Page 24 of Eden's Deliverance

I choke and sputter, trying to evict the tongue and the horrible taste it’s leaving on my own. But it’s impossible. It snakes farther and farther towards the back of my throat until I swear it’s reached my stomach.

I can’t breathe, I can’t talk, and everything is going black.

Sitting up in bed, I cough and heave until the realization sets in that I’m awake and safe. The byrus from my dream starts to make a little more sense when I seeDreamcatcher’s credits roll across my TV screen.

No more horror movies before bed.

The soft buzzing of my tattoo machine is a welcoming sound—a win I’ve really needed after the past few weeks of doubt and isolation. The world around me feels like it’s been getting smaller and smaller.

Most nights, I find myself slipping into the darkest corners of my mind, shutting out everyone and everything else.

Until today, I’ve only been allowed to do basic things around the studio, with a focus on drawing and design composition. My mentor, Jill, has me on this guided curriculum for my apprenticeship—a checklist of skills for me to master as I go through the learning process.

For the first few months, I was studying the basic history of tattooing before I moved to drawing flash. During that step, I was allowed to start sitting in on her own tattoo sessions so I could observe her techniques, but now I’m finally allowed to practice tattooing my own designs onto fake skin.

I picked out this really pretty floral design I made of a Pat Austin rose with a few leaves sprouting off of it, and I’m working on the shading when Jill comes over to check my progress.

“Really nice, Scarlett! You’ve seriously got this down, I don’t see why we can’t have you working on live guinea pigs soon,” she exclaims. “Do you have a list of people worked out yet who will let you practice on them?”

“I have at least one, for sure. Penelope, you’ve met her a couple of times. She’s been begging me since I started with you.” We share a laugh about Pen’s candidness, then she sends me off with a few pointers on how to bolden the piece and make it stand out more.

The door chime rings, and I look up from my work to check on the customers—as is my apprenticeship duty—but almost instantly, I’m contemplating whether or not I really need this job.

Skylar and three of his friends burst into the lobby, making a fucking ruckus, but I can’t duck down fast enough before he spots me across the room. All thechipper energy fades from his face. He’s seething, just like any other time we’re in the same room.

“Scarlett, can you go check on those guys for me? See what they need and let’s get them taken care of, okay?” Jill suggests.

Really, it’s not a suggestion. Apprentices don’t have the privilege of saying no to their mentors, and being the desk-girl is one of my biggest responsibilities.

I make my way over to the desk and fiddle with the computer’s scheduling system so I have a reason to look at literally anything else when I address the group. “Hi guys, welcome in. What can we do for you today?”

One of the guys, I think his name is Tommy, wraps his arm around Julian’s shoulder. “My boy here’s looking for someone to finish up his back piece. Got anybody who works with black and grey? What about you?” He winks, but I look right back at the computer screen to separate myself.

“Oh, um…I’m just the apprentice, sorry. We’ve got two artists who work with black and grey. There are a few portfolios over on the table by the couches if you wanna have a look.” I nod towards the waiting area. “If you see someone you like, I’ll go ahead and get you connected with them for scheduling.”

As much as I’d like to refrain from looking any of them in the eye, the last thing I need is for a gaggle of jock fucks to leave some kind of bad review about me being horrible in customer service.

I glance up at Julian with an artificial smile specifically meant for customers, but he’s got this really weird look on his face.

Despite the odd skew of his facial features at this moment, he’s very pretty. Not necessarily pretty in a feminine sort of way, but like someone you could just see yourself looking at all day. Almost like a painting in a museum.

He’s got straight blonde hair the color of straw, except maybe he used gel to tousle it for that out-of-bed image. That’s sort of how he looks right now—almost like he hasn’t slept or taken care of himself in weeks—but the disheveled visage still looks good on him.

It’s a stark contrast to Skylar, who looks as groomed and immaculate as ever. Not that I’m looking.

That would be gross.

It's just that he’s handsome too, and they all run around like a bunch of smoking hot psychopaths whose emotional capability is limited to putting their fists through walls. I’ll never really understand why Skylar is studying psychology, unless he intends to use his degree for self-reflection.

“We’ll have a look. Thanks, Red,” Julian says, and they all snigger together like I’m the butt of some joke.

I really hate it when they call me that. Like it’s some insult that I have red hair, and wear red tops, and red shoes, and…

Fuckingwhatever. I get it; I like red.

While the guys are looking through the books, I head down the hall to the artists’ rooms and give them a heads up about the potential booking. It’s not really in my range of expertise yet to give suggestions based on anything other than recommending an artist for their style, and I don’t need to see Julian with his shirt off.

Since avoiding Eden, I haven’t pursued anything with the local riffraff like I used to, so I’m a wired-up horn dog who can’t really handle being around a man as pretty as him right now.

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