She rolls her eyes, something she does often when she wants to tell you to fuck off. She needs to cut the PC bullshit when in my presence. We both know she is the furthest thing from politically correct. “It has meaning to it, a huge one. I figured I would bring you the basics and let you get creative.”
Knowing damn well why a butterfly is ‘personal’, I take the picture and grab my drawing paper. “I’ll go draw this up and be back in a few. Where are you thinking of putting it?”
I watch the blush crawl up her neck and know this is gonna cause me some blue balls before she even tells me.
She stands and slips her hoodie off and I watch, my jaw slack as she stands there, unphased at being in just her sports bra. “I want it right here, just under my breasts in the center, with henna design, and beads coming down toward my belly button. Follow my chest line and bring it to a ‘V’.”
I give her credit to know what she wants, and the shit isn’t as generic as I thought originally, but butterflies are like that. “Black and grey?”
“Yes. Heavy with the black. Double lines, not single, in the butterflies and beads, single in the mendala.”
I make my way back to my desk beside the bed and grab my fine point Sharpie. “I’m gonna line the paper up so I have an idea for the space,” I say, sitting at the stool I scoot close as she spreads her legs for me to get closer. She somehow managed to pick the one tattoo that would have me touching her tits and too damn close for my professionalism. She fucking tests me and I hate her for it.
I place the paper under her chest and along her ribs on both sides to draw the expansion space first. Then, I draw a circle centered right under her breasts on the paper for the butterfly. “Okay. About fifteen minutes?”
When she doesn’t answer, I look up and see her mouthing the words to whatever song is playing on her iPhone. Not asking permission and out of curiosity really, I pluck one of the ear buds from her ear and place it to mine.
“Hey!” She says, and tries to take it from me, but I quickly grab the phone and roll the chair back. Phone and earbuds are now in my possession.
“Let’s see what has your attention so intently that you can’t be bothered to be involved in mapping your tattoo. Shall we, Pet?” I ignore her protests, placing the earbud in one ear and hold up a finger over my mouth to shut her up.
What I hear assails every nerve in my body and thrusts me back to a dim bar,Patron, and dancing to a crow and the butterfly. I feel chills on my neck as the song plays, see the embarrassment on her face for the song, and want to reassure her. I hand them back to her and place my hand on her knee. “Good song, that one.”
“Whatever. It’s was what was playing, so calm your ego down.”
I just laugh at that. “Bullshit, Mya. At least own it. You would have that night and honestly, you’re a shit liar.”
She stares at me contemplating if she dares to own it, but she will. She doesn’t know how to filter. She does what she wants even when she’s scared she’ll be judged. It’s sexy as hell too and she has no idea.
“So? I like that song. I have fond memories of that song.”
I just chuckle again and nod in agreement. “Me too, Pet, me too.”
I drew it up, each line in perfect detail. I added one key piece that was missing and would soon find out if she wanted this tattoo to mean something, or if it was to make me sweat. I refuse to sweat it out alone that’s for damn sure. She is young, maybe more than a little naïve where men are concerned, and it sucks for her that I would be the man to teach her, but she is earning this tat.
Otherwise, she doesn’t deserve it.
“Okay, here’s the drawing. I added a little more to it. It was missing a key element.”
I hand it to her and watch as her eyes light up at how great a piece it will be... until she sees what I added. “What the hell is that?”
I look her in the eye, no fear. “It’s a crow. Chasing a butterfly.”
“I see that. Why?”
“You know why, Pet.” I laugh.
“Oh my God! You’re serious?” She looks at me like I’m crazy and she is right. Crazy because of her and she has no fucking clue. Kinda brilliant, kinda shitty.
I decide to explain the realness behind it, no bullshit. I just want the realness from her. I crave it. Love it. “Look, we both know that this entire plot is to get a rise out of me. To remind me what happened. Rest assured, Pet, I remember everything.”
She looks like she might hit me or cry, and I honestly don’t know which. Her face is red, her breathing is choppy… I love it. It’s real. “Maybe so, but you making fun of something that for whatever reason I cherish, is bullshit, Sully.”
I scoot in close wanting for a brief moment to reassure her that she could never be a joke. “I am not mocking you, Mya. I am making it better. You are the butterfly, Pet. I am the crow. I don’t mock it, I love it. It’s bold as fuck and you are bold as fuck. I figured the image should match the woman and honor the memory. You come in here, a collector of tats, and want a Sully original? There it is. I stand by my work and the creative freedom for how I drew it up. You want to walk…” I turn from the doorway and point to the door. “Then don’t trip as you leave.”
She debates walking and I love the defiance, it turns me on. “You swear to me that I won’t leave here as a joke to you and all your artist friends?”
I could not have been more taken back by how she saw me. “You think I would tattoo you as a joke? Not my style. Neither is making a joke out of a friend who I value. So, yeah, I swear.”
