Page 12 of Just Between Us

Luna’s face tipped to the ceiling as she cackled. “Ha! That woman is a menace.” She dropped the broom with a clatter and scooped up my wallet as she sailed toward the door.

With my wallet held above her head like a trophy, she called, “I’m also buying us a pie!”

She didn’t wait for me to argue before walking out the door.

After picking up the abandoned broom, I set it aside and walked to my booth. I flicked on the lights and appreciated my space. As the owner, I had the most prominent tattoo booth in the shop. It was large with bright lighting and a comfortable black chair in the middle. My rolling stool was neatly tucked into the corner.

My personal artwork decorated the walls, and the tattoo equipment was meticulously organized. Cleanliness and safety were top priority at King Tattoo, and I held myself to the highest standards. I closed the door behind me, securing myself inside the privacy of my booth, before arranging my tattoo gun and ink on the countertop.

I scrubbed my hands and pulled on a fresh pair of black latex gloves before dropping my slacks to the floor. I sat on my stool and hiked up the hem of my black boxer briefs, examining the skin on my thigh. There wasn’t a whole lot of available real estate left, but the small patch of tan skin would be perfect for the design I’d had stuck in my head since last night.

After firing up my gun, I settled into the easy rhythm of tattooing.

I didn’t bother sketching the design first; rather, I got lost in the thrill of free-handing something permanent. Drawing hadalways come easy to me, a skill I’d honed while doodling in the margins of my schoolwork instead of paying attention in class.

Gap-toothed and glasses-wearing, I wasn’t exactly running with the popular kids in elementary school. Instead of trying out for soccer or chasing girls, I was designing my own comic books and hiding from the school bully.

When Mom left, I all but disappeared, curling inward and doing everything in my power to be quietly perfect. A part of me thought that if I was good enough, maybe she’d come back.

She didn’t.

It was then I realized that my mother was truly gone, and no one was coming to save us. Aunt Bug did what she could, but I slowly grew to understand that, in the end, I would need to take care of myself.

If our father’s love was conditional, I was determined to find a way to get noticed.

At fourteen I got my first tattoo—a back-alley hack job that I did myself after googling prison tattoos. It was a single word unevenly inked on my upper thigh—Free.

Free from an unrelenting father who only demanded more. Free from guilt. Free from expectations. Free from everyone and everything.

Thankfully I’d been too chickenshit to ink anywhere other than my leg, so the wobbly, faded letters went unchecked for a long time. My eyes flicked to the blue-gray ink still emblazoned on my leg. It was a disaster but something I would never cover.

In time I got smart, using my artistic talents as a way to gain notoriety. After years of being an apprentice, I finally earned a booth of my own.

The next natural step was opening my own place. With no direction and no tethers, I decided that my hometown was as good a place as any. Tourists were always looking for vacation ink, so in the end it made sense and turned out to be a smartbusiness move. I found that owning a successful tattoo shop was the perfect way to earn my father’s approval while also giving him the ultimatefuck you.

Dad hated the look of my tattoos, but the success of my business meant more to him than love or acceptance. It always came down to the bottom dollar for Russell King.

Old memories haunted me, and I had to take a breath and pause my work. Pressing too hard because I was distracted would ruin the design and cause the ink to blow out over time. I rolled my neck and steadied my breath before finishing the delicate outline of the cat and moving on to the shading.

With as many tattoos as I had, it was natural for people to expect me to be a nonconformist. It was a role I’d always been happy to play, but if they knew about Pulse, everything would change. No one in my life knew about my alter ego, and if word got out, it would make things only harder on my family.

Especially now that things with our father were on dangerous footing.

My back ached just thinking about the disappointed looks on their faces if they ever found out their brother wasn’t just a fuckup, but also a sexual exhibitionist.

I surveyed my thigh and the random designs that decorated it.

Not every design held special meaning, but there was something about the quirky cat that tugged on my chest.

Maybe it was the real pissy look on its face or the way the feline’s eyes dared you to try to touch her.

I chuckled down at the quirky cat before applying a thin layer of antibiotic ointment and covering it with Saniderm cling film.

I slipped on my slacks as the front-door bells chimed.

I glanced at the clock, noting it was too early for an appointment.

Intrigued, I exited my booth and was met with the most intense, striking pair of eyes. The woman who entered had a piercing jade-green stare that stabbed me right in the chest and made it difficult to breathe.

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