She’d had no idea how bad things could get.
13
Tattoo removal sucks.
Uma had known it would—had spent a good chunk of the last six months researching it online. But it still surprised her how very bad it was. It hurt,God it hurt, but she would have withstood ten times the pain to get all of the poison out of her.
Motivation, it turned out, was quite the painkiller.
When she got to Dr. Hadley’s office, only eight days after arriving in Blackwood, the lights were dim and the receptionist gone for the day. At Uma’s knock, the doctor came to the door herself, a skeleton crew of one.
“Come on back, and we’ll get started.” She sounded friendly, capable, which was good, considering how raw Uma’s nerves were. “I think we should take it slow and begin with one arm today. The treatment downtime is often the worst, so I want to see how you do and then work from there. That sound good?”
“Sure.”
“Any preference on what we do first?”
Uma’s eyes flicked down to her left arm. She’d had the debate back at the house: most visible or most offensive? She’d finally opted for visible.
She lifted her left arm. “This one, I think. But I used the cream you gave me on both.”
“Excellent. That should help numb you. Let’s get your shirt off and ice this as best we can. Then we can get started.”
Let’s get your shirt off.It sounded so easy, a quick move: grab fabric, swing it up and over the head. Nothing to it. Only it wasn’t like that. Her shirt, for one thing, felt stuck in place, impossible to move. Not heavy like a winter coat, but tight like a straitjacket, her arms trapped by…by what?Nothing. Just take the damn thing off.
It took strength to finally peel it away, and rather than clutch at it like a security blanket, she threw it to the side before lying back on the table to stare at the ceiling while the doctor covered her arm with ice packs. Her stomach roiled, but settled again after a few minutes.
The process sounded pretty simple: certain laser strengths worked for blue, others for black, green, and so on. Unfortunately, Joey hadn’t stopped that night when one color was gone. No, when the bottle of black was empty, he’d moved on to blue, then green, and finally red.Not your color, he’d said with his brand of regret. Not her color, but he’d been obliged to go on anyway, hadn’t he? Carrying on with his grisly work until every single bottle was empty.
“This is the laser; this is the chiller. I run the cool air over it first, which helps with the pain. You ready?”
Uma nodded.
“Okay. Let’s begin. I’ll start down here. Let me know if you need a break, all right?”
“Okay. Thanks, Doctor.”
“Call me George.”
“Oh, right. Thank you, George.”
Dr. Hadley grabbed Uma’s hand and squeezed it for a moment, handed her dark glasses, and put on her own before snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. At the push of a couple of buttons, a machine rumbled to life.
The thing was loud—shockingly so, at first. Uma could imagine how this might set off a soldier’s PTSD. As it worked, the laser sounded like sharp bursts of automatic fire and looked like tiny, bright explosions burning white into her skin, like splatters of hot oil…but the burn lingered longer than bacon grease would have.
Pain is relative.
Getting the first tattoo had hardly hurt at all. She and Joey had been drinking, and they’d been happy. So stupidly in love. It had been his idea initially, although, being Joey, he’d changed history to suit himself and had given Uma the credit. There’d been a slight hesitation on her part. Yes, she’d loved him—or, at least, she’d thought she had—but she’d also known how people could change, known they could disappear from your life for one reason or another. She’d seen the impermanence of her mother’s relationships and worried about putting something so indelible on her body. But Joey had prodded and cajoled her through that moment of sanity, making her feel bad for not believing inthemas strongly as he had.
Since Joey had gotten tattoos in the past, he’d gone first.UMA. For some reason, even at the time, seeing those three letters scrolling over his upper back hadn’t given her the feeling of security she’d been looking for.
And then Uma’s turn. The four letters inJOEYtook up more space than her paltry three, and on her back, they’d looked massive, as if already he owned more of her than she did of him.
Afterward, the tattoo guy—she could still remember his name, Zap—had rolled back his chair, giving her room to get up and look. “What d’ya think?” he’d asked around the toothpick in his mouth.
Uma had stood, staring over her shoulder in the mirror and feeling two distinct, warring sensations.
First, there was some pride. Her eyes caught Joey’s, and she’d recognized it in his face. It only occurred to her later that it had been pride of belonging, while his had been pride of ownership. Not the same thing at all, as it turned out.
