Jimmy's shadow puppets were beautiful; he was able to bend the light in ways that a man with normal hands would never be able to. I was mesmerized as I stood, clutching the curtain so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. I clutched my tattoo gun in my other hand. It had taken me six months to steal enough money from my father to buy it. He made a good living writing his novels, and he kept the money in bags under the driver's seat of his truck. The trick was never stealing so much that he would notice it missing. The metal felt cold in my hands, the weight of it was comforting, like an extension of my own arm. I shivered even in the heat of the afternoon, my 'costume' didn't award me much coverage; a shiny gold two piece bathing suit that was much skimpier than anything I had ever seen on the beach. My long hair was braided, snaking down my back. When I had first looked in the mirror I had thought warrior.

"My claws don't hold me back!" Jimmy pulled three juggling balls out of his pockets and began to toss them expertly into the air. He had apologized for accosting me last night. I had never been apologized to in my life. Maybe when I was a real girl, but certainly never after. I wondered what he was after. When he grabbed my wrist his touch was different than any man's I had ever felt. It was firm, yes, but there was a gentleness behind it; like he didn't want to hurt me.

"You're up, kid." Dell, the Strong Man who had taken control of rehearsal the night before nudged me toward the stage. I shot him a warning glare; a viper in the grass, don't come closer.

The lights of the stage were bright, but not blinding. I could see the audience, hear their collective gasp as I emerged, holding my arms out wide and spinning on my toes. My back wasn't covered, I would need help with that one.

They were silent as I flicked the switch of my tattoo gun, the buzz seemed louder than ever before. Eve and Jimmy hauled a small table onto the stage where my small vies of ink sat. Green, blue, red, and black. This was going to be my first time using color.

I sat on the wooden floor of the stage and twisted so that the audience and I could see my thigh. The gun carved a path in the flesh of my thigh; One line, strait and true from my knee to my hip. Fat drops of blood mixed with black ink splashed on the stage. I breathed deeply; I was so very, very strong that I used the gun to carve a second line, then a third; forming the eye of a peacock feather.

I smelled him before I saw him; the rotten smell of burned flesh and stale cigarette smoke. My eyes flicked up toward the audience, scanning their faces that were filled with awe. My blood ran cold when my gaze landed on the face of my father. He was standing in the back row, his dead, eyes watching me, filled with hatred. I felt the gun fall through my fingers and crash to the floor. My vision began to swim, twisting the big top into a blurry mess. The crowd gasped at the blood pooling at my feet. Big black holes opened up in front of my eyes. My skin was slick with sweat. Suddenly the lights were too hot, the crowd too loud. The last thing I remember seeing before I crumpled to the stage in a heap was Jimmy's concerned face running to the stage.

/

The first thing that I noticed upon waking was that I was cold, though someone had tossed a thin blanket over me. The second thing was that I was not in my tent. I sat up and looked around the room, I was in someone's trailer. From the look of the mess, I would guess it was a boy's. There were three overstuffed, mismatched arm chairs circled around the large green couch that I was laying on. How long had I been out? I replayed the scene of my very first show back in my mind, sure there must have been a rational explanation for me seeing my father in the audience. It didn't make sense; he was nightmare, and I had been awake. I shivered again, my teeth chattering loudly.

"You're awake." Jimmy came around the corner, his deformed hands in his pockets. I noticed that he kept them there a lot. I pursed my lips, unhappy that of all people it was Jimmy Darling that had brought me to his trailer.

Jimmy noticed me shivering, "I'm not surprised that you're cold." He took a seat in the armchair closest to the couch, " You had the blood pressure and temperature of dirt. You need to eat more."

I ignored his comment, "This is your trailer?"

He nodded toward a large banner that had been put up in the corner, as though it had been set there for someplace to put it and no one ever bothered to move it again. It said "The Amazing Lobster Boy".

"Know any other 'Lobster Boys'?" Jimmy asked, as though I were an idiot.

I sighed and felt my shoulders slump, I was too tired, too cold to fight.

"Wow." Jimmy said, looking at me, "No biting comment? You really must be sick."

I shook my head, noticing that someone had undone my braid. For some reason I had a hard time believing that Jimmy had done it.

"I know how I come across." I said quietly, looking at my hands knotted on top of the thin blanket.

"Like a cold, unfriendly, bitch?" Jimmy snapped, not letting me finish. We were both taken by surprise at the poison in his voice. He stood quickly, gathering a large afghan that had been draped over the back of the chair he was sitting in. For a moment I thought he was about to leave, but instead he spread the afghan out over my body, "I'm sorry." He said, not looking at me as he tucked it around my hips and shoulders, "That was mean."

I shook my head when he stepped back, "It was honest." I admitted, burying my face in the afghan. The trailer was silent, as though waiting for me to tell him. I could try. Maybe not everything, maybe just the names; Stupid, bitch, stupid, worthless, stupid whore. The names that stabbed me when I got to thinking about them too much. Or maybe just the fact that I was lost in the world with no map and no compass.

Neither one of us dared to breath because we were both there; in the same space at the same time, no burning words or sidelong glares between us. Neither one of us wanted to break the spell.

If I told him all of my ugliness then, the fragile bridge we were standing on would crumble under the weight of it.

I fingered the bandage that someone had used to cover my incomplete tattoo and felt my eyelids start to flutter closed. Maybe my father wouldn't come tonight, and if he did, maybe Jimmy would protect me. Maybe.

A/N:

Hey guys! Sorry for the short chapters lately! But I figured concise, short chapters were better than chapters full of filler nonsense!
My beta is back from vacation, she just hasn't had a chance to get back to me. But that is no problemo! :D
As allways I want to thank you guys for all the faves/follows/reviews. Seriously, you guys are amazing. 3