Page 4

“You're right, Sonya,” I say, pushing off of her and lunging forward. “It's time to make a fucking point.”

We stumble through the door of the shop. The bell above the door rings in our ears, drawing the eyes of the people inside, and drawing my attention to them. It's hard to focus on them where they're sitting. My vision is blurring, the ceiling lights making me sweat.

There are walls of binders and brightly colored jars. Multiple portraits and elegant designs cover the brick walls. I want to look at everything, but if I turn too fast, my brain takes an extra second to keep up.

“Excuse me,” Sonya says. “My friend here is looking to make a change.”

“What kind of change?” Someone laughs, but when I try to single them out, all the faces merge together.

“I'm tired of my job!” I shout. Sonya helps me stand straighter. On the far side of the room, I notice a young man. He seems my age, though it's difficult to tell in my drunken state. What Icantell is that there's an elaborate tattoo circling his throat. I can't read it from where I am but it's clearly designed to shock people.

In other words? It's perfect.

“That.” I gesture at his neck. “I want one of those.”

A man with a thick beard snorts at me from the bench he's straddling. “Is your friend alright?” he asks Sonya.

“Going through some control issues,” she answers, giggling.

The man hesitates. For a long moment he considers me. I feel judged... like a prize pig at a country fair. He rubs his chin, rising up, placing his heavy hand on my shoulder. “You sure you want in on this game, young lady?”

“Yes, very much so.”

He motions over at Sonya. “What about you?”

“Oh, no,” she laughs nervously, waving her hands. “I'm all good.”

Part of me thinks Sonya should get inked, too. It was her idea, wasn't it? Or was it mine? My brain is too smothered by alcohol to recall.

The stranger helps me through a black door. “Where are we going?” I mumble.

“Well, we don't dothatkind of work right up front.”

“Long as I get it, gonna make... a point,” I slur.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard ya. I think you're nuts, but I heard ya.”

The more we walk, the more confused and tired I become. I wonder where Sonya is, but my concern is never voiced. The older man nudges me into a brightly lit room. There's someone else in here with me—a woman with imposing black eyes and vibrant red lips.

I'm helped onto a low, flat table. The cushion is covered in something like plastic wrap. I wince now that the ceiling lights are pointed right in my face.

“She wants in,” the guy says. I never got his name. “Prep her quick as you can.”

“Did she sign the paperwork?”

“Aw shit, no. Thanks for the reminder, Sunnie. Hey, hey, girl?” He pokes me; I realize I've shut my eyes.

“Mn?” I mutter, blinking up at him. “Am I getting the tattoo now?”

“After, sign this first.” He's holding some papers out, pressing a pen into my hand. Yawning, I scribble where he points, looking at the other person in the room with us. Sunnie is beautiful, her arms covered in inked sleeves of colorful dragons and koi fish. “Are you doing the tattoo?”

“No, not yet,” she sighs. “Franklin, what's wrong with her?”

“I don't know, drunk I guess.”

“Fine, whatever.” She scowls, sliding her rolling chair to me, lifting a bright lamp. “You have a name?”

“Veronica Buck,” I say, shielding my eyes. “Who are you?”