Meeting the Tattoo Master

~ SIENNA ~

        

I woke up with a terrible hangover the next morning. Apparently after the toilet incident, I ended up drinking even more than I had drunk before. Margo had driven a wasted me home, put me to sleep and spent the night over. Now, she was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for us. What would I do without my best friend? 

        

Forcing myself out of bed, I slipped my silk robe off and tried to see the tattoo by looking down my back but it hurt my neck and still, I could barely make out the design. So I walked to the full length mirror in my bedroom and turned my back to it, looking at my naked reflection on its shiny surface. 

        

There it was. The word ‘Harry’ written in clear cursive handwriting. Harry had chosen the tattoo shop, the tattoo artist — he insisted it be a woman, the tattoo design, everything. Thankfully, it was a small tattoo and he didn’t ask for his face to be drawn on my whole back.

        

With a sigh, I wore my robe again and returned to bed. What a fool I was. 

        

I knew I had to get rid of the tattoo. Not because a random bozo with chipped teeth refused to fùck me for it. But because I was single and free. My body did not belong to Harry or any other man. It belonged to me and I would never put another man’s name on it again. 

        

“Breakfast’s ready!” Margo called, bouncing into the room with a tray of crackers, avocado slices and hot chocolate.

        

“Breakfast in bed,” I said with a tired smile as I received the tray from her. “Thank you.” 

        

“I can tell your ex-husband never did this for you,” she noted, looking around the bedroom I shared with Harry. “I really do wonder what you saw in him.”

        

I couldn’t help but chuckle, careful not to worsen my headache. Of course, Margo was already addressing him as ‘ex-husband’. 

        

She wasn’t done. “I still can’t believe that douche had the guts to accuse you of cheating when he is in fact, the cheat.”

        

The questions surrounding Harry’s accusation were still unanswered but they were the least of my worries right now. I was officially divorced and about to start life afresh at age twenty six. That seemed to me like a bigger problem. 

        

“Easy, tigress. We’re still in his house,” I joked. 

        

Her frown didn’t ease even a little. “Yes, his house. Because you signed the divorce papers without contesting any of his ridiculous terms.”

        

“You’re flogging a dead horse, Margo. I’ll be fine. I still have my engineering degree. I just need to start applying to jobs. I’ll move to our Airbnb apartment in Malden till I find my feet.”

        

“Our? You mean Harry’s.”

        

“Well, yes. I guess it’s Harry's now. But he’s not going to throw me out.”

        

“And you know that because?”

        

“Come on, Margo. He might be a bit vindictive but he’s not the devil. The house is mostly inhabited, why won’t he let me stay there temporarily?”

        

“I hope for your sake that you’re right.”

        

“I am.” I pulled her into a hug. “Just as I was when I chose the sweetest girl in the world to be my best friend. Thank you for everything, Margo.”

        

“Now you’re gonna make a grown woman cry,” she laughed as she hugged me back.

        

“Once I’m feeling better, I’ll deliver the signed divorce papers to Harry’s office and right after, there is somewhere I need to be.” 

        

“Where?”

        

“The tattoo shop.”

        

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

        

I decided to go to the same tattoo shop where I got the tattoo drawn. Harry had said they have the best tattoo artists in the city of Boston and even when I looked at their reviews online this morning, they were full of praises from customers who ‘wished they could rate more than five stars’. 

        

It was called GK Tattoos and the shop didn’t look anything like the last time I was here. The room was ridiculously spacious with a clean aesthetic and the only things adorning its pristine white walls were framed pictures of tattooed bodies. 

        

From the shy ones with a small smiley face on the side of their finger (why even bother?), to the ones with simple quotes like ‘Be kind’ (which I desperately hoped they lived by), to the audacious ones with a full tattoo sleeve.

   

Harry’s tattoo was my first and only tattoo so I had completely forgotten what the shop looked like then but it wasn’t this. This business had obviously grown in leaps and bounds; what a difference five years can make.

        

I walked to a young lady at a desk that read RECEPTION, fixing myself on the chair in front of her. She lifted her head from a computer screen to smile at me. 

        

“Hello, welcome to GK Tattoos. Do you have an appointment?” 

        

“Uhmmm… no, I don’t.”

        

“What procedure would you like to get?” she asked.

        

“A coverup… for an existing tattoo.”

        

“Sorry, we don’t have any available slots for coverup tattoos. We prefer to have our best hands do coverups and they’re all booked for now. You would have to make an appointment today and come back next week.”

        

“It’s okay. I’ll just go elsewhere,” I said, already standing from my chair. Surely, I would find another tattoo shop that is just as good. I wanted Harry’s name off my body like yesterday.

        

“I’ll take her.” A male voice suddenly boomed from behind me, making me freeze. 

        

The lady looked up and literally flushed. “Sir, she wants a coverup but she doesn’t have an appointment.” Her tone was different from how she spoke to me. This new tone was more suitable for a bedroom than a business establishment. 

        

“And I said I’d take her,” the man repeated.

        

With how intimidating his voice was, the assault on my senses by his perfume, and the way the receptionist was hyperventilating like a dog in heat, I didn’t know if I was quite ready to look behind me. 

        

But I did. And damn! The man that stood in front of me was sin in skin. 

        

He had a sharp jawline covered in just enough stubble to save it from being a knife, full lips set in a way that suggested they smirked more than they smiled, and a thin dark scar across his cheekbone that was so well placed, it looked intentional. 

        

But his most striking feature was his eyes. I didn’t dare look too long at them or I risked swooning. They were hazel, unnervingly calm and framed by thick lashes that didn’t belong on a man like him. 

        

Oh, and he was covered in tattoos. Literally soaked in them from his neck to his wrist. Every part of his body I could see peeking out of his black singlet was inked out. Paired with brown cargo pants, his outfit was supposed to be casual but his perfectly muscled body had turned it into a runway look. Now I see why the receptionist was losing her mind. 

  

Determined not to put up an embarrassing show like her, I raised my eyes to meet his — maybe the boldest thing I had done in my life. “Hello… do you work here?”

        

Before he could answer, a group of young men in black marched up to him. “Sorry to interrupt, boss. We have a problem on our hands,” one whispered.

        

“Please, excuse me,” he said and hurried away with them. 

        

“Is he one of your tattoo artists?” I asked the receptionist after taking a minute to catch my breath. I needed to be sure what he meant by he’ll ‘take me’. Not that I’ll mind being taken anywhere (or in any way) by that man.

        

Jeez! Get a grip on yourself, Sienna. 

  

“No, he’s the boss, and he doesn’t draw tattoos for clients who aren’t VIPs,” she answered bluntly, looking me up and down in a way that told me she was sure I wasn’t VIP. The warmth I got when I first walked in had vanished. 

        

While I was still thinking of a befitting response, the hottest man alive returned to face me. 

        

“Sorry about that,” he apologized. “Had to take care of some business because, answering your question, I work here - as the owner. Gavin.” 

        

He had a beautiful name too. I took his outstretched hand. “Sienna.”

        

“Welcome, Sienna. Now let’s see how I can help you. Follow me.”

        

“Sir, she hasn’t made payment!” the receptionist called out as we began to walk away. I wondered if her enthusiasm was about protecting the business’s finances or separating her boss who she was obviously crushing on from me. 

        

“Put it on the house,” he responded without stopping or looking back. 

        

We took a flight of stairs to a second floor where his personal studio was. It was a large space that was confined on all sides by thick tinted glass. You couldn’t look in from outside but from inside, you could clearly see the rest of the tattoo shop. 

        

“Can I see the tattoo you’d like to cover up?” he asked once we had settled in.

        

I hesitated. Suddenly, I was shy about showing him my body. Get a grip, Sienna!!! 

        

Hoping that he couldn’t tell how fast my heart was racing, I raised my T-shirt with my back to him and waited, my eyes fixed on the award plaques on his table. Seconds later, Gavin was still suspiciously quiet. 

        

When I turned, he wasn’t even looking at me. His eyes were vigilantly trailing a man who was walking questionably close to the studio but not towards the entrance. Suddenly, the man reached under his shirt and produced an object which he pointed at me. It took me a couple seconds to realize it was a gun.

        

“Watch out!” Gavin exclaimed as he lunged at me. I unsurprisingly couldn’t hold his weight so we both came hurtling to the floor but he placed his hands around me to reduce the impact of the fall on me.

        

At the same time, a deafening blast rang out in my ears. A gunshot.