The first two letters come together quite nicely, and I decide to make it thicker, just so the bastard wouldn’t be able to get a removal easily. I should’ve made a stencil, but I didn’t know how soon I’d come to use all of this, and I only just now thought of what to tattoo.
After another forty minutes, I pull back.
The skin around the tattoo is red, a little swollen, and I makesure to wipe everything often, add more vaseline, and at one point, I took a ten-minute break just to add more numbing cream. Him waking up would be the worst-case scenario right now.
The name Sophia Sloane is written across his chest. The letters are quite bold, in a cursive font. It looks fancy, and although it’s definitely not the work of a professional, it doesn’t look too bad.
The spot above his chest is bothering me. It’s too empty, and that’s when the most evil and wicked thought comes to mind. With a smirk, I lean back down, continuing on my first and only art piece.
It takes me a solid three hours to finish it all. Maybe a professional tattoo artist would’ve done it in a shorter amount of time, but I didn’t want to rush it too much. It still needed to be as clean as possible, and not to toot my own horn, but it doesn’t look half bad.
Property of Sophia Sloane.
A wicked grin tugs on the corners of my lips as I wipe the tattoo down, then apply some of the ointment that Grace brought. It’s the one she uses for all of her tattoos, so I trust her word on it not being harmful.
The latex gloves come off, and I toss them to the floor, taking my phone. I snap a couple of pictures of Soren asleep, with his shirt wide open, and the new tattoo written all across his chest. When I’m satisfied with my work, I send the images to the group chat, then glance at the clock.
It’s almost three in the morning, and the crushed sleeping pills that were in the whiskey should start wearing off soon. I start buttoning his shirt back up, my fingertips grazing his skin.
I ignore the tingling sensation that spreads all through my body, and swallow a knot that forms in my chest. There’s no regret, only pure satisfaction because whatever Soren does next will not be aspermanent as a tattoo, especially one as humiliating as this.
When I’m done, I get off him and quickly toss everything into the bag, then walk outside the cabin, getting rid of the evidence by putting the entire bag into the big trash can. Tomorrow morning, someone will clear the can out, and there won’t be any proof of me doing this.
A small giggle escapes my lips as I return to the cabin, setting my alarm for seven in the morning. I want to be out of his eye sight when the rage starts coming to him, and what better way than to be surrounded by witnesses to avoid the anger that’s inevitably coming my way?
The couch is small and very uncomfortable. But as I drift off to sleep, the images of the tattoo flash behind my eyes. I’m filled with satisfaction, happiness, and a foreign emotion I can’t quite name.
I’m excited.
It’s Soren’s turn.
And I don’t have any doubts he’ll go all out. Unfortunately for him, tomorrow’s our last day here. Once I get back to campus, I’ll be there for the weekend and go home for the holiday season. He won’t have the chance to get back at me before the second semester starts.
In the meantime, I’ll figure out a way to do something even worse.
Don’t worry, Soren. I’ll come up with something that’ll make you lose your fucking mind, far worse than anything I’ve attempted to do so far.
FIFTEEN
My head’s fucking throbbing.
With a loud groan, I sit up in the bed, burying my face in my hands. Every single inch of my body is aching. My throat is sore, and it feels like a damned truck ran over me. Once to take me out, the second time to make sure I’m dead.
The migraine’s one of the worst I’ve had in a while. I’ve struggled with them for years, but this morning, paired with the pain I’m feeling all over my body, it’s just standing out more. It hurts more.
My head will fucking explode at this rate.
There’s a little sunlight peeking through the curtains, and it’s enough to piss me off more. It’s winter, there shouldn’t be any sun out. Yet, it’s there, and the light that hits my eyes makes this four times harder to bear.
I push myself off the bed, stumbling a little. I pick up a towel, then head to the bathroom. It’s oddly quiet as I walk into the bathroom, setting the temperature to the coldest setting.
My eyes are half-closed as I strip off the clothes, stepping into the shower. The cold water helps wake me up, and a deep sigh slips from my lips. I tilt my head upward, the stream of water hitting my face directly. It’s not helping with the migraine, but it’s soothing the ache everywhere else. It’s not enough to ease it entirely, but everything’s better than feeling like death.
Once I’m done, I wrap a towel around my waist, take my toothbrush, and start brushing my teeth. Now that I’m more awake, the sudden ache in my upper body is more prominent.
Then, as I flick my eyes upward, toothbrush still in my mouth, I lock eyes with myself in the mirror, the reflection staring back at me. My entire body shuts down, my mouth parts a little, and the toothbrush falls right out, hitting the sink.
I blink, then slowly drag my eyes away from the mirror, looking down at my chest. This feels surreal — like a movie being played in slow motion. My eyes flick upward, staring at myself in the mirror. However, it’s as though this isn’t me.
