He witnessed a perplexed look come across Milan’s face.
“Our son didn’t make it. She lost the baby, seven months pregnant. It was a hard time, for both of us. We weren’t mature enough to handle that sort of loss.” He swallowed, and collected himself. He hadn’t discussed it in quite some time, and never with a customer.
Milan’s eyes now held something he’d seen one too many times — a look of regret, of discovery mixed with smidgens of sorrow. She appeared to withdraw within herself, on the hunt for the right words.
“Oh, Julian, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, as if afraid to even speak.
He shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ve had years to process what happened, to grieve and move forward.” At least, that was what he told himself. “This happened, you know? It was part of my life. I married my best friend. She and I went to high school together, we loved one another, but we weren’t a good couple,” he explained. He wasn’t even sure why he was laying all this heavy stuff at this woman’s feet, but she seemed to need to hear it, more than he needed to hold it close, keep it hidden. Besides, there was nothing to conceal and every time he thought of his son, he smiled a bit on the inside, too. This was good, he surmised, for now; this discussion meant that someone else in the world knew his baby, too… That made his child all the more real.
“We had this experience, and it bonded us together. I’ve endured all sorts of losses, Milan. That’s one reason why I can empathize with you, you know? I lost my father to a motorcycle accident just ten months ago. I can’t show you, it’s on my back, but I have a tattoo in his memory as well.
“Two of my really good friends also perished in the last three years. It’s been one loss after another. If it wasn’t some disease, it was an accident or some act of nature.” He folded his hands across his chest, clad in a white T-shirt. “I understand that, for me, death is just another level of life.”
Milan remained quiet, but her eyes spoke a whole lot. He was feeling rather talkative with her, believing somewhere deep inside of her, she needed to hear what he had to say, as much as he desired to share it.
“I don’t believe our spirits can ever be destroyed once they are created. I believe that whole-heartedly. The death of this,” he pinched his flesh wrapped around his wrist, “is just our shell, you know? All this ink, I can’t take it with me. But I have it now, while I am walkin’ around in this temple, in this human form. Later, I’ll have something else, or maybe a new human form, I don’t know. But, I do know that death isn’t it. For many, it’s just the beginning.” He sighed. “Sorry to go off on a tangent there.” He grinned. “Just explaining my philosophy about it is all.”
“No, I appreciate that, I really do.” And then, she cut it short, but her lips were still parted, as if she wanted to speak a bit more. He decided to break the silence, let her off the hook.
“Hey, would you like a cup of tea?”
“I think I need to be awake for this, Julian,” she quipped.
“Not chamomile.” He grinned. “How about some white tea? It relaxes a bit, not to the point of sleepiness though, and has great antioxidants that would help infection.”
“Oh well, sure, yeah. That sounds just fine.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back. Um, before I go, I’ll need you to remove your shirt.” He winked, then turned and headed out the door to fix a hot, relaxing elixir to help soothe the woman’s wound up nerves…
~***~
CHAPTER FOUR
Milan found herself clearing her throat over and over in the most grotesque way. She hated when that happened, a feeling usually brought on by stress and anxiety.
He’s bringing tea…good. He keeps winking at me, too.
She bit her inner lower lip, stifling a smile at the revelation, but just as fast as that smile was born, it went away to live its life somewhere else.
Poor man lost his child. That had to have been horrible. Then lost his father to a motorcycle accident, and friends, as well. My father is gone, too…
She suddenly realized that she’d been wasting time, sitting there in contemplation. He’d told her to undress, yet, her shirt was still on, and a cold chill ran down her spine.
Of course I have to take it off…but I only have my sports bra under here. I don’t want to be in front of him with only my bra on! Why didn’t I wear the tank top? That’s what I get for dressing flirty, instead of thinking this through. I must be desperate… This man isn’t even my type. I couldn’t keep a relationship after Mom got sick, and here I am, jumping on the first man I see, just silly.
She snatched at the buttons of her red, sheer shirt, angrily tearing them apart from the holes. She loved that blouse, but now, it took a beating as she took out her angst and worries against it. She flung the shirt on the nearby table, slumped back down and ran her hand through her hair as she waited, smoldering in her own thoughts. Soon, the door opened, and there the man was, holding the cup of tea and a silvery-blue bag.
“The crowd will be thinning out some, but you are safe back here. No one will see you or walk in, or anything.” He re-locked the door.
What she found so amazing was, the man didn’t size her up. He didn’t try to get an eyeful; he simply went on about his way as if nothing out of the ordinary were taking place. And why wouldn’t he? She smirked a bit. Surely he’d seen his share of half nude bodies in his place of employment. Hell, probably even completely nude. She was small potatoes. He handed her the warm cup.
“Thank you.” She took a hearty sip, regretting it once she realized it was a wee bit hotter than she’d anticipated.
“You’re welcome. Now, are you still getting it on your upper right shoulder?”
“Yes, that way I can cover it if need be, you know, but not need long sleeved shirts necessarily.”
He nodded in understanding as he grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a bag of cotton balls.
“Finish your tea if you wish, then when you’re ready, lie across the table on your stomach.”
She took a couple more sips, nervously set the cup down, then looked both ways as if waiting for crossing traffic. Looking down, she noticed he’d laid a clean, white towel along the table. She laid her chin on the headrest and looked straight ahead, at a calendar with red numerals. She wished she had a fast forward button, especially once she heard a chair moving about, the wheels rolling around as if in a doctor’s office.
Oh shit…
She sighed as she heard him wearing gloves, snapping them in place.
“Milan, I’m going to explain everything that I’m doing, step by step. You have nothing to worry about.” He gave her a reassuring tap on her upper back and then, before she knew it, he poured the cool liquid on her arm and made gentle strokes, cleaning the area.
“I’m just cleaning the tattoo site, getting it ready. After that, I’m going to shave the area. Once I do that, I will clean it yet again. At that point, I’m going to make some lines on your skin, points of reference, in order to get the outline of the tattoo complete. Any questions, sweetheart?”
Did he call me sweetheart? He did. Just let it go…
She shook her head.
“Okay, good.” He scooted up a bit closer to her and, after applying shaving cream to her shoulder, he took out a small, wet razor. Suddenly, he rose and moved away, as if he’d forgotten something on a stove and rushed to switch it off. The music came to an abrupt halt.
“Is something wrong?” she called out.
“No, not at all.”
But when the music changed, she gripped the table and sucked her breath. He’d put on Delibes’ ‘Flower Duet’ — the one song that always turned her into an emotional mess.
It’s still…so…beautiful…takes me right back to resting on her lap…
“Is that okay, Milan?”
“Mmmm hmmm…” She was speechless. There were literally billions of opera songs in this big, wide world, yet he’d somehow chosen one that she and her mother adored. To make the whole situation even more h
eart stopping, he lessened their distance by drawing near, his crotch close to her face. Like a gentle wind, he placed a yellow rose behind her ear — eliciting a small scream and a smile — then returned to his seat.
“Okay, let’s continue.” He just went on, as if what he’d just done was customary. A few minutes later, he was outlining her skin.
“This is called a thermal-fax. This method is far faster than the old school methods we used for tracing, which, many times, were by hand.”
“Oh boy, that kinda tickles…” She smiled, looking next to the calendar at a silver-framed mirror, which allowed her to see him more clearly.
“Does it?” He offered a crooked smile, his eyes glued to his work. Boy did he have a beautiful smile… She looked at him a bit closer, taking liberties as the mirror allowed her to steal secret glances.
He is so sexy… What am I saying?
“I’m just using a little deodorant as an adhesive. It’ll be over in just a moment…violà! It’s on.”
“Mmmm, that wasn’t so bad.” She laughed lightly.
“Yes, if only it were that simple.” He smiled indulgently. “Milan, now, I’m going to place these ink caps, which is the ink coloring, into this machine here. My tools have been sterilized. I’ve already got the distilled water here for cleaning the needles during your procedure. In your case, I will only be using black, white, a little green, yellow, orange and a little brown. The colors are for details in the flower, it will allow me to draw contrast, causing the flower to appear realistic in appearance.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve put a little ointment over the image transfer, and that will help the design stay on there, not be smudged as my hands move around. I’m left handed, so I tend to tilt my arm in odd ways sometimes, which could force me to stop and redraw, and that could make things harder for me. This application helps prevent that from being a problem. … Now, I know you’re nervous, so, I want you to take a deep breath.”
He looked in the mirror at her, waiting for her to follow his instructions. Milan sucked in air, and then exhaled.
“Good. Try to breathe normally from here on out, okay? Try to stay relaxed, and keep it steady. When I put the first needle in you for the outline, it will be uncomfortable. After a while though, I promise, it will get better. Your skin will acclimate to it. Any questions?”
She liked how he kept checking in with her, making sure she wasn’t about to pass out or lose her mind.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied. And he seemed to realize it, too. The man gave her a reassuring grin and then, her teeth clamped down as he began.
Oh shit!
She wanted to curse and tell him off, let the world know she’d been wounded, but the music was so beautiful, as well as his face, that she melted into her pain, rendered quiet. Thoughts of what a fool she was for doing this flooded her mind but dissipated as his hands worked against her body.
“Everything is juuuuuust fine. You’re doing great,” he said over the quiet buzz of the needle as he worked his painful magic on her form.
“This hurts!” she finally blurted, daring herself to stay put.
“A lot of things hurt that are worth having, and doing. Pain is a part of life. You’ll live, I promise.”
Is he being a smart ass?!
How could he go from being so wonderful, kind and loving to one that ripped the sheets right from under her? The man she’d been crushing on, she was now cursing out in her mind. Actually, he’d done nothing wrong. She understood what he was doing. He was trying to get her to focus. He’d tried coddling her, and now, he was down to business. The show had already begun; there was no need to back out now. She expected some pain, but this was worse than she’d imagined. She figured she was a fraidy-cat, and tried to suck it up the best she could, at least for the time being.
“When I switch mags, I’ll let you know. I will need to in order to take care of the shading, and the coloring of the flower. I will remind you when that’s happening, but by then, I assure you, you will be much more relaxed.”
“What are mags?” She winced, but kept her declarations of torture to herself.
“The needles. Mags is short for magnums.”
Magnums…unbelievable. She was in too much pain to fully enjoy the sexual twists she could turn with such information.
“Um, I read about the aftercare, but to kinda take my mind off of what is going on right now, and to help me envision the finish line, can you tell me about it?” She knew she looked downright pitiful, but she couldn’t help herself. He offered a warm smile and scooted in a bit closer to her.
“Absolutely.”
Her stomach flipped. His voice was deep and soothing, rich with flavor…she loved it. It preceded him, aged with wisdom, while his body stood out in pristine, youthful form.
“Once we are finished, I will apply another layer of ointment and this one will be anti-bacterial. I will then bandage up your shoulder and have you leave it on for approximately three days, but check it every night for unusual reddening, anything like that. Milan?”
“…Yes?”
“You’re going to love this, I can guarantee it. You’re not going to regret it. And look, your muscles are relaxing already.”
The man was right. She hadn’t even noticed that, as he continued to speak to her over the music, she’d heated a bit to his touch.
She cleared her throat. “You said anything worth having is painful, or something like that. What did you mean by that?” she asked as she glared at him in the mirror.
“I mean, the good things in life sometimes hurt at first. Like childbirth. The end result is wonderful. And like…oh, nevermind.” He smirked and stuck his head closer to her, as if trying to hide himself.
“No, like what?” she begged, still needing the distraction.
“It’s not something that would be appropriate for me to say to a customer, so let’s just move on and—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Come on, you can tell me. I want to talk. I need to talk or I am going to go crazy.”
Julian sighed, his shoulders slumped as if she’d asked him something deeply personal, yet his eyes gleamed with mischief.
“Alright. What I was going to say, it is kind of like the first time a woman has sex, her first time being penetrated.” He turned away, avoiding her gaze, as if slightly shy about his own admissions, though he said it with confidence.
“Mmmm.” She smirked and shook her head. “Never thought about it like that.”
“Well, there are similarities. Like, the needle going into your body is a type of violation. That first time you felt the needle hit your skin, it hurt, but now, look, ten minutes later, you’re okay, riding the wave of pain. Once it is all over, your first lover or, in this case, your artist — if he is any good and cares about you and the quality of his work — will make sure that though aspects of this experience may have been unpleasant, you are pleased and satisfied in the end. The final product is your completed tattoo, your climax, so to speak.
“Some people believe you can’t have pleasure in the midst of pain, but that’s not true. The same nerves are being used to deliver either message to your mind and that is why a very thin line separates sensations of pleasure and pain. Our brains tell us which feeling we are receiving, but with a few adjustments, pleasure and pain can turn into their total opposite and what may hurt one person, may make another person feel completely euphoric. Additionally, should you decide to get any future tattoos, you’d want to return to me…as your first tattoo artist, to do it again and again and again.”
“And why would that be?” she egged him on, feeling even more relaxed the longer he spoke. She could feel her eyes hooding as he lulled her away somewhere illicit and wicked.
“Because it would have gotten good to you.” He paused and looked at her through the mirror, as if trying to read her mind. “…And you know I’d be happy to give a repeat performance, hopefully better each and every time…”
Her fuckin
g groin was quaking. Did this joker really have to compare what he was doing with sex? And he did it so damn eloquently.
“That almost sounds like drug addiction,” she joked, trying to switch up the mood, break the sexual tension lest she explode.
He nodded. “Sex is a natural drug. The hormones our bodies release during intercourse are similar to those found in opiates. Pleasure is addictive. So is pain, for some people. Love within itself is a drug. We spend our lives trying to be accepted and loved by people. It’s a never ending chase to a finish line that doesn’t exist; it just wasn’t meant to be.”
He swallowed, then got back to work, as if he were holding back, biting his tongue. No, she wouldn’t let him. The conversation was too interesting for her to release just yet.
“What do you mean?” she urged him. She had an idea, actually, of what the man was saying. At this point, despite her discomfort, she just enjoyed hearing him talk. His voice was slightly raspy, and he spoke slowly, as if he were teaching a class. His voice was so damn relaxing, the man should have been doing hypnosis tapes — and she didn’t want him to stop talking. Not now, not ever.
“Being perpetually in that state of ‘falling in love’ is an illusion. True love is what we should become attached to. I was just saying that, too many times, we follow our suns instead of our moons, when we should follow it all…the stars, the planets, everything.”
She chuckled. “So we’ve gone from sex to drug addiction to astrology.”
“They’re all one in the same, in some respects,” he said matter-of-factly as his thick, dark brows bunched while he concentrated extra hard on his work. He paused, dabbed at her flesh with a moist cotton ball, and then continued. “You think astrology is a bunch of bunk?” He grinned wide.
She looked at him through the mirror and knew that smile wasn’t genuine. One thing she’d learned about him during this brief interaction was that the greater he smiled, the more serious something was to him, or at least, it appeared that way. He’d smiled while talking about the tattoo of his stillborn child; he’d smiled when discussing the loss of his father. Julian was either hiding pain, learned to live with the shit side by side, or had found some mysterious, glittery pill to cure it. She wanted to know what made the man smile during tragedies. Whatever it was, she needed some.
Scandalous Heroes Box Set Page 63
