Page 8 of Brittle Heart

I cringe internally. She must have noticed me almost falling asleep, and now I will probably get in trouble.

I walk up to her desk, managing not to yawn in her face. “Professor Summer.”

“Ms. Costa. I have an opportunity for you that you won’t be able to refuse,” she says.

I furrow my brow. It wasn’t what I had expected her to say. “I’m listening.”

“A friend of mine who works in the Crime Analysis Unit at the NYPD headquarters in Lower Manhattan told me that her intern suddenly quit. She asked me if I knew anyone suitable to replace him,” she says. My eyes widen. It is the best internship opportunity a forensic toxicology student could dream of. “I told her that my favorite student would definitely seize that opportunity.”

I just blink at her in disbelief. “Are you talking about me?” I ask, sounding like a complete idiot.

She laughs. “Of course, I’m talking about you, Carolina. You’re incredibly intelligent and dedicated. I’ve never seen a student as passionate about the subject as you are.”

I blush, feeling both honored and humbled. “Thank you so much. This means a lot.”

She nods approvingly. “So, can I inform her that you’ll start on Monday? Just head to the main office after your classes, and they’ll guide you through everything.”

I nod. “Thank you so much for this incredible opportunity, Professor Summer.”

“Just make sure you don’t quit and make me regret my decision. Landing a job at the NYPD after this internship is in the cards, and it presents a fantastic career pathway. I’ve heard they pay the interns well too. Perhaps well enough for you to leave your other jobs,” she says, surprising me with her knowledge of my personal life. She reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll achieve when you’re not running on just a few hours of sleep every day,” she says, her eyes filled with genuine kindness.

I bite my lip. “Wow… I… thank you,” I manage to say before I hurriedly leave the classroom.

I’m somehow able to keep my bored expression on the outside, but I’m doing a happy dance inside. The last thing I need is for her to see me acting like a fool.

OhDio.

This is the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me. My ultimate goal has always been to work at the NYPD as a forensic toxicologist, and now it doesn’t feel like an unattainable dream anymore. If I handle this wisely, there’s a real chance I could get hired after college.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

Initially, I planned to go home, do some laundry, and perhaps take a nap before my shift at the bar. I also wanted to browse the internet for cafés that are hiring. However, my mood has skyrocketed, and my tiredness has vanished completely.

Now that I have secured an awesome, seemingly well-paying job, there’s no reason to hold back on getting my tattoo. I pull out my phone and search for the tattoo parlor address, figuring out which subway line I need to take.

* * *

Darkened Dermis, a tattoo shop I’ve been following for years on social media, is owned by a talented artist named Xander. His work is incredible. I love every piece he posts, and I’ve always known that if I ever get a tattoo, it would be from him.

The idea for my tattoo has been in my mind for quite some time. The design symbolizes my parents and encompasses the principles I live by, all while reflecting my personal style. I hope Xander can bring this idea to life on my skin exactly as I envision it, but I don’t think this will be an issue since his talent speaks for itself. My only concern is whether he will be interested in my concept and has the availability.

My twenty-second birthday is just a week away, and I want to get this tattoo done as a gift to myself. Last year, I treated myself to a nose piercing—a delicate gold ring.

Once a year, I do something solely for me, giving me something to look forward to until Chiara turns eighteen and we can finally leave. I may not have much extra money to spare, but I make it a point to set aside a small portion of my tips throughout the year. At times, I know it’s selfish. I could save that money to buy Chiara a bigger birthday gift each June, save for her future, but I need this one thing for me.

As I stand outside the shop, it already appears impressive with a dark and edgy atmosphere I like. The door makes a gentle ding when I open it, and I step inside. The space is small but surprisingly well-lit, much brighter than I had expected. I imagined it might feel more like a cave, but it’s actually inviting. “Sex and Candy” by Marcy Playground plays softly in the back.

To the right, a door swings open, revealing a mountain of a man who steps out while focused on a tablet in his hands. He’s dressed in black jeans fastened with a black belt, a fitted black T-shirt, and a black beanie. He has tattoos extending from his throat to his fingers, and I can only imagine there are many more that remain hidden. He sports a light brown beard and a nose ring, and when his gaze meets mine, his big gray eyes fixate on me intently. He doesn’t offer a smile as he approaches the register, placing his tablet down and resting both hands on the surface, causing his muscles to bulge as he leans forward.

“Hey, how can I help you?” he asks in a deep voice.

I think he is the most attractive man I have ever seen, and I have to clear my throat before speaking. “Hey, I would like to get a tattoo done by Xander,” I say, trying hard to maintain eye contact but feeling the need to look away.

“That would be me,” he offers.

I feel like a fool.How could I sit there and let this scorching-hot man touch my skin for hours without hyperventilating?

“Sure, sorry,” I say, feeling my bored façade slip away under his gaze, making me even more nervous.

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