Page 24 of Jackson
“Will it hurt really bad? You know how much of a coward Iam.”
“Yes. It will burn, but I’ll take care ofyou.”
“If it’s that painful, why did you have so many?” Iasked.
“Because I like thepain.”
I looked sharply at him. He was staring out to sea as he finished hissandwich.
“What was it you said last night? Pain is good if something beautiful comes out of it,” hesaid.
“I think you’re beautiful,” Iwhispered.
He slowly looked at me. “Not on the inside,Summer.”
Before I had a chance to reply, he stood and held out his hand for me. I took it and silently, he led me back into the kitchen. He locked the doors and picked up his keys before leading me to the front door. Once again there was no opportunity for conversation as his songs blasted in the car. I began to wonder if music was his shield. The louder it was, the less chance oftalk.
We drove for a while, following the coastal road. Eventually we arrived outside a small parade of shops. Nestled in the middle was a tattoo shop. Jack parked the car and we climbed out. He took hold of my hand as we entered the shop. The smell of antiseptic, the sound of rock music, and the buzz of a tattoo gun assaulted mysenses.
“Jack, buddy. How the fuck areyou?”
Sitting in a chair, tattooing himself, was a man. He had a shaved head, holes where his earlobes should have been, and not one piece of bareskin.
“Summer, this is the famous Bridge,” Jacksonsaid.
“Bridge?”
“Dumb name, Iknow.”
Bridge rose from his chair and walked towards us. He gripped Jackson’s hand and they bumped shoulders. He gave me a broad smile and I tried to hide the shock at the sight of the piercings on his face. He had a ring through his nose, two in his lower lip, numerous barbells in each eyebrow, and I had no idea if the row of small silver studs that crossed his brow were piercings or stuckon.
“Hey, Summer. It’s good to meet you. What are you here for, bro?” Bridge said, turning back toJack.
“She needs marking, my friend,” Jacksonreplied.
“You know where it all is. I have a client in about twenty minutes. You guys want a beer? I’m not supposed to offer alcoholbut…”
“Sure. I think I might need a little Dutch courage,” Ireplied.
He chuckled as he walked away. Jackson led me to a black chair in front of a mirrored wall. A shelf held all the ink and a metal tray with the gun was placed to one side ofit.
“Sit,” he said, after he wiped the seat down with a paper towel soaked insomething.
He used his foot to control a pedal underneath and the chair turned into a bed. I giggled as I fell backwards. My giggles stopped when I felt his fingers on the buttons on my shorts. Like he had the previous night, he raised my top until it was just under my breasts and pulled my shorts down to the top of my panties. I watched him tear off a piece of absorbent paper from a roll. I tried hard not to convulse off the bed when he tucked that paper under the waistband of my panties. His fingers very gently brushed against myskin.
Bridge came back and placed two bottles on the shelf besideus.
“Shit, man, that is fucked,” he said, as he examined the drawing Jack had done on mystomach.
“Does that mean fucked as in good or bad?” Iasked.
“It’s fucking awesome, we need that in the catalogue,” hereplied.
“No, this is exclusive, just for her,” Jacksonreplied.
Bridge placed his hand on Jackson’s shoulder andlaughed.
“How’s D-J?” heasked.
