Page 11 of Mara
The dumbfuck melted some more, and Dayze rolled her eyes.
Alina knew the drill and walked with me to the back of the booth. I set up shop, watching her sip the water. But not enough to feel the effects like I needed. I gave her a nudge, reaching over to keep the bottle tipped up for her to drink. “Suck on that more, baby,” I said in a husky tone. “You know I make you sweat.”
She gulped and choked on the water.
“With my needle. Tattoos take a lot out of a pretty girl, you know that.”
Alina blushed like the love-sick fool she was.
“Oh, you take such good care of me,” she purred, her saggy tits pushed up with her arms as she leaned into me. “I always knew you didn’t like hurting someone with that big ol’ needle of yours.”
I let the mask slip just a little, curious about how someone like this woman would handle it.
“Not with my needle.” I agreed.
Alina blinked, slowly pulling away and clearing her throat. Quiet for once in her god damn life. She fought a yawn, and I smiled, gesturing for her to lie down. The stupid tattoo on her neck was so chewed up. The last session was still slightly red, and she never took proper care of any of my work afterwards. Alina yawned again, trying to update me on the newest dude’s name.
“Change it to my lover. He’s a fox. Much like what I imagine you to be, a big boy. His name is Rex.”
I smiled with a professional bullshit smile, got my needle set up, and my shades of grey. I loved being a tattooist. In a world where everyone was black and white, I loved seeing every shade they hid behind. There were so many shades of grey. And thenthere was me. So dark I didn’t appear on the color spectrum. I was simply a shadow.
I recapped my work and all the previous cover-ups. Taking this from a different angle, I leaned over her head and started the line of the new name, curling the font to conceal the past work.
My script was perfect, and it drove me nuts to constantly ruin my past work. Unlike the usual sessions, Alina whined for a minute before falling asleep so that I could work in peace. I finished the piece and then got my tattoo machine ready for my signature.
In an invisible ink that was visible only under black light, I covered the tattoo with another name. The name of my obsession. The name of my call to sanity. The name that would be my undoing as I moaned it every fucking time I came.
Mara.
The rest of my evening shift at Wellard was dragging on. I found myself unable to just settle the fuck down. I couldn’t get my mind off those tattooed fingers, wicked tongue, and…my sister.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I started my patient rounding, trying to put my mind on something that wasn’t lusting after my sister’s douche canoe boyfriend. I needed to tell her the truth. I needed to tell her what a slime ball that man was and how she deserved better.
Gigi’s soft voice kept replaying in my mind. She truly didn’t believe she could do better. She was so soft, so sweet, and breakable, and always had been. Even when we were kids, I was the one who had to learn to toughen up and ignore the stings ofpain. I had to push through it and endure it all so she didn’t have to. Our father was one of those many stings.
Half the scars adorning my body were from him…the other half were from my own hand.
I didn’t have an excuse for why I craved the blade.
I didn’t fall for the wrong man, I didn’t get jumped by strangers, not without consent.
I didn’t have a reason to want to feel that burn. Yet I treasured my razor more than I did anything…other than Cheese. Cheese wasn’t a dairy product. He was my fluff-butt ferret that smelled like old feet, hence his name, Cheese.
I thought at the time it was better than calling him ‘Stinky Parmesan Foot.’
Alice stared at me over her bed rail as usual. Watching me intently as I checked her chart for any new medications or occurrences.
Alice was our residential ghost watcher. She always told you when there was a spirit trying to talk to you. When I first started, she got hung up on my name. She told me that it meant death. Though that was oddly disturbing, it brought a sort of kinship between her and me. Now, when I made my rounds, she spoke to me about the spirits who hung around Wellard. Today, she seemed on edge.
“Good evening, Alice,” I said kindly, walking up to her bed and lightly tapping my finger on the metal in front of her unblinking gaze.
She sighed and unraveled from her fixation.
“They were talking to me. It’s rude to interrupt, dear.”
I smiled and walked over to my cart, grabbing her medication and heading back to her.
