Page 7 of The Devil Within

I nod at Chris, acknowledging his greeting. Normally I’m slightly cheerier but getting ready for work today was a pain in my ass; all my clothes were stained. Almost every single fucking thing I owned had some sort of white shit on it. I finally settled on a cute but simple black tee shirt dress and cardigan, with my signature combat boots of course. The dress was one of my few clothing items that appeared to be somewhat clean.

It must be my damn washing machine. I called my landlord and asked him to come take a look at it, but who knows how long that will take. My landlord is old and kind but not overly efficient. He is giving me a damn steal on the rent though, so I really can’t complain. This town is a contradiction. It’s supposed to be a liberal, Pacific Northwest town, full of equality and compassion. The reality is, there’s the rich part of town with sleek modern houses right on the water and the poor part of town with old and rundown homes in desperate need of maintenance. I live in one of those houses. A cute little rambler in the Lettered Streets neighborhood. It’s in desperate need of a paint job and a new roof, and the laminate countertops are farfrom luxurious, but the rent is low enough that I’m able to live on my own while still helping my dad with his bills, so I’m not complaining.

I slip my arms out of the sleeves of my raincoat once inside. Glancing around, I note that the shop is fairly busy considering the time of day. Chris and two other artists are currently working on pieces while a few straggling customers look through the glass jewelry case next to my station in the back. Piercing is by no means a steady income, but the shop I work at stays busy enough that I’m able to make sure all my bills are paid. Plus, the manager, Paul, knows I’m desperate and will throw me some front desk work if it ends up being slower than normal. Paul and his partner Chris, the burly tattoo artist, run the shop together. If they weren’t both scary as fuck bikers, they’d be a real cutesy couple.

I reach my station in the back and run my fingers across the cold steel laid out before me. There’s something so soothing about piercing. The snap of skin beneath my fingers is cathartic to me. I was one of those losers who was never really good at anything other than getting high and partying in high school. In college I struggled to care enough to even attend classes. But I was always good with people, particularly reading people. When I was in my freshmen year of college, one of the girls in our hall was freaking the fuck out. Like full on panic attack. No one could calm her down. I pulled one of the safety pins out of my bag and used it to stab the heel of her foot. It wasn’t enough to hurt her long term, but the sharp sting of pain was enough to pull her mind out of whatever fucked up place it was stuck in. She immediately came back down to reality and her panic attack ebbed. I realized right then and there the power of pain. Not just in a negative way. Pain has the unique ability to bring you down and yet, it can also center you in the now. Pain is power, you just have to know how to use it. And I do use it. Frequently.I’m a pain addict. In work, in my relationships, in all sexual encounters—I crave the pain.

It’s fucked up, but aren’t we all a little fucked up?

Today, I only have a handful of appointments booked. It’s a week night so I don’t anticipate a lot of walk-ins but you never know. My first appointment is some nineteen year old who wants her eyebrow pierced, then I have a quick and easy cartilage piercing, and I’ll finish with a grand finale—a Prince Albert. I’m the best piercer in town, and the only one who’s truly capable when it comes to sensitive piercings. It took me a long time, a fuck ton of studying, several apprenticeships, and a lot of practice, but I now consider myself an expert at piercing even the most intimate parts of the human body. A Prince Albert is tricky, not the trickiest, but it will still take a bit longer to complete. Jacob’s Ladder is my favorite to complete on a male. Those who are able to make it through all the piercings in a single sitting are true fucking champions. I’ve had more than one of those clients turn into a hook-up. I love a partner who’s good with pain.

I pull my phone from my bag since I have a few minutes before my first appointment. With my wardrobe woes, I was worried I was going to be late, so I let out a sigh of relief. I open up my notifications. I have several text messages, all of them confirming my worst fear—no one has heard a word from Celeste since Halloween. Earlier today I swung by Celeste’s house to try to finally talk to her. My stomach dropped and my pulse skyrocketed when I realized that every single light was off, everything was locked up, and her Halloween decorations were still up. It’s as if she went out on Halloween night and vanished. Scrolling back through my phone I realized she hasn’t texted me or called me since Halloween either. I texted everyone I could think of who knows her and asked if they’ve heard from her. Most have responded already. No one has heard anything sinceHalloween. Something is seriously wrong. My best friend isn’t ghosting me—she’s missing.

The realization is terrifying. I’m tempted to leave immediately but what would I even do? Do I go to the police? I don’t have any evidence that she’s missing, besides her not texting me back. I know my best friend is in trouble, but I have no fucking clue how to help. It’s infuriating. If I keep my fingers busy, my mind can’t wander to what ifs, so I start setting up for the day. I clean my gear, check my supplies, restock low items, and hum along to the Sleep Token song blasting through the studio. I always make sure to arrive with more than enough time to set up. Even with my clothing mishap today I made sure to leave time to adequately prepare. No one wants a rushed piercing.

“Hey, Pink.” Chris’ low timbre shakes me from my routine. I jump and clutch my hand to my chest which causes him to laugh at me. “Damn girl, a little jumpy are we?”

After everything going on lately, damn fucking right I’m jumpy.

“Can I help you?” I spin to face him. His huge frame fills up the entire entryway to my station. He’s a giant of a man—tall and wide. With a full beard and long dark hair, he’s essentially a bear of a man.

“Well, well,” he teases as he casually leans a shoulder against the wall. “Aren’t we feisty today? What’s wrong? Haven’t gotten laid lately?”

“I could go for a fuck.” I take a step toward him, letting a finger slowly peruse his broad chest. “Are you offering?”

He glares down at me. His darkened eyes intensely plastered to mine. Our gazes stay locked on one another, each challenging the other to back down, before he bursts out in a full bellied laugh. His deep chuckle is warm and comforting. I can’t help but laugh along with him.

“You’re about a foot too short, fifty pounds too light, andthoroughly lacking in the dick department, Pink. But, nice try,” he jokes as he lightly pats my shoulder.

“Worth a try,” I quip at him over my shoulder as I turn back to my work. Busy fingers keep the mind from wandering too far, I remind myself.

“I’m fairly certain I’m not your type either.”

“Hey,” I snip at him as I debate which gauge of needle I’ll need for a petite girl’s eyebrow. “I’ve been known to bag a big old bear of a man on occasion.”

“Well, Pink, this bear is most certainly taken. But we are going out tonight after we close up shop. You want to come?”

Part of me wants to tell him no. Something is definitely going on with Celeste. I want more than anything to go to her house, yet again, and try to break in to see if I can find any clues. But part of me is also afraid to be alone. What if my stalker comes for me?

“Sure.” I offer Chris a warm smile over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Liv! Your appointment is here,” Paul hollers from the front of the shop.

“We’ll head out right after close then,” Chris calls as he steps away and heads back to his station across the shop.

SIX

Olivia

ecstasy (slowed) by SUICIDAL-IDOL

The Jager is packed tonight. People are sandwiched together, grinding against one another beneath the flashing strobes in a sea of sinful pleasure. I’m already four drinks deep and the alcohol has settled into my core, warming me from my center out to my limbs. I love the feeling of being fucked up. It doesn’t matter if it’s liquor, drugs, or sex—the feeling of lightness, even just temporary freedom from the weight of reality, is an addiction I don’t want to be rid of.

I reach in my pocket to check my phone. No new notifications. The sting of disappointment is immediate. I texted Celeste before leaving the shop to come out with me tonight. She’s usually down for a good time. We met in college and instantly hit it off. We’ve been best friends ever since. There’s just something so vulnerable about her. She keeps everyone at a distance, and yet she hates to be alone. She makes me feel seen in a way that no one else ever has. She accepts me no matter what fucked up shit I do. She never judges me and never leaves me to clean up my own messes like everyone else does. My text was a last, pitiful attempt to see if she’d respond. But deep down I knew she wouldn’t. If I want to see her again then I’m going to have to fucking find her.

“Pink,” Chris hollers over the crowd. “Paul and I are going to head out. You need a ride home?”

I contemplate taking him up on his offer but the thought of returning to my cold and empty house sounds very unappealing. I know that if I go home I’ll just be a fucking mess of nerves. I’d rather stay here, get fucked up, and dance away some of my anxious energy.

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