Page 84 of Strelitzias in Spring

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Let me know if it gets to be too painful, okay?” he instructs, phrasing it as a question but meaning it as a demand. Tucking my arms under my head, I nod, shutting my eyes and letting the buzz of the tattoo gun mute everything else.

Wolf:

If I couldn’t see the rise and fall of her back from her breathing, I would think that Serena was a corpse or a sex doll. Unlike some of the largest, most tattooed men I’ve worked on, she doesn’t move a goddamn muscle, doesn’t twitch as I work through the design I have. Starting with the outline, I took my time to make sure that every part of the tattoo was flawless. I also ensured that the flying cocks on her back were no longer existent. I asked her a few times if she was okay, and she hummed her response, almost like she was in a trance.

Applying the last of the ink for today’s session to her back. I sit up, set my tattoo machine down on my tray, and admire the design gracing Serena’s back. Just like in the drawing in my bedroom, multiple strelitzias are painted on her back, starting from her right hip and traveling up to the center of her back. The lines are feminine and strong, a testament to the potency of the stem and the unique beauty of the flower. Colored in shades of green, orange, blue, and purple, the design is bold and stunning against the curve of her spine. When I placed the flowers, I realized that after everything she’d gone through with her dad, with so many people in her life, she deserved to have the butterflies she desperately wanted. I added three Blue Morpho butterflies to the piece: one at the bottom to symbolize the past, one resting on the center flower to symbolize the present, and one flying independently toward her left shoulder blade to illustrate the freedom she has in her future.

“You ready to see it, Serena?”

“You’re done?” she asks, sounding surprised.

“It’s been five hours. We’re done for today,” I laugh, spraying her back again and wiping off the excess ink. “We will need a couple more sessions to finish, but before you see it, I have to ask, are you okay?”

“Am I okay that my dad is the biggest asshole on the planet? Not really. But I have a mom who loves me, friends who have become family, and a boyfriend”—she pauses, scoffing at the designation—“who gives me tattoos. So, all things considered, I’ll survive.”

“Serena, I’m serious.”

She sighs, letting out a long breath before answering. “I know you are, Wolf. But really, I’m okay.”

I accept her answer and help guide her up and onto her legs. “We’ll go over the aftercare—and this time, you’ll listen—after you see it. Spinning her around so that her back faces the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I hold up a smaller mirror, allowing her to see her reflection. I watch her face closely, praying that I don’t see any disappointment or sadness when taking in the work. I’m relieved that only awe is present.

“Oh my God, Wolf,” she gasps, bringing a trembling hand to her mouth. “How did you—I can’t—Wolf,” she breaks off, her watery eyes meeting mine. “I love it. I love it so much. I-I can’t believe you designed this for me.”

“Did you see the butterflies?”

She nods, working her throat as she swallows down the emotions I see building in her chest. “Thank you, Wolf. This is everything to me.” She throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist and tucking her head into my chest. I’m careful to grip her by the shoulders.

“I know, princess. I know.”

37

Epilogue

Five months later

Serena:

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask, shaking while I hold the tattoo gun.

“Yes, Serena,” Wolf sighs, sitting shirtless and upright on the tattoo chair.

“But what if I hurt you?”

He raises his eyebrow, and I am so tempted to wipe the smug look off of his face. “Princess, it’s a tattoo; of course it’s going to fucking hurt.” When I got home from my summer class this afternoon, Wolf called, asking me to come to the tattoo shop. He never told me that he wanted me to tattoo something on his damn chest.

“But what if you bleed?”

“Again, it’s a tattoo. Why are you so nervous about this?”

“Wolfric, I am nervous because I am permanently inking something on your skin, which is a collection of art and beauty and detail. Have you seen my pottery? The vase I made in my class last week looks like an anus.”

I watch as Wolf’s forehead wrinkles and his eyebrows pull down. “That was a vase? I thought it was a fruit bowl.”

“Why would I put flowers in a fruit bowl?”

“Fuck if I know. I still can’t figure out how you organize half the shit in your apartment.” He scowls, shaking his head at me. “Okay, princess. Now, can we do this tattoo? I don’t have all night.” Wolf twists his body and reaches for me, grabbing my waist and hauling me onto his lap. My legs fall on either side of him, and I straddle him while my right hand is still gripping Wolf’s tattoo machine.

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