“Kit was a cutter.When she first told me, she’d had about twenty lines around her bicep.”Trent shuddered, reliving the moment she had first shown him.“Her problems were so overwhelmingly painful that the only way she could escape them was to physically cut into her skin, and there was nothing I could do about it.I was her big brother and I couldn’t help.”
It had taken time to understand that it was Kit’s only way of letting the greater pain wash away the noise of what was happening in her life.It was the only thing she’d felt she had any control over.
Harper placed her hand to his cheek, and he leaned into it, welcoming the comfort.“I’m so sorry, Trent.”
“She showed them to me, first.Begged me to help her.We just didn’t know how, so Dad found a place she could get professional help.I promised her if she went, I’d figure out how to cover them for her, if she wanted me to.”
The medical profession was divided on whether people who self-harmed should get tattoos, likening the feeling of the needle to the feel of a blade.Some doctors believed it allowed patients to replace a harmful act with a more socially acceptable one to achieve the same goals—a momentary break from the noise inside their heads as they focused on pain.Trent didn’t agree.In his mind, getting a tattoo to represent something meaningful in your life was not even close to the addiction of cutting as a way to escape the harsh reality of life.Add that to the myriad reasons forwhypeople cut, and who was to say it represented the same thing?
“So Kit is why you do it?”Harper lifted his hand and kissed his knuckle, a sweet gesture that spread warmth through him.
“I spent forever learning about scars, the different types, how it affects the layers of skin.I played around with inks and needles to see which would work best.I didn’t want to take any chances that it wouldn’t be perfect for her.”Harper sat up in his arms, looking at him with so much admiration he felt like he could fly or some shit.“And the process?That is the best bit.Tracing the scars to build a design around them, taking the before photo.I researched the crap out of the butterflies and dragonflies she wanted.Could probably tell you the names of them all, in Latin, if you wanted.”
“You’re incredible.”Harper brushed her soft lips against his.“You’re a good man, Trent Andrews.”He pulled her closer and took the kiss deeper for a moment before pulling away.
“So to answer your question, no, they don’t gross me out.”
She felt so good in his arms and he kissed her again.Harper’s stomach rumbled and he laughed at her groan of embarrassment.“Let’s get you some food.”
Looking in the bag, he saw tapas from one of the restaurants a few doors down.He could smell the basil of the fresh bruschetta and the peanut sauce from the chicken satay.She’d gotten him all his favorites.
Trent leaned against his desk and watched her open all of the containers, her slight fingers fighting the lids of the foil containers.He adored the slow curve of her lips and flash of excitement in her eyes.
“What was that thought?”Leaning forward, he grabbed the fingers she was about to wipe on a napkin and sucked them into his mouth, slowly licking between them.
Harper’s eyes flashed wide in response.He loved that he could surprise her.
“I was thinking about the last time we finished up a tattoo.”A pink flush tinted her cheeks.
“Why do you think this place is empty, darlin’?I want you to be able to do whatever you want to do tonight.”He laughed at the look of shock on her face.
Grabbing a piece of the bruschetta out of the container, he took a large bite and groaned.“Mmm, this tastes so good.Not as good as you, but close.”
***
Shortly before nine, Harper was lying on her front, a mellow puddle on Trent’s bed.He’d seduced her into her current state, kissing her passionately while slowly removing her blouse and bra.
Resting her forehead on her arms and closing her eyes, Harper was surprisingly soothed by the sound of Trent finishing the setup of his station.
It made sense to her now why people would choose to get tattoos.It was hard to not be moved by the tears of a grown man as an image of his newborn son’s foot was tattooed on his shoulder.Or see a veteran have the date he completed his final tour of duty tattooed under his Navy SEAL insignia.People commemorated, celebrated, and simply recognized a moment in time with their ink.There would always be those who came in who were old enough to get tattooed but not mature enough to select something truly meaningful, who would walk away with a stock tattoo from a book.But the majority of those done in Trent’s studio had real stories.
The previous week, Trent had told her, the studio had come to a standstill as a young man from Yonkers told the story of how his grandfather had been liberated from Auschwitz on January 27, 1945.Nobody had spoken a word as Lia had tearfully re-created his grandfather’s six-digit tattoo on the outer side of his left arm.
They all had stories.Just like her.Just like Kit.
Trent’s passion wasn’t about being the best tattoo artist there was.It was more profoundly personal and her admiration for him grew.
By mutual agreement, neither metal nor country was playing.She’d taken it upon herself to make a playlist unique to the two of them.One Republic was currently talking about secrets, Harper’s acknowledgement that she had them but was building up to sharing everything with him.
“Ready, darlin’?”
Harper turned slightly to watch him turn his baseball hat before pulling on his gloves.He leaned in and kissed her one more time before she could answer.
“Always,” she breathed against his lips.
Trent’s face was ripe with anticipation.He’d told her he wanted the moment he tattooed all the handle details to feel truly symbolic for her, so they’d agreed that he wouldn’t tell her what all the intricate details actually meant until he was tattooing them on her back.Though she’d seen the overall design and colors, she didn’t know what it all meant.But she trusted that Trent knew her well enough by now to pick something perfect.
“Here we go.”
