“Would you like to look through some books? Or do you want to sit with me and tell me what brought you in? I may be able to come up with a design specifically for you.”
Her mouth spreads into a thin-lipped smile. “I…” she looks down, avoiding eye contact with me. “I have a scar I want covered.” Her voice is resigned.
“Where is it?”
A chill of silence envelops the small waiting room. Stephanie’s breath comes in shallow, quick gasps as tension distorts her face.
A cold knot forms in my stomach, and my pulse begins to beat erratically, not knowing where Stephanie’s scar is. Not knowing how she endured it.
Her eyes dart nervously back and forth. When they finally meet mine, she gulps hard, and tears slip down her cheeks.
Walking from behind the counter, I stand in front of her. Reaching out, I lace my fingers with hers. “Hey, it’s okay, you can take your time and let me know when you decide on a design."
Stephanie lifts her other hand and points to her chest, above her left breast.
Her mouth takes an unpleasant twist. “He cut me one night after a fight.” She could hardly lift her voice above a whisper. “He came home drunk, and I told him I had enough. I couldn’t keep living like that.” As the words begin to flow, she seems to gather strength.
“He grabbed a knife from the counter and yanked me by my hair, holding the knife against my throat. I pleaded for him to let me go. I struggled to get away from him, and he pulled the knife across my chest, then pushed me to the floor, screaming if I didn’t want him, he’d make sure no one else would want me either.”
“May I?” I ask, holding my arms open. She nods.
I wrap my arms around Stephanie, pulling her against my chest. “I am so sorry you suffered that.”
I’m not one who usually has an emotional connection with my clients, or people in general, unless I am close to them. Hearing what she went through reminds me of how cruel people can be. I can relate to being hurt by someone you trusted and left with scars to remind you of it day after day.
She pulls back after a few seconds, lifting her fingers to her cheeks, wiping away tears. “I’m so embarrassed about it; I always wear shirts to cover it. I feel so ugly.”
“You are far from ugly, but I can help you feel beautiful again.” My voice breaks. “Can you come to my station and show me? This way, I know how large the tattoo will need to be to cover it.”
“Of course.” Following me to my station, Stephanie unbuttons her shirt with shaking hands. She takes it off, standing before me in a bra. The jagged red scar is apparent on her pale skin. The scar sits over her left breast, going up toward her shoulder.
“Tell me about things you like.” I point to the table where the albums containing my work sit. “What style are you interested in? You are my canvas, and I need your input, especially if we are hiding a scar. This piece has to be something you love one thousand percent.”
The two of us go through the albums, and Stephanie points out a few designs she loves. I’m going to combine what she selected to create her design.
“Give me a couple of minutes. I’m going to draw a few things up for you.”
“Okay.”
I leave Stephanie at my station, comfortable in my chair, while I walk to the back room to sketch up a few ideas. Once I have three options, I walk back out to meet Stephanie. “Here’s what I came up with.” I lay out the drawings on the table. Stephanie’s hand covers her mouth, tears glistening on her pale, heart-shaped face.
“This one is perfect.”
“I agree. I’ll get you prepped, then I’ll do the stencil and transfer.”
A few minutes pass, and I return with the stencil in hand, and we find the perfect placement to cover the scar.
My finger taps on the music app on my phone, and I select a playlist then set my phone on my station.
“You ready?” I ask after prepping her skin for the tattoo.
The tattoo machine powers up, and I dip the needle in black ink. Usually, the first time the needle touches a newbie, they jump due to the pain or their nerves, but Stephanie handles it like a champ. The needle glides over her chest, going up and down, depositing ink into her skin. Stephanie grips the side of the chair but doesn’t flinch once. I can only assume she endured much more pain at the hand of her ex than the pain from the needle giving her skin new life.
I wipe her reddened skin, removing the excess ink. I continue with the outlining, which doesn’t take too long. Once the outline is complete, I switch out the needles and begin the shading process.
When I’m done, I wipe the area clean. “Here, have a look, then I’ll go over the aftercare with you and wrap you up.”
“Stronger” by Through Fire plays in the background. How fitting for this moment. Stephanie pushes herself up from my chair and walks over to the wall. Money can’t buy the look on her face when she stands in front of the mirror and views her tattoo for the very first time. We all have our own reasons for wanting to camouflage our body, our scars, and seeing the joy on her face is priceless. I would do this every day if I got to see someone as happy as she is right now. Her eyes widen with shock and fill with a fierce sparkle.
“Mills, you are amazing. I absolutely love it.”
Stephanie opted for a large lily with tribal work coming out of the bottom and top. A butterfly hovers above a lily leaf. The tattoo is done elegantly in shades of black and white, with subtle shading giving the tattoo depth and realism.
A new and unexpected warmth surges through me as I run my fingers over my left wrist, knowing exactly how Stephanie feels.
Our scars are permanent, but the way we wear them can be changed. No one is perfect. We should be proud of our bodies, celebrate our flaws, and embrace our scars.
Chapter Four
Juliette
After hearing Stephanie’s story this afternoon, I need a drink to push the visions of what she went through out of my head. It made me think of my past, things I try to forget. We both suffered abuse at the hands of people who were supposed to love us. It’s a story I know too well.
A trip to Murphy’s will definitely help tonight. Good thing it isn’t located too far from Novocain. It’s a laid-back bar with old rock and roll nostalgia on the walls, a stage, and a few pool tables in a room in the back. Murphy’s isn’t anything elaborate, just a great place to hang out with friends, see some local bands play, knock back a few drinks, and eat some surprisingly tasty bar food. Working most nights till closing, I don’t get to spend much time here anymore, but when I can, I make sure to stop by for a visit.
When I walk in, Jerry the bartender immediately waves me over to the bar situated along the entire back wall. Several bartenders are shuffling around one another to fill requests. Patrons are lined up in rows around the small area. Waitresses are hollering orders to the bartenders as they weave through the masses with trays held high in the air. The place is jam-packed with sports fans sporting their basketball jerseys, rooting for their team, wanting them to clinch the division in the playoffs. Jerry is finishing up talking to someone by the bar when I slip into an empty spot.
“How’s my favorite girl doing? Long time, no see,” Jerry says.
I pull out two twenties from my wallet then set them on the bar. “Shit’s been busy as hell, so I can’t complain.”
“Let me know when you have an opening. I have an idea for a new piece I want on my back.”
“Give me a call tomorrow, I’ll check my book and see when I can get you in.”
He nods. “Sounds good. So what can I get you tonight?”
“Double shot of apple Crown, ginger ale with little ice.”
Jerry pushes off the bar. “Coming right up.”
My eyes roam around the bar, looking to see if any of my friends are here, or any of the guys from the shop. Since we’re closed on Sundays, they usually come here to hang out. I notice Zeke and Dane sitting at a table along the opposite wall each with a girl on their lap.
My gaze cuts sideways, noticing the canvas of impressive artwork on his strong arms. I can admire another artist’s work. It’s a craft that takes years of practice, and I appreciate the hours put into it.
Jerry approaches with my drink, clearing his throat. “Here ya go, sweetheart.” Jerry eyes the man standing next to me. “What can I get you?”
Lifting the tumbler to my lips, I enjoy the satisfying burn from the mouthful I swallow.
“I’ll have what the beautiful lady is having.”
Feeling the weight of his stare, I look over at him. The black T-shirt molds to his body, revealing broad shoulders, a core of solid muscle, and a lean waist. If I look close enough, I may be able to count the number of abs he has. His deep blue eyes lock with mine for a long moment. Starting at my feet, he does a slow sweep over my body. My nipples harden while I watch his cobalt-colored eyes as he appraises my entire body.
He leans into me, and I get a strong whiff of his fresh scent, like warm laundry fresh out of the dryer. His head dips to whisper next to my ear. “You fucking the old guy?” His voice is hoarse and sexy as fuck. His breath against my skin causes a fire inside my body to burn. What the hell is the matter with me? I had sex the other day, I should be good for a little while. Although I crave the touch of a man, I have a full drawer of toys to serve their purpose when needed.
I pull back, putting some space between us, and I laugh. “Excuse me?” My eyes bore into him.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “He called you sweetheart when he delivered your drink. When I walked up, he looked at me as if he was staking his claim on you. I want to make sure I’m not poaching on another man’s territory.”
His flawless complexion alone would make anyone do a double-take. But it’s not his face that draws my attention as much as it is the artwork decorating his strong arms down to the tops of both hands. Parts of a back piece peek out above his shirt on the back of his neck. The rich outlines of his shoulders strain against the fabric. His dark hair is wild and mussed, looking like he just ran his fingers through it.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. I’m not with him, nor have I ever been.”
I trace the rim of my glass with my finger, trying not to focus on his beautiful face. I divert my eyes to the television mounted to the wall above the bar and attempt to ignore his presence.
“Has anyone ever told you your eyes are beautiful?”
Without taking my eyes off the game, I reply, “If you think that line is going to get you anywhere with me, you better try harder. I’m not that type of girl.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice he arches a brow. My comment must have hit a nerve. “Trust me, you’d want to come home with me. Know that for sure.”
His remark sure as hell got my attention. My eyes widen, and I feel the heat of a blush on my cheeks. Every hair on my scalp stands at attention, every skin cell tingles, every neuron is on fire. What the hell is wrong with me?
I anchor my attention on the hot as fuck man standing next to me. For some reason, his comment makes me want to study him more. I lock eyes with him, wanting to ask what he wants from me. Instead, I lift my drink to my lips and take a deep mouthful, letting the liquid warm my throat.
My thoughts run away from me, fantasizing about how hard his body is beneath his fitted shirt, how his body would feel against mine, how good he would fuck me.
I shake myself from the spell this man has cast upon me. My heart beats erratically in my chest as I wrap my hand around the tumbler in front of me.
He’s attractive: his hard jaw, his sharp nose, his dark hair. There’s a twinkle in his eye; I’m not sure if it’s arrogance or self-assurance. I know from the way he stands, presents himself, he’s used to getting what he wants. This man surely has no issues attracting women.
I would fuck him. I want to take him home and have him fuck my brains out more than I’ve ever wanted to fuck anyone in my life. A shiver runs through my body just thinking about what those hands could do to me. What his mouth would do to me.
My eyes take in the man standing before me. He is something, that’s for sure. I bring my gaze back up to his, pausing briefly at his mouth.
He leans both forearms on the bar, studying me openly. He looks as if he belongs on the cover of Inked magazine. His dark unruly hair is perfect on him, shaved short on both sides, revealing his tattooed scalp. His jaw is rugged and chiseled with a hint of a five o’clock shadow that gives him an even more manly aura. Blue eyes the color of the ocean and dark lashes capture my attention.
I tip the rim of the glass flirtatiously against my lip, finishing my drink. He runs the tip of his finger over my left arm, and goosebumps cloak my inked skin. Leaning back, I put some distance between us. I don’t like men touching me unless they’re invited to. The fact that my body reacted to him the way it did infuriates me.
He is too good-looking for his own good as he smiles warmly at me. His teeth, even and white, contrast pleasingly with his olive skin. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.”
“You don’t see many girls with full sleeves.”
I smirk. “I’m not like most girls,” I reply, playing with my lip ring.
He smiles proudly. “I can tell.”
My brows furrow. “Really?” This is uncharted territory for me. One, a man never makes me feel uncomfortable around them. I can play the game. I’m always the player, never one to be played. But something about this guy has me uneasy.
He points to my empty glass. “Can I get you another drink?”
Swallowing the knot in my throat, I simply nod while I play with my tongue ring. This is my most beneficial piercing. I’m able to play with it by rolling it around in my mouth at times when I’m stressed, anxious, or nervous. Hence why I’m doing it now. It helps me relax. I can do it without being visible to other people. A better coping mechanism than what I used to resort to years ago, but that’s in the past.
He raises his hand in the air, gaining Jerry's attention. “Can I get two more?”
With his attention back on me, he lets out a low whistle, pointing to my left arm. “Your pieces are good. You can tell the artist knows the craft.”
“Do you think I’d let some half-assed artist work on me? Not gonna happen. Not on my dime.” Jerry places our second round of drinks in front of me.
“Any good shops in the area?”
“As a matter of fact, there is. A place not too far from here called Novocain. Best artists in the tri-state area.” Jerry inserts himself in our conversation before I can reply.
A knowing look moves over Jerry’s face, and I shake my head, chuckling at his comment.
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“You new in town?” I ask, compelled to find out more about him.
He lifts his drink to his mouth and takes a mouthful, then sets his glass down on the bar. “Yeah, moved here last week,” he replies with a dimpled grin.
Damn, this guy is good-looking.
“Do you have a name?” His deep voice does things to me.
“I do.” Biting my lip ring, I shift uncomfortably on my feet.
He leans in, shifting closer to me. “You gonna give it to me?”
I swallow hard as a shiver runs down my neck. Putting a little distance between us, I lean back, looking into his eyes and extend my hand. “Mills.”
His face instantly shifts into a devilish grin. Something stirs in my chest.
He takes my hand in his. “It’s nice to meet you, Mills. I’m Lee.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You think you’re something, don’t you?” I examine him through curious gray eyes.
Lee smirks, running his hands through his ink-colored hair. “Not at all. What makes you think that?” he asks with a cocky smile on his face.
I scoff. “Just a vibe I get. I’m pretty good at reading people.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, making him even sexier. “Then read me.”
He rolls his glass between his palms then takes another drink, eyeing me thoughtfully.
Lifting my hand in the air, I raise my pointer finger in the air. “One, you’re good-looking, but I’m sure you already know.” I lift my middle finger to join the other. “You’ve got the bad boy vibe going for you, and I’m quite certain girls throw themselves at you, and I’m even more certain you catch each and every one of them.”
Every single female in this packed bar has their eyes on him and can’t look away. There’s something captivating about him.
He looks around the bar as if he can read my thoughts. He smiles, undoubtedly thinking about it.
With three fingers held up, I continue. “You’re not used to being turned down because it doesn’t happen often.” I lift my fourth and final finger. “You carry yourself with confidence, which you should. From the work I can see, your ink is remarkable. The artist who did them knows the art quite well. I’m even impressed, and that doesn’t happen easily.”
“You hit the nail on the head with a few, but not all,” he replies, his voice low and husky.
Leaning forward, we are now eye to eye; only our breaths separate our mouths. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear.”
My tongue slides out to flick my lip ring, drawing his attention to my mouth. His eyes travel to my lips, then meet my gaze again.
His gaze darkens, and his voice lowers intimately. “I’m picky with who I fuck.”
Lee shifts ever so slightly, bringing himself closer, and my heart thunders in anticipation of what’s to come. His warm lips press against mine before he pulls away, looking me in the eyes. Leaning in, he captures my lower lip with his teeth and tugs until I have no choice to part my lips and give him the access he wants. His hand cups my face as he angles my head to thrust his tongue deeper, the taste of him downright invigorating.
My body reacts without permission. I let my hand drift down his body, my palm flat against his chest. Angling my body from onlookers, my hand travels lower and slides over the front of his jeans, enjoying the hard form against my palm. I give him a little squeeze and he growls. I’m usually the one in charge of these situations; I don’t want Lee thinking I’m a delicate flower or a piece of china he can easily break.
Beautifully Scarred Page 3
