The Characters belong to SM, I just took them out to play!
**The Marking**
I was leaning back in my chair precariously balanced, my legs stretched out in front of me flipping through a not so recent copy of Rolling Stones. I was surprised by how slow of a night it was, especially for a Friday, typically Breaking Dawn was slammed at this time of night, I catch myself looking down at my watch, morning now. Just thirty-five more minutes then we close. I yawn, stretching my arms above my head and flip the magazine towards the waiting area, with a slap the magazine slides across the beat up surface of the army service trunk and skids under the mismatched waiting chairs... Damn…
I contemplate just leaving it there, but know Angela would have my ass if it's not there in the morning, I don't know why she insists on keeping this issue around, it's months old, but I'm not willing to tick off the womae of Breaking Dawn. I groan as I force my muscles into action, how long had I been sitting there? I stretch once more enjoying the feel of my perfectly worn in Tee and low slung jeans against my body. I amble over to the ball chair, and lean over, pulling the offending magazine from behind the base of the red chair. Just as I begin to straighten the Zombie moans as the front door is pushed open.
I look up a smile on my face, "Welcome to Breaking Daw…" I'm cut short by the sight that meets my eyes. Red rimmed eyes, with such dark circles under them that my first reaction is anger, thinking someone had the audacity to hit this poor creature, then I realize, lack of sleep. Pale skin, stretched taught over high strong cheek bones, tears continue to leak from those glorious hazelnut eyes.
"I need a tattoo." The most melodic voice I have ever heard whispers from cracked dried lips that quiver, as if holding back sobs. My storm grey eyes swiftly move over the rest of the creature before me, oversize Dark Side of the Moon tee, dark washed boot cut jeans that are just a little too baggy, bubble gum pink chucks with scuff marks and a little hole in the right shoe near the toe.
I raise an eyebrow at the creature before me, "why do you need a tattoo?" She stutters, caught off guard by the question, she strengthens her grip on the door. I notice a band on her right wrist; it looks like one of those basic information bands they give you at the hospital.
"…It's part of the plan," her hand flashes to her mouth, trying to recover the sacred words she just uttered. "Please… I… I have money, I just, please..." Her tears stream more quickly down her pale cheeks, her eyes beseech me to just allow her, this one request.
"Alright darlin' come on over to the chair." A sigh brushes across her perfect lips as they quiver in gratitude. She follows me silently, shuffling her feet, her mind clearly not noticing her procession as she doesn't side step the 60's wet bar that we use as a reception counter and catches her side on the corner.
A cry of pain escapes her lips as her hand grasps onto my forearm. I feel a metal circle dig into my arm as I reach out to her with my other arm, encircling with the only safety I could, myself. "Shh Darlin' it's ok, shh." I fee her quiver around me, one hand clasped to my arm the other digging into her side. She automatically leans into me and sighs longingly.
She presses her head, with her messy ponytail, against my chest briefly before pulling away, "thank you." Strawberries and freesia surround me momentarily before I remove my arms from the now precious creature with the haunted hazelnut eyes. I nod silently, noticing she won't meet my eyes.
As we reach my chair she reclines and sighs softly, almost blissfully, as if grateful to be off her feet. I notice that her left hand, the hand that she used to steady herself on my forearm, is clenched in a tight fist. I also notice two bands on her ring finger, one an engagement and the other a wedding band.
She digs in her pocket and pulls out a faded piece of paper with words written across it. "I need this, here." She motions to the paper and then to her left wrist right above the pulse point.
I raise an eyebrow, "that's going to hurt, a lot." She nods, but thrusts the paper at me. I take it and look at the writing. Ich werde den Schmerz überleben. I begin to gather my supplies, but refuse to look up at her, for some reason the thought of causing her pain, is making me ill. "What color?"
"White," passes her lips as her haunted eyes close as her breathing steadies, the endless tears begin to slow and finally cease.
I nod, I hand over the clip board with the waiver of liability, the contact information sheet, payment agreement sheet, and other legal shit that's required. While she works on the paperwork I begin working on the outline of the tat she wants, I write with an elegant script with the sentence measuring about an inch and a half in length. As I lean back admiring my handiwork she stretches her delicate arm towards me clipboard out stretched.
I take the clipboard and look over her information. Isabella M Mason. Twenty-Five years old, no alcohol consumption, wavers signed, payment style cash. Looks like all the T's have been crossed and all the I's have been dotted.
"Ok, Isabella, this is what I have come up with for you, what do you think?" I hold the design up for her to view. Her breath hitches as her eyes view the simple yet elegant font, with the foreign words. Her eyes glaze over with tears, she closes her beautiful hazelnut eyes briefly and nods her head.
"Perfect," she quietly whispers, "and my name is Bella." Her name rolls around my head, for some reason making my heart beat against my breast bone, her name fits her like perfections.
"I'll need to make sure it fits before we decide on the… price." I feel like such a cad, talking about money, this feels to intimate to spoil with greed. She holds out her delicate left wrist, her left hand still clenched tightly in a fist. I gently place the sketch over her beautiful porcelain wrist. Perfect.
I quickly do the math in my head the cost of the supplies, removing my general additional fees, and come up with forty five dollars. I breathe in savoring her scent and delight in the fact her blessed name gets to cross my lips. "Bella, it looks like it's gonna be forty-five for your new piece of skin art."
She looks up at me, finally looking me in the eyes since she first walked in, a nameless emotion flashing through her eyes, "… you're under charging me."
I inhale sharply, but keep all other emotions from crossing my face, "no, it's a single color tat less than two inches in length, it will take less than twenty minutes to do, I don't have to change needles, again due to the small size, and besides we're slow as Fuck, you get the Jasper's bored as Fuck discount. So just say thank you."
She tilts her head to the side, taking my measure, and it's at that point that I realize that I just dropped the f-bomb twice in front of a lady, I was mortified. Her lips twitch slightly at this point, and fear that she will start to cry again, fear takes hold in my gut, but no, it's a…smile?
"Hmm… the Jasper's bored as Fuck discount?" I nod my head, trying my hardest not to blush as the she so casually drops the f-bomb. "Alright, get to it then." I take her left wrist in my hand, amazed at the intensity of her skin against mine, and place it softly on the arm of the chair, noting her hand is still clenched in a fist.
I apply the stencil, wetting it down, and carefully remove it from her delicate skin. Excitement courses through me as I realize, I get to mark her, she will forever have this piece on her skin, everyday she will see it, me. Every day, a part of her will be mine… I stop aghast, where did that thought come form? She's married, she could never be mine.
I finish getting everything in order for the tattoo, and realize how quiet it is in the store, not a sound, but our soft breathing. That is atypical. Normally if this is someone's first tattoo they are asking all sorts of questions. If they were veterans they would typically compare our shop to others they had been in, or share horror stories about tattoos gone wrong, but not with her. I look up from under my eye lashes and am amazed to see that she appears to be asleep, her fist against her heart, tears silently streaming down her face.
I gently reach over and shake her shoulder, "Bella? Darlin'? Wake up hun." Her soulful eyes flutter open with such despair my heart yearns to take it all away.
"…I…I was hoping it was all a nightmare…" she morns as she sits a little straighter in the chair.
"What Darlin' what's a nightmare?" She shakes her head, her eyes pleading with me not to ask. A sigh passes my lips, "alright, you sure you want to do this?" She nods. I dip the needles in the ink and begin the painful process of inking the pristine skin of her left wrist.
Throughout the process, no words are spoken between us, not a sound comes from the living doll sitting in my chair. Her lower lip is captured between her teeth, but the tears that have been her near constant companion are amazingly absent as I assault her flesh with the device of torture in my hands.
Several times I have had to stop, not for her, but for me; my hands begin to shake so badly at the pain I know I'm causing her, but at last, twenty minutes later my mark is complete. She exams it over my bent head as I wipe the excess paint from her skin, hating myself when I see her innocent blood, I gently wrap her wrist in gauze and go over the care instructions, refusing to look at her.
We walk to the wet bar for her to pay, she hands be eighty dollars, I look up at her, as I try to push the offending money away. She stands firm, made of stone. "No Jasper, take it, that was the quoted price I got early this week, with tip. You don't know how much you have helped me tonight." Her voice sooths the beast within me trying to rage against the calm façade I had created. "Please Jasper, don't make this day any harder for me, please…" She begs me, her companion of tears again appear. I nod silently removing the money from the counter.
She nods her head, and walks out the door, shoulders hunched and shaking as she disappears into the night.