“Okay, good.” She came toward the curtain at the back area of the parlor and opened it up, revealing another room with the massive chairs on opposite sides. Both had what looked like high tables, lined on the sides, filled with all sorts of equipment that I didn’t even know how to name.
But what called to me, what spoke to my soul, were the three photos hanging on the wall opposite of the entrance.
“Wow.” I came closer. “These are beautiful.”
Blues, reds, greens, and grays all danced together, creating a perfect piece of colors, of love, hope, pain, and grief, while the silhouette of a girl adorned only the center piece.
“Did you make these?” I turned around and asked while she prepared her equipment.
“No, it wasn’t me,” she answered somberly, avoiding my eyes. “It was my sister.”
Her voice took a tone that I knew all too well—longing, pain, memories that cut through you every single time you thought about that person.
Wounds were tricky little things; just when you thought that they were healing, they would open up and start bleeding again, over and over. The funniest thing was that the pain always stayed the same. Always the same throbbing, always the same burning sensation, and I worried that the people I loved would feel like that for the rest of their lives once I was gone.
“Are you ready?” Phoebe spoke to Noah who kept quiet the entire time, observing the two of us.
He took off the jacket he wore just as Leo strolled in, wearing a pair of latex gloves already.
“Are you guys allergic to latex, or maybe ink?” Leo asked as he took his place next to one of the chairs where Noah stood.
“Not that we know of,” I said, taking off my jacket as well. “Is it okay if I leave this here?” I asked Phoebe while holding my jacket and pointing at the chair in the corner.
“Yeah, of course. Feel free to just drop it there,” she said, putting on the latex gloves.
I dropped my jacket and the small bag I carried with me and walked toward the chair that seemed like the type that could be converted into a bed as well. I looked to the side and saw Noah already sitting in his, silently observing me, as if he was drinking every single movement I made.
But that look on his face… That wasn’t the look of fear or the look of pity. That was the look of fire, of the little, wicked things he wanted to do to me, and my blood rushed faster just by thinking about it.
Papers rustled as Phoebe and Leo worked on the designs, preparing them to be transferred to our hands, but my eyes stayed glued to Noah’s, imagining we were somewhere else at the moment. Somewhere alone, somewhere secluded, somewhere where reality didn’t exist and it was only the two of us, hiding away from the world.
“Which hand do you wanna get it on?” Phoebe asked, and like a robot, I gave her my left hand, barely paying attention.
I could hear her voice, but I couldn’t understand a thing she was saying, and I had a feeling Noah couldn’t hear a thing Leo just said to him.
Phoebe squirted a small amount of what looked like a gel on my hand and rubbed it over the spot where the tattoo was supposed to be placed. Next came a razor, just like the one I used to shave my legs, and as she pressed it down on my skin, removing the small hairs there, I finally looked at her.
“How long have you been doing this?” I asked her.
“Why?” She laughed. “Afraid I’m going to screw it up?”
“No, not really. More like curious to know. Maybe I’ll end up being a tattoo artist one day myself.” I snickered. “Who knows?”
She started laughing as she cleaned the excess amount of gel from my hand. “Maybe.” She lifted the sheet with the design on it and started looking between that and my hand. “I’ve been doing this for a little over five years. But I can’t remember a day where I didn’t want to do this.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. I drove my parents mad constantly babbling about tattoos when I was a kid. They had to take me every single year to do those temporary ones, because I wanted to have it on my skin. When I got my first one, my mom thought it was the temporary one. Well, the joke was on her when it didn’t wash off even after three weeks.”
“Was she pissed?”
“A little.” Phoebe shrugged. “She thought it was a phase. Turns out it definitely isn’t a phase.” She pressed the paper on my hand. “Take a look. See if the placement is okay for you.”
I lifted my hand, my eyes skimming over the crescent moon colored in purple, involuntarily smiling because it definitely was perfect.
“It looks awesome.”
“That’s good to hear.” Phoebe grinned. “It won’t take us too long to finish this one up, but since it’s your first tattoo and the placement can be a bit painful, I’ll first just press the needle of the machine to your skin, so that you can get a general feeling of how it’ll go.”
