Page 6 of Ink & Desire

I should have found a better way to ease him into my request. I could have handled it better. But that’s still not the unbelievable part. I’d stood up to him. I’d grabbed his arm, even. My hand is still tingling from that momentary contact with his skin. I don’t know what made me do it. I’ve never been the confrontational type. I’ve always tried to avoid making waves. I go with the flow. Maybe that’s why my life is heading to a place I don’t want it to go. Because I’ve gone with the flow for too long.

But today, I’d actually stood up for myself. I’d argued with a man who was a total stranger less than half an hour ago. I’d even raised my voice; if only a little. I told someone to fuck off. I spoke my mind. And it feltgood. Who knew standing up for yourself could be such a rush? Granted, it hadn’t gotten me anywhere in the end. He’d still kicked me out and refused to train me. But for those brief few minutes, I’d felt powerful. Or at least, no longer powerless. Maybe this is what I should have been doing all along. Standing up for myself. Not letting people push me around. The euphoria could become addicting.

I try to imagine myself standing up to my mother, telling her I won’t be coming to work for the Bradshaw Foundation next year, after all. All at once, it’s like someone dumped a bucket of cold water on me. The good feeling of moments before vanishes when the reality of how that conversation would go hits me. I may have stood up to Corbin James today, but my mother is a differentstory. I’ve never been able to change her mind once it’s made up. And this is something she’s had her mind set on since before I was even born. I can’t change 24 years of ingrained belief by standing my ground. With my mother, I’ll need strong evidence that I’d be better off doing something else. And I just blew my only backup plan.

I sigh as I drive away from the studio and head back toward my apartment. I need to come up with a new plan. There’s another popular studio in the city. Custom Skin. Despite the name, it has a solid reputation for great work. I’d looked into them before deciding to take my chances with Corbin. The artists working there all have great reputations, but something about it had made me hesitate. For one thing, none of the artists there are of the same caliber as those at Elemental Ink. For another, the last five apprentices at Custom Skin were all young women, under age 25. And from what I can find online, none of them are currently working in the tattoo industry. That could mean anything. Maybe they all hated the profession. Maybe they all washed out. Or maybe they weren’t trained well enough to make it. Whatever the reason, I hadn’t had an abundance of confidence in Custom Skin or its artists, despite their quality work.

But, if Corbin really refuses to work with me, I don’t know what other choice I have. I don’t want to move to another new city. I already took a major chance moving here after finishing school. I suppose I could try oneof the lesser-known artists, but that wouldn’t make the kind of impression I need to make when my mother discovers what I’m doing. Not that she’s going to care if I’m with the Michelangelo of tattoo artists or the kindergarten finger painter. She’ll hate it, regardless. I don’t know why I hold out any hope she’ll have a less than nuclear reaction. But call me an optimist because I’m not giving up yet.

But I am giving up for today. When I get back to my apartment, I kick off my shoes immediately before making my way to my bedroom to strip off my jeans and bra and change into an oversized t-shirt. Then, I head for the freezer, where I know there’s a pint of ice cream waiting for me. I carry it to the couch and eat it directly from the carton, a move I know would scandalize my mother. Eating ice cream from the carton for lunch, while wearing no pants? She’d be mortified. But I don’t care. I’m totally content right now.

This is the best part about not having roommates. At first, I'd missed the comfort of knowing someone was always there. But now I’ve gotten used to the privacy. Not that Cass would have cared if I walked around with no pants. I know exactly what she would say.

“It’s just skin, babes. We all have it.”

Okay, maybe I miss having her around more than I thought. It would be nice to have her here to vent to right now. Even if she didn’t have the answers, she’d have the right words to comfort me. But she’s hours away, in New York, living her best life, while I’m here in Boston makinga mess of mine. I know I can call her anytime, but it’s not the same as having her right here with me. I got used to her presence being a constant, something I could count on every day. It’s harder than I thought it would be to do this alone.

I spend the next hour wallowing in my feelings and regretting the fact that I finished off the entire pint of ice cream. I lie on the couch, willing my stomach to settle from ice cream overload while I try to think of a solution to my problem. I have enough money saved to pay my rent for another month, maybe two, if I stop eating Ben & Jerry’s. But after that, I’ve got limited choices. I’m going to need to admit defeat and crawl home to my mother and her perfect future; or I’ll need to find a job that pays enough to keep me here until I can figure out my next move. I sigh. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call, pulling me out of my spiral of misery long enough to check the screen and see it’s my mother. I frown at the screen, not ready or willing to face the music right now. She’s just going to tell me she’s worried about me and ask me when I’m coming home. Then, she’ll start talking about all her plans for the future of the foundation as if they’reourplans. I can’t take that right now. I love my mother, and I know she means well. But I’m not ready for that conversation. So, I push aside the hint of guilt and let the call go to voicemail.

It takes seconds after the phone stops ringing for it to chime with a text notification. Of course. My motherhates texting, but she’ll resort to it if she can’t get me on the phone when she calls. Anything to be sure I’m paying attention. I don’t check the message. Instead, I pull the blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around me, curling up on my side. Maybe I’ll take a nap. I can’t wallow in self-pity if I’m sleeping, right?

Just when I’m feeling warm and comfortable, my mind relaxing in that state just before sleep, the buzzing of my phone jolts me back to the present. My eyes pop open and I glare at the wall before picking up the phone with an irritated sigh. Instead of my mother’s face on the screen, I see a tiny photo of me and Cass from her birthday last year. I answer it immediately.

“Hey,” I say.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I say on a sigh. “He turned me down and kicked me out of his shop.”

“He did not!”

“Yep.”

“What a dick!” Cass’s anger is palpable, even with the shitty reception.

Wherever she is, there’s a ton of background noise. It sounds like people talking and maybe construction? I almost sigh. I miss New York and all its chaos sometimes.

“Did he even look at your work?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, sitting up on the couch and pulling the blanket up around my shoulders. “He seemed like he liked it until I told him why I was really there. Then he was just pissed off.”

Cass says something I can’t hear over a dull roaring sound in the background.

I make a face. “Where are you? What’s that noise?”

“The train,” she says.

“What train?”

“Just be at South Station at 4:45,” Cass says.

The blanket falls from my shoulders as my face splits into a wide grin. “You’re coming to visit?”

“Duh,” she says. “Like I was going to let you celebrate alone?”

“You mean wallow?” I ask, smiling though my voice is miserable.

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