“Why?”
“Because I don’t think I can handle it if he refuses to see me,” I confess, swallowing back tears.
Eli’s usually merry eyes turn sad. “I’m sure he wouldn’t, Gen. Before I go, do you need a hug? You look like you’re about to break.”
“It can’t hurt,” I say with a small shrug.
His kind smile warms me up. He doesn’t hesitate to enfold me in his arms and give me a supportive hug.Please, God, let Jake take me back.
As if I’ve conjured him with my thoughts, his voice echoes next to us. “Anyone care to explain what’s going on?”
We rip away from one another as if we were doing something wrong. Jake looks so good in his dark green shirt with a tartan pattern that my chest hurts at the thought that I might have lost him. The sleeves are rolled up his muscular forearms, and a few buttons are undone at his chest, which allows me a glimpse at the inked drawings I now know by heart.
“I-I came here to see you,” I explain, swallowing the knot in my throat.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Eli offers before heading off to his office.
With him gone, it’s just Jake, me, and the awkward tension. I’m not sure how to start this because my earlier rush of adrenaline and courage wore off during the ride. It would be so much easier if I had the same bravado as when I quit my job.
But this needs to be handled with a clear head and not high on some empowering spell.
“I read somewhere,” I carefully start, “that some people use tattoos as a form of therapy. Is it true?”
“It is. For some people, marking their skin helps with trauma, as it can give meaning or closure. And while we’re not licensed professionals, a lot feel the need to talk while it happens. Also, the pain can be grounding, in a way.”
“Then would you tattoo me, Jake?”
His eyebrows twitch with surprise and confusion. “You want a tattoo?”
“Only if you do it. And I know you’re a very famous artist with a busy schedule, but it won’t take long, I promise.”
He swallows back a smile as if I just said something utterly ridiculous, and I can’t help but see it as a good sign. “No way I’d let anyone else tattoo you anyway. Come, my station is in room three.”
Jake guides me toward the room with a “3” painted on it, and after a quick knock to make sure no one’s in there, he opens the door and invites me in. The space is clean, with an exposed brick wall and a wide window. On each side of it, there’s a cushioned chair that looks like it can be adjusted in every possible way, as well as a movable cart and a rolling stool.
Jake takes my bag and hangs it on a hook by the door before he adjusts the volume of the music. Then he returns to me, locks the door, and goes to sit on the stool before rolling closer.
“What do you want, and where?” he asks.
“Since it’s my first time, maybe somewhere discreet?”
“The most discreet spots for women are around the bra area or the hips and lower back. That can be hidden even under a swimsuit.”
“Hmm… I think I would like somewhere on my ribs,” I explain, showing him a spot on the left side.
“It’s a painful area.”
“I can bear it.”
“We might have numbing cream somewhere if you—”
“No, that’s okay,” I decide, removing my jacket.
“And do you know what you want?”
“I want a small ladder.”
“That corporate ladder you’re so eager to climb?”
