YO I AM BACK! THIS IS A REWRITTEN VERSION OF MY ORIGINAL FIC CALLED "ITS JUST A GAME WE PLAY". I FIANLLY GOT MY LAZY ASS TO REWRITE IT WHOO. JUST A HEADS UP, IM NOT SURE ABOUT THE LAST BIT OF TUE STORY AS IM TO TIRED TO GO PROOFREAD. BUT YEAH I THINK MY WRITING HAS SHAPED UP SO HERE :
My eyes flutter open to the shrill sound of the ghost busters theme successfully murdering my eardrums. Soon realising it's my alarm, I reach for my phone to shut it off. Well, it would have gone well if I could see. As a result I end up fumbling for the obnoxiously blue device due to my failed attempts at silencing the thing. Reaching for my blue framed glasses, I slip them on top of my nose and slither ( attractively ) out of the warm caverns.
In between my zombie-like trek to the shower I grab my clothes for the day; a blue plaited jumper ( yes everything I own is blue )paired with some of the tightest black skinny jeans if all time. This is not an exaggeration, my dick can literally can not breathe. Anything for the sake of looking good I suppose?
I'm shivering. Damn I miss my bed already. You'd think a grown man child would have proper heating in his apartment.
Entering the bathroom I gaze at my reflection, blue and red stare back at me through thick lenses. The longer I stare the more freakish my eyes look. I've heard of people having heterochromia, met people with it even, but never before have I read or seen someone with one crystal blue eye and the other being a vibrant red. Breaking contact with the abnormality I set my glasses on the edge of the sink and grab the contacts next to them. I slide the custom made lens over my red iris, watching it as it envelops the colour. Leaning back I observe my 'work'. They look the same, even though my right eye is slightly darker than the left, it's okay. As long as the red doesn't show through.
After a scalding shower that is sure to have burnt off most of my fucking skin, I make my way to the kitchen. I raid my cupboards in order to find my dearly beloved coffee, only to find that it's empty. Well isn't that dandy? Looks like I'll have to settle for the left over tea. Making a mental note to buy more coffee after work, I make myself breakfast and shitty tea. Honesty I'm still tired. I stayed up all night reliving my past of Nic Cage movies. A mistake on my part. Who has a late night marathon when you have a nine hour shift the next day? But jokes aside I still am a fanboy for Con Air.
Okay, Okay. Side tracking.
Shit the time.
Abandoning the last of the disgusting brown liquid I speedily make my way to my phone.
A sigh of relief escapes my throat. I have twenty minuets to get to Tricky Ink.
I don't bother to properly sort my hair as I exit my apartment, locking the door behind me. Let's be real here, there's no fixing the still damp mess that sits on top of my head.
I nearly make it to Tricky Ink without being late. Nearly. Why is traffic such a darn problem at 10am? On a Monday too.
Pushing the door to the pink tattoo parlour open, I hear the familiar ringing above my head.
"Yo if it ain't Egbert!" I hear a voice laugh.
"I don't understand why you have a bell in this place, Roxy" I reply.
"Don' be a stick, bells are cool!" Roxy shouts in a slur of words. If people didn't know her better they'd say she's drunk. But if you knew her better you'd know that there probably, most likely, is still alcohol in her system. I can't think of a time she's been completely sober.
"Where's Rose? She's normally here at this time."
"Idk. Said some'in' bout a girlfrien'".
Girlfriend? Rose has a girlfriend? She's gay? Well this is news.
"John, help. She's left her big sis' all alone with her cats and wizards" Roxy pouts, cocking her head and jutting out her lip.
Setting my things down next to her I rely with a monotoned " wow really?".
"OMG go away John! You're no fun in the morning." She dramatically flails her arm out to point at me, not calculating that in her current position she would fly out of her chair. The loud snack of her ass hitting the floor echoed throughout the room.
There's a deathly silence before we look each other in the eyes and burst into fits of giggles.
~0~
I have to admit, working as a tattoo artist was rather fun. There a sense of beauty in creating permanent art on someone body. something they can showcase and be proud of. Yes, the occasional weirdo will wander in ( especially the ones that will orgasm over the pain of the needle pricking their skin ) but they are welcome. They make the experience worth while. I live for making people smile when they see the hours of pain they went through. I stand outside my workplace going through my sketches, smoking a cigarette as I do. I carefully turn the pages as not to burn them with the glowing end.
In the middle of inhaling my fourth drag, I see a figure out of the corner of my eye. Unconsciously my eyes direct to get a better view. Suddenly a wave emotions course through my chest, I feel like they're constricting my windpipe and letting my suffocate as the smoke in my lungs burn holes through them. The boy. That face. I- I feel like I know him from somewhere. The nearly styled, almost white hair, giving off a nostalgic feel along with his shades. I don't think he notices me as he speeds past. I hope he doesn't.