards he’d been given.It almost made up for his parents’ only grudging acceptance of the career he loved or Yasmin’s disappointment in his lack of success.This was why he did it.For people like Harper.Warmth spread inside him as she looked at him.Shit, he was turning into such a pussy.But he didn’t care.
“Thank you, Trent.I’m not really capable of stringing a better sentence together right now, but it means so much more to me than I can put into words.”Her voice was filled with awe.
“My pleasure, darlin’.”
He took his time gently applying the vitamin E cream evenly across her back.Usually putting lotion on freshly tattooed skin didn’t affect him, but the sight of the black lines raised up off her skin, red in places, was like a sickening punch in the gut.Being the cause of them was discomforting.He pressed the gauze pads over her skin and used surgical tape to stick them down.
“You have someone to come help you peel these off in a couple of hours?You’re going to have to wash this three times a day with antibacterial soap, then put on more of the cream.”
