Zip.
Not a word from him, or Carter.
“Right? I though this day would never come,” I say to my tattoo artist.
My arms, from the shoulders to the wrists, and all the way down my back, are covered with tattoos. The art is almost everywhere. None of the images have a special meaning though – they have just one purpose, to cover my skin from curious eyes. I can’t wear tank tops or go for a run with my sports bra like a normal person will and when I actually do, well… let’s just say that people are mean.
One day I went running in the park, and one little kid looked at me and started to cry. When the mother asked him what was wrong, he simply pointed at me and said,“Why does her skin look like a crocodile?”
Her answer was,“Not everyone in life is as lucky as you and me, honey.”
It blew me away.
She was right. I am the unluckiest person in the fucking city for sure, the blurb of my life will sound like this:
“A woman is abducted, and held captive, for three years by a terrorist cell. She gets free. Finds out that her torturer is none other than the love of her life. Then the leader’s son of the terrorist cell somehow, finds out about her, finds her mother and kills her. I mean come on, if that doesn’t say unluckiest, the ‘love of her life’ vanishes from the face of the earth does! The end.”
Fucking great with extra sprinkles.
After that uncomfortable experience, I realize two things: One, Bruno’s bubble makes me understand that my scars are normal and not ugly at all, because he always worships them, kisses them. Even though he is their maker, he loves them like no other. Two, if I want to go out to the world again, I need to do something about it.
“You never told me which tattoos you like the most,” Jonathan asks.
I don’t need to think about it, I know the answer already.
“The Beatles quote, that is my favorite,” I reply.
It goes from my left shoulder blade to the right one, the only quote that immortalizes Bruno. The only thing that connects me with him in some way.
“Here, there and everywhere.”
“The fucking quote?” Jonathan whines. “I’m talking about art here, something more elaborated than a few letters jammed together, girl!”
“Okay! Okay! TheCalacais my favorite,” I say, and I mean it. The Mexican-styled skull on my arm is amazing. I also have lotus flowers, watercolor birds, koi fish, butterflies and a wolf. The artwork, like I’ve said, is truly magnificent. The presence of bright colors, the predominance of blue over pink and green in my skin really helps to cover the scars. By the time he finishes, they are all completely gone, and I am in love with my body again.
Two years ago:
The plastic wrap covering the parlor chair was sticking to my hot legs.
I should’ve worn pants.
The ever-present smell of sanitizer paired with alcohol penetrated my nostrils.Ring of Fireby Johnny Cash was barely coming out the speakers but it was loud enough for me to move my legs back and forth, following its rhythm just like when I was a little girl. I guess it didn’t matter how high the volume was, when all you could hear was the buzzing from the tattoo guns. Especially here, it was always busy, with many people waiting in line outside.
It was all I’d been observing while I waited for the person who was going to make my scars disappear. At least to the naked eye. I didn’t really care if I felt them with my hands. I just wanted them gone, hidden in plain sight. I needed people to stop looking at me like I was a freak.
Glancing up, I spotted a guy around my age approaching. He was wearing a nice smile above the big, black beard that sat in between a pair of big-ass ear expanders. His appearance wasn’t any different to the rest of the tattoo artists around here.
“Hi there! I’m Jonathan, nice to meet you!” He extended his hand.
While I was shaking his hand, I couldn’t help but think that in another time of my life I would’ve probably been afraid of being near someone who looked like him.
I used to be such a shallow girl.
“I’m Sarah. Nice to meet you as well.”
“What can I do for you, Sarah?” Jonathan dragged a stool to sit next to me.
His body was well built, like I-go-to-the-gym-daily built. I bet he was ripped underneath his shirt, but he wasn’t my type… my type was Bruno.
