Page 8 of Possession

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“But, it was the first time, Liam, that I wish I hadn’t.”

Marking another human being, gifting them a rainbow of well-orchestrated pigments and lines, creating that perfect picture, the quote they’d always wanted, it was an art. More people than not had tattoos these days. Shops were popping up left and right around the valley. The religious subculture of the city waned under a kaleidoscope of color, of individuality. Today, I held my machine instead of my brush, my canvas—flesh. The girl laid out on the padded table had her shirt off, her ribcage poking out on either side. At times, it felt as if I could see through skin, straight to the bone, a flash of reality. I’d blink my eyes and the gruesome vision would disappear. It happened three times today. This girl was too thin.

You allowed it.

You took a life once.

Look at her bones, Declan.

My hand paused. My eyes slammed shut but the girl’s intake of breath brought me back to clearer thoughts.

“Almost finished,” I muttered as I wiped away the excess ink and blood from the small of her back.

A butterfly. I wondered if she’d picked it because she wanted to be reborn. This girl with her waif body, spindly arms, and limp hair. She was young, maybe just moved from the nest, just weaned from the milk of her mother’s love. A symbol of resurrection, change, a new beginning.

I finished up the last few shades of purple, filling in all the vibrant life I could into this girl’s hope for peace. After I was finished, she listened carefully, her eyes locked on mine as I explained the aftercare. She admired the reflection of her first tattoo through the small mirror in her hand. She smiled over her shoulder as she turned trying to get a better look.

“It’s perfect,” she said with an excited gleam in her eyes, she’d be back for more.

I repeated the instructions again as I smeared a salve over the ink and then covered it.

She rambled about how her friends were going to be jealous, and then she disappointed me when she mentioned she’d picked the butterfly from the book because it looked cool. I should’ve fucking known, it was a tramp stamp, after all. I walked her to the front and gave Kieran my bill so he could ring her up.

“One hour?” He glanced down at the invoice and then back up at me. “She was back there for at least two.” He raised his left eyebrow.

The girl smiled as I spoke, “It’s her first.”

It was all the explanation he needed. It was my thing. Discounting the first tatt always brought them back, it bought loyalty where loyalty was rare.

“Thank you, again. It’s really pretty.”

“Send your friends,” I said with a genuine smile right before she walked out of the front door.

Inside the shop it was easy to pretend like I was normal. I could be anybody. To that girl, the girl with the cool butterfly, the girl who hadn’t known she’d picked a symbol that was just as powerful as it was beautiful, to her I was just the guy who’d popped her ink cherry. I could hide the voices behind a smile and my love for art. I could hide the loneliness while I helped my brothers build an empire. But mostly, I could hide my fear… my fear of firsts. First glances, first touches, first kisses, first… Paige had been the one I experienced everything with, and occasionally, when I was out in the real world, it was hard not to compare. I kept myself busy, I breathed in, and I breathed out. I lived, but sometimes, sometimes all I wanted to do was remember.

“Declan?” Kieran’s deep, usually easy voice held a note of worry.

“Yeah?” I swallowed and ran my eyes down the appointment log on his desk.

“You’re done for the day, unless you want to stay and take some walk-ins?” Kieran’s eyes were blue like mine, we had our mother’s azure irises while Liam bore the dark tones of our father. I was the only blond. My mother had said it was a fluke, but I’d known I was different, even from the point of conception. She’d sung the praises, all my life, of great aunts who lived in Killarney with blonde hair and blue eyes, and how lucky I’d been to be born with so much light. God had blessed her with a baby who was bright like the sun. It wasn’t until I was twelve that she’d realized my life had become a perpetual night.

“Did you hear me?” He chuckled.

“No.” I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“I said stay, take a few walk-ins, then when we close up we can all go to Bellows.” He slapped my shoulder as he stood.

“I’ll be in the back if you need me,” I said.

“Seriously.” He lowered his voice to a low hum, almost matching the buzz of the tattoo machines. “Liam said the med change has been good?”

I allowed my shoulders to sag. He worried too much. He’d been the one to find me hanging by a sheet from my closet door. Liam had cut me down, but it was Kieran who’d picked up on my silence, my moods. He was the first to ask me what the voices said. The older he got, the more fixated he’d been on becoming a priest. A part of me questioned if that was my fault. I wondered if he wanted to exorcise the voices, help the damned, and keep the link he had between those who suffered and those who needed help.

“All is well in the world, Father.” I smirked.

He punched me in the shoulder. “Fucking smart ass.”

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