Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
It was hard to imagine anyone hurting this woman, and it made my gut ache that someone had.
“What’s the tattoo on your wrist?”
Lifting her sleeve, she showed me an arrow with an ECG reading on it that had a small gap in the middle, like something had stopped the heart from beating for a moment. Under it was a date from eleven years ago.
“I got this three years after it happened, but I’ve lived with seeing the scars every day. I need to get rid of them so that it’ll fly away.”
Chewing on my lower lip, I looked from the picture to the tattoo and then up at her. “So, your scars are eleven years old?” When she nodded, I smiled at her. “I was worried they’d be new ones and I wouldn’t be able to do it, because it isn’t recommended that we do tattoos over newly healed skin. It can make the ink bleed or mess up the tattoo if we do. But seeing as how yours are so old now, we should be good to go.”
Her head tilted slightly as she listened to me like she was applying the information to what we were about to do in her mind. “I purposefully waited this long to get it done, partly because I didn’t want the tattoo to be ruined and give them more power over me. But it’s also because I don’t go out that often, so I have to prepare myself mentally for when I do. I’ve come a long way and I want to get even better, and now’s the time.”
Every word she spoke made the pain in my gut for her worse, and it also made me more determined to help her with what she wanted to achieve.
“Okay, let’s get you lying down so you can show me the scar—”
“Scars,” she interrupted, already moving to lie down. “There’s more than one.”
Jesus.
Not waiting for me to finish what I’d been saying, she lay down and pulled her top up on one side, baring smooth, creamy skin that’d be perfect if it wasn’t for the scattered scars on it. They weren’t large, perhaps half an inch long, but the skin was slightly indented around them, and they were a reminder of something ugly for her.
“To make sure I’ve got the best idea of the skin I’m tattooing, do you mind if I just run my finger over them?” It was a rule that we get permission first, but I would’ve checked anyway, given her demeanor and history.
“No, you’re fine.”
Gently skimming the tip of my finger over the first one, I made a mental note of the surface so that I could plan the tattoo. “Were you wanting to cover these ones with the waves or with the birds? I think the ones farthest to the side could all go under the water, but the ones farther in might need to be birds.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too. I also like the symbolism of washing the bigger cluster of them away while the birds take what’s left.”
It was the most I’d heard her talk so far, and I found myself appreciating being included in this tattoo even more now.
“Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll get this made into a transfer to put on you first, but I might have to freehand the birds if that’s okay?”
Smiling, she nodded slowly and watched me back away from her toward the copying machine. Both Blaze and I had our own so that we weren’t running back and forth, and I’d never been more grateful for it than I was right now. It meant I could ask her questions while she was more relaxed because I didn’t know what kind of person she’d be during the tattoo. Some people were talkative, some were relaxed, some screamed and cried, and others bit down so they didn’t make a noise.
Putting it on top of the glass and closing the lid, I hit the copy button. “Do you mind me asking how it happened?”
“I was stabbed.”
The bluntness of her reply made me flinch.
“Christ. Did they catch the person? Are you okay? Who did it?” Then, realizing I was peppering her with questions, I shoved my hand into my hair. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect that.”
Staring at the ceiling, she held a hand up to me. “It’s cool. You’d be surprised the kind of questions people ask when they find out—not that I talk to a lot of people.” Then, turning her head so she was watching me, she said, “I was stabbed at school with a pencil by a girl who didn’t like that I’d smiled at her boyfriend in a class we had together.”
“Holy shit, did they arrest her?”
“She was arrested and questioned, but she had a great lawyer and some friends in the right places who got her off.”