I'm standing in a pool of my own blood. Or at least that's what it looks like. Technically that's only partially true. "Is this supposed to happen?" I ask, eyeing the drops falling steadily onto the crimson floor. "I thought the stuff was supposed to dye my hair, not the bath."
"Dork, it will, but the excess has to come out first. How's the tat? I hope the dye doesn't sting." She sounded almost indifferent, but I could tell she was still shocked at the crazy decision I jumped at earlier in the day. In my own defense, it wasn't a hasty choice really. It was something I had been thinking about for a while; the opportunity just hadn't presented itself yet.
"It's fine, Chrissy. Still bleeding, but fine. It doesn't seem the dye is doing anything to it." Thinking about it makes me laugh, "It would only get redder if it did anyway," I tease. The vibrant rose curving down the length of my shoulder blade came out much better than I thought it would. The artist used more shades of reds, crimsons, and even greens than I had even known to exist. But by the time he was done, it came to life. Beautiful in every way, though with the harsh reminder that even something with that much beauty comes with the steady balance of sharp pain.
"I still think you're crazy. What're you going to tell your dad? Won't he flip out?" The way she says it all but confirms she is scared for my life. I shake my head 'no,' knowing full well that she can see my stark silhouette straight through the drapes of the shower curtains. Or at least she should be able to; by the looks of her own silhouette, she's diligently painting her toenails.
"I'm hoping he'll still be yelling at me for the hair dye. 'What a waste of time and money! Did you completely forget what you are? You know my rules! You don't mess around with those stupid muggle chemicals trying to unnecessarily change yourself!'" I smile. The quip doesn't sidetrack her and I let my mind wander as I again get her full lecture of me being too wild for my strict house rules. She drones to the conclusion that if we're not careful, my dad is going to see her as the perverse and obviously unprincipled muggle that she is. This last statement snaps me back into place. My best friend isn't self-conceited, not by a long shot, but she still wouldn't put herself down, even to highlight somebody else's faults. "Wait. What?" I question, letting the incomprehension remind me that I should really be listening more.
"Ugh. I knew you weren't paying attention. Violet, you know your dad isn't going to let this one slip by. It's a freaking tattoo if you haven't noticed. They're kind of permanent. And you know he's going to ask where it came from. I doubt you'll tell him about that creepy guy and his garage shop" Ok, now she's staring to freak out.
"I know, I know…. And no, I'm not going to tell him, but look, even if he wants to send me straight into the depths of Hades itself, I'm not going to let him think all of these crazy ideas came from you. That's what you're worried about isn't it?" She sarcastically nods. Clearly telling me that she thinks I'm an idiot for not caching on sooner. "I thought so," I reply smiling at the far-fetched idea. Forgetting more reassurances, I drift off in my thoughts again while the last of the soap and hair product trail down the drain.
After that I find myself going over my increasingly insatiable need for more and more body modifications in the last month or so. It seems to be an outlet for my emotions; a stab of emotional pain from a memory can be beaten back with the stab of a piercing needle, just as the insistent beating of my heart rate growing faster in the nightmares I storm out of, can be dulled by the growing heat of a dozen needles gliding in and out of my skin a hundred times per second.
The nightmares themselves don't come from Chrissy at all. Really she's the one that has helped the most at keeping them confined to the night. They all stem from a person I don't want to think about ever again… no matter how tempting those thoughts may be.
As for my father, I love and adore him with all my heart, but he's far too meticulous for his own good and not nearly enough indulgent. I know I shouldn't' think badly of him for it, but it seems to have gotten worse since my mother died, and all of the rigidity is just getting downright annoying, but he would never do any permanent damage to me. Underneath the hard outer shell, he's still just a lonely man trying to take care of his little girl.
My mother, on the other hand, wasn't like him at all; in fact, my parents were near opposites. And by the way he runs his household, I can't tell how my dad ever fell in love with my mom. She would have been breaking his precious rules and running amok left and right. Thinking about her makes me smile. My dad though is still in constant danger of losing control of his emotions when he speaks of my mother. He says we're just the same and he wouldn't change it for the world, but you can tell he still gets annoyed with the rule breaking.
I grab a towel from the wrought-iron stand on the other side of the curtains and start to dry my hair. When I wrap the towel around me and step out of the shower I look around for my tattoo aftercare goo. Chrissy still doesn't approve, but she hands it to me, even unscrewing the cap. As I spread it over my freshly injected ink, I think of how happy I really am of getting the tattoo, no matter what my father thinks. With him it's all about constant control and behaving properly, not to mention his specific rules for me, like stay true to yourself, and no unnecessary morphing… blah blah blah… No tattoos indeed. I think it's because of my mother. He couldn't stop her from dying so he's trying to control everything around himself even more.
"I really hope he doesn't make you get rid of it though, it is gorgeous." She says, staring at my raw skin as I shimmy back into my clothes, trying to discreetly stay covered. "There isn't some sort of spell he can use to get it out, is there?" The question comes with renewed concern and curiosity. Being a muggle, Chrissy knows the basics of magic, but doesn't know the details. We made friends early on; before I started attending the Salem Institute of Magic. My parents didn't mind her being a muggle as my grandparents and great grandparents were long-time advocates for muggle rights and interworldly relations. So when we were young, we didn't have much to worry about, especially because we didn't live near any other magic folk.
I wanted a friend who I could be myself with, so I told her everything. How my parents could make things move, disappear, and dance, usually things done for my benefit or pleasure. I even told her about how I could change my appearance at will, though I was still learning to control bits of it. As children we got away with such secrets. But as the years passed, my parents started to catch on and I was banned from telling her anything further. It was only in places like her house, or at an empty park that we could talk privately and freely about it. She still believed though, and I don't think any law enforcement would come to obiliviate her, because as a child, who doesn't believe in magic? Just because she has information that's a bit more accurate shouldn't jeopardize her memory.
"I dont know actually. To be honest I didn't exactly look into it," I say, grimly laughing at the idea of my dad waving a simple charm over my skin and erasing two and a half hours of blissful pain. "But you know, I don't think he would. I mean, I did it because I wanted a mark to remind me of what is my true self, without morphing. That should still be within the stay true to yourself rule, right?" I say it with hope, but obviously not with enough conviction. Chrissy has her eyes trained on me underneath eyebrows as high as a sky scraper. Clearly I'm the only one with that mindset. "Ok, how about this, I just morph to keep it hidden until he gets over the dye, that sound ok?" I ask, knowing that I'll probably forget to do it anyway, but for Chrissy I'll lie to make her feel better. And plus, I'll still tell her what really happens later on anyway.
"I still don't even know how he's going to take the hair dye. Won't he hate that too? I thought that rule was supposed to mean you morphing to whatever you want, but no changing the real you." She says, highlighting the part of the rule that I'm clearly ignoring. "Won't he just argue that you could've had all of this without the dye or needles anyway?"
I know the answer is yes, but I still want to reassure her. "Well... maybe. But I can just say that it's just me morphing. And even if he does find out, I'll just tell him that this way I don't have to morph at all in order to be who I want. Isn't that even better? Who am I if I have to keep changing myself in order to feel right?" It's a good argument, but I know she's still skeptical. In the end we drop the subject knowing that there really wasn't much left to say. Whatever we may have done to my base appearance, there's no going back now. Or at least not without magic. Then again, that's how it is for me with most things...
