She dips the end of the gun into a small pot of ink, and smiles at me. “Let’s get started, then.”
When she starts running it over my arm, I jerk in surprise. The sensation is different. Not good, or bad, just something else. I relax as I become accustomed to the feel of it. I can’t believe I’m getting a tattoo. The location probably isn’t the best place if I’m going job hunting, but I can always wear a cardigan or a bunch of bracelets to cover them up.
The sound of the machine buzzing is almost enough to put me to sleep. My eyes are closing when the noise stops. “We’re done,” Charleigh grins.
“Wow, already?” Time went by so quickly. That, or Charleigh is really good at what she does. It’s definitely the latter. The ink now decorating my wrists looks amazing. And to think I almost chickened out.
“Yep,” she begins cleaning the area and putting things away. “The tattoos were small. If we were talking a bigger piece, then it would have taken much longer.” She wraps my wrists in plastic to keep them from getting dirty. “You did really well considering it was your first time.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “What do I need to do once I can take these off?” Holding up my wrists, I indicate the plastic.
“Keep it clean and put a little bit of lotion on them if they start itching or feeling dry. Other than that,” she shrugs, “they pretty much heal on their own.”
Seems easy enough to me. At least getting ink isn’t all that high maintenance. I am going to need to find a job, though. One that is okay with tattoos, and pays well because I already know I want to add more art to my body. It was a weird sort of therapy. Each time the needle would pierce into my skin, the negative energy I’ve been holding onto would evaporate. “How much do I owe you?”
I give her what she asked for, plus a decent sized tip. Charleigh was able to put me at ease and make me forget that I was getting stuck over and over again by a tiny needle. I’m not sure anyone else could do that. Especially not the broody guy. Hell, I’d be terrified to let him put ink on me. I’m sure he’s a great artist, but at the same time I couldn’t stand to have his intense gaze on me the whole time. There’s no way I’d be able to sit still.
“If you have any problems, let me know,” Charleigh says as I walk out into the lobby.
“Will do,” I call. “And be expecting me to come back.”
“I have a feeling you’ll be back sooner than you realize.” She doesn’t mean for it to come out creepy, I don’t think. It did, though. Just a little, almost like a promise.
I take my time walking to the front door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Broody. Why didn’t I think to get his name from Charleigh? Not that I’m interested, nope not at all. A small voice in my head calls me a liar.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of him walking into a room in the back. It’s not the same one he walked toward earlier, and I want to know where he’s going. To find some privacy to call a girlfriend maybe? My shoulders slump at the thought, even though I shouldn’t care. He’s not my type. The complete opposite actually.
But what do I know about my type? The last time I put trust in someone he treated me like complete shit. Shaking thoughts of Dawson, and Mr. Broody away, I continue out the door into the hot afternoon air. It’s time to show Mom my new ink. She’s going to lose her shit.
* * *
It’s been over two weeks since I got my tattoos, and Mom is still pissed. I should win an award for correctly pegging mom’s reactions. Her outbursts included, “why would you mar your beautiful skin like that” and “you’re never going to find a job with those on display.” Let’s not forget the part where she asked me why I had to get them in a place where everyone could see them.
I’m not questioning her opinion, or perspective. However, I’m giving her money while I’m staying here and I paid for the tattoos with my own money. While I may be under their roof, I’m not mooching off of them by any means...yet. If one of the many jobs I’ve applied to doesn’t call me back soon, I’m going to have to swallow my pride and take any one I can get. Even if it’s something I don’t want to do.
Job searches are displayed on my laptop screen when the phone rings. It’s the house line, and not my phone, so I don’t pay it any attention. Scrolling through listings in my area is becoming tedious. Most of them are the same jobs I’ve already applied for… it seems as if it’s me they don’t want. Their loss. If one of them would give me a chance, I know I could show them everything I’m capable of.
There’s a knock at my door. “Sophia,” my dad says. “There’s someone on the phone for you.”
That’s weird. Anyone who wants to talk to me would have called my cell phone, and it never rang. Only one other person would call this line, and I don’t see my dad letting him talk to me. Unless he got someone else to call for him.
Worry niggles at the back of my mind. Setting my laptop on my bed, I make my way to the door, opening it the slightest bit. As if Dawson might jump out at me from somewhere. “It’s not Dawson is it?” I ask, needing to make sure.
Dad shakes his head. “Some girl named Charleigh?”
My mind comes up blank for a second, until who she is dawns on me. Why in the hell would she be calling?
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“No need,” he holds up the cordless phone. “I figured you would be okay with talking to whomever this girl is.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He turns and walks back toward the living room. “Hello,” I say into the receiver.
“Hi, Sophia,” she sounds nervous. “This is Charleigh from Life in Ink. How’s your ink holding up?”
“Pretty good,” I smile looking down at my wrist. Sometimes I’ll catch the outline from the corner of my eye and freak out before realizing what it is. It’s odd sometimes seeing something there that hasn’t been there before. “I didn’t know you made house calls. How did you get my number?”
“It was on the paperwork you filled out when you got your tattoo.” Still it’s weird that she’s calling me.