Page 2 of Lies Like Love

I scratch my forearm and try to itch the nerves that just found their way to the surface. My nails rake my skin hard enough to leave red marks, and the sight makes my stomach sink, so I carefully move my collection of bracelets back into place to cover them.

Maren’s gaze drops to where I’m rubbing my arm and she frowns, knowing too much as best friends always do. Luckily, she doesn’t say anything about it as she continues to pull me along beside her in silence.

Turning a few more corners, we finally stop in front of a shop that looks like every other one on the street—underlit and unimpressive.

“Isn’t it incredible?”

It’s something all right. Butincredibleisn’t the word I’d use to describe it.

Twisted Roses might be known for their celebrity client list, but from the outside, it looks like any other dingy tattoo parlor in downtown LA.

Neon lights, red velvet. Dancing skeletons painted on the window that taunt anyone who walks by.

TheOon their open sign is flickering like it’s about to go out, and nothing about this place feels welcoming. If anything, the skeletons smile in a dare—begging you to step foot inside so they can do what they wish with you.

My throat tightens and my skin itches.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath to settle my nerves, but my nose is flooded with the scent of a wet city filled with trash. Someone nearby is either puking, pissing, or smoking a joint.

Last night’s storm soaked the ground and I already feel another one coming.

The shift, the change.The thunder.

The sky’s ready to release some rage.

My eyes fly open when a group of girls stumbles out of the club next door to the tattoo parlor. They’re laughing and singing at the top of their lungs as the three of them hook arms so they don’t fall over in their five-inch heels.

They remind me of my Barbies growing up. Sterilized perfection straight out of the package. Dyed hair, painted faces, perfectly trim bodies. Beauty that’s been curated to be absolutely flawless, but it’s the kind of pretty that’s rarely natural.

I can’t help but wonder if they had mothers like mine who constantly reminded them nothing is good enough as-is. Teaching them on a daily basis that perfection is difficult but attainable, and the only way to make someone love you.

My mother failed to mention love is also like crystal. Beautiful so long as you don’t let it crack. All it takes is one tap for the veins of imperfection to spread until it shatters.

The door to the club swings open again and music filters out to the tune of a heartbeat.

Thumping.

Thumping.

A sign of something coming?

“Let’s go.” Maren tugs my hand. “The girl on the phone said he’s here until eleven.”

She drags me into the parlor and my senses are overwhelmed by the scent of bleach. So strong it burns my nose and stings my eyes. The air is sterile, and it should be comforting given what they do, but for some reason, it’s just another reminder of how dirty it feels to be this far outside of my comfort zone.

One step inside Twisted Roses and the teeth of reality nip at my unmarked skin. The shop’s walls are as decorated as the receptionist’s body, while I’m out of place.

I’ve never even considered getting a tattoo. And besides my ears, I’ve never dared to pierce anything.

Maren releases my hand and walks over to the front desk. The girl sitting behind it has her feet kicked up and she’s reading a magazine. She doesn’t bother to look up as Maren leans against the display case and starts talking, not that Maren seems to care.

I hang back and circle the lobby, trying to pinpoint what about this place feels so familiar.

Every wall is covered in clashing images. And where I’m used to businesses that are set up to make a person feel welcome from the moment you step inside, everything about this place does the opposite.

One wall is covered in a portrait made entirely of eyes. Some open, some closed, some melting, some bleeding. While another wall is decorated with wilting flowers and skeletons. The entire scene is a collection of images saturated with death.

A wooden ribcage with daisies blooming.

---