Debora sighs theatrically, checking her watch. “Finally. Are we doing this or not? I have a mani appointment at eleven.”
I push a fresh consent form across the counter, my hand steady even though I want to break something. “I need you to sign this,” I say, softening my voice just for her.
April hesitates, but takes the pen, her signature neat and careful, scared she’s going to make a mistake.
Debora grins, satisfied. “She’s such a good sport, isn’t she?”
I bite back my rising anger, my jaw set tight. “Do you want to watch, or should I call you when it’s done?”
Branda smirks. “Oh, we’re not missing this. Front row seats.”
April looks like she wants to bolt, but she follows me toward the back, steps silent, sneakers barely whispering on the floor.
I set up slowly, everything extra meticulous…sterilizing, prepping, pretending I don’t see her hugging herself small. The stepsisters lounge in the waiting area, already bored, scrolling on their phones.
I tap the chair. “You can have a seat, you know. It’s safe.”
She sits like she’s bracing for the worst. Pulls off her jacket, revealing a plain tank top that suddenly looks like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I prep the machine, needles, ink, gloves, forcing myself to breathe, to push down the memory of her skin under my hands, the ghost of that night.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” I murmured.
She nods, lips pressed thin.
I can feel Debora and Branda’s eyes burning into me. I tune them out and focus on April.
I lean closer, meeting her eyes. “What’s your favorite flower?”
She blinks, startled. “Lilyes.”
There’s panic in her, but she hides it well.
I act like I don’t notice, deciding right then I will never be part of humiliating her.
I glance up, catching her gaze. “You good?”
Another tight nod.
I snap on gloves, and the machine hums to life. I dab her skin, prepping the spot. The stepsisters start stage-whispering.
“I can’t believe she’s going through with it,” Debora says, phone out, ready to film. “Bet she cries.”
Branda cackles. “That’s the point. Maybe she’ll finally get noticed.”
April's face turns scarlet red, but she bites her tongue. I can almost see each word hit her, a bruise she already knows how to hide.
I lean in. “You said Lilyes, right?”
She blinks, “Yeah. White ones. If that matters.”
I just nod, and instead of sketching something cruel, I freehand the first graceful sweep of a lily, letting her hip guide every line. The needle hits her skin, and she gasps, fingers digging into the armrest. But then her shoulders drop, and she leans into me, trusting that I won’t hurt her more than I have to.
I work silently, the buzz of the gun blocking out the stepsisters’ rude conversation.
“Is he spelling it right?” Branda snarks. “Maybe he’s just doodling on her.”
Debora’s lips twist. “Should’ve put it on her forehead, then someone might actually notice her.”
