Welcome back to another chapter of the story :)

"So why do you not want to work for me anymore?" the question he brings up is inevitable and unexpected at the same time. The humid air blows past us, shoving most of my hair onto my face. I have to tie it into a bun, but the loose locks near my temples still block my vision, which results in me twitching my head from time to time.

Eric stares at me as he waits for the answer. I giggle nervously, resting my legs on his.

We decided to visit the park, and as Chicago's kids are at school, it is almost deserted. There are a few dog walkers around though. The bench we are sitting on is entirely made from wood, saving us the trouble of getting fried on one of the tacky metal benches the park is littered with.

"You know why," I say.

His eyes twinkle with mock surprise, "Is it the money?"

I give him a 'be serious' look, "That makes no sense. You earn that money and you give it to me- "

"You earn that money," he pokes my chest.

"But I don't. There is no profit. It's all taken from your company. If I was working for somebody else, we would be making a profit."

He shows his teeth as he smiles, "Look at you. Giving me a lecture about wages."

"Eric!" I drop the hint of a smile I had on my face, "Seriously, I don't want to work for you. It's awkward. Don't you think?"

"No," he says. I roll my eyes. There is no changing his opinion, but it doesn't mean I cannot make my own choices.

I look away and huff, receiving a chuckle from Eric, "Do you even know what you want to do?"

I sigh and turn back to face him, feeling his supportive hand on my back, "No…"

He furrows his eyebrows as if thinking of an answer- not judging me.

"Do you like being a secretary?" I stay silent for a long time which provokes us both to smile, "Would you want to do anything similar?"

"I don't know," I say, realizing how dumb I must sound. He is not frustrated though. I watch him search for answers at the back of his head. I have never thought about it before. What do I actually want to do? Which career path should I take? All I know is that I do not want to continue working for him. I want a little independence.

"Why don't you become a personal trainer?" he smirks. I laugh, shaking my head.

"Do I look like a personal trainer to you?! And I thought I made it clear. I do not want to work for you."

"I could train you," he looks up and down my body on his lap, "And you don't have to work for me. Go into a different section of the building. I'm not the only boss there."

I watch him slowly starting to make sense.

"I could not be a personal trainer," I say quietly. Eric's smile widens.

"Shall I give you a starter pack?" The wind blows into his face, making him squint, "All you need is a few tattoos… some muscles," he playfully squeezes my arm and I shriek, "And a beard. Anything is possible."

I sigh, closing my eyes and tilting my head towards the sun, "You're not helping."

His lips start to stick to the skin around my neck and I laugh quietly.

"Why don't we go and get your tattoo?" he blurts out. I look at him.

"What, now?"

"Well, yeah. When else?"

I laugh again, not knowing whether he is being serious or not. He maintains his poker face.

"I don't… I don't even know what to get. What if it hurts?"

Eric flashes his smile, pulling me closer, "It will hurt. But I know a guy. Let's go."

SHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Protesting for the whole journey to the tattoo parlour, I finally walk in and shut up once I see men covered head to toe with ink. One of them walks straight past us, fiddling with something on a metallic tray. He looks like a stereotypical tattoo artist: stretcher in one ear, thin glasses, long grey beard, and endless amounts of naked women on his arms. Not the perfect guy for my first tattoo. Right?

Eric nudges me from behind, forcing me to walk forward. I wince, spinning around.

"I changed my mind," I say. He gives me a cold look.

"Take a seat and wait," he orders. Sighing, I walk over to the waiting area, which consists of three small red couches. My heart starts racing when one artist comes up to me, raising his eyebrows.

"Can I help you?"

To my relief, Eric answers for me, "John. Hey."

The tattoo artist finds his smile and shares the most enthusiastic man hug with Eric. I sink into the couch, looking down at my lap. I want a tattoo. But I wasn't expecting to scar my skin this soon. I mean, this is forever. Forever is a strong word.

The two men talk standing up as I inhale the stuffy air of the facility. For some reason, it's very dark here. And that puts me on edge.

Eric glances back at me and nods, "Tris, this is John."

I look up at John to see him smiling at me. It looks odd on his face, mainly because it is pierced EVERYWHERE.

"He'll do your tattoo," Eric gives me his hand and I take it, pulling myself up to my feet.

I end up on a reclining chair at the back of the studio, and no matter how much John talks to me, I can't seem to be processing any of it. At one point, he clicks his fingers in front of my face, which I find a bit rude. Eric grabs a seat next to me and gives me a satisfied smile, "Don't make me hold your hand."

I roll my eyes, "Let's get this over with."

"Be brave."

"Shut up."

John shows me a bunch of designs that could be printed onto my collarbone but I don't lie any of them. After about ten minutes of talking, I decided to go with birds.

"And how do you want them?"

"Surprise me."

I yelp when the needle meets my skin, but Eric is there to hold my shoulder, "Don't move," he whispers.

I endure a minute of pain, but it somehow starts to fade away as that area of skin adapts to it. I take a deep breath and tilt my head backwards, closing my eyes. It's better not to think about it. So, I don't. Instead, I start thinking of the food I could eat in the evening.

Halfway through the session, I sense Eric walking away. He starts chatting to the people he obviously knows and afterwards, I hear the buzzing of a tattoo gun. The pain brings me back to reality so I shut my eyes tighter, waiting for it to be over.

Once it is, the artist applies some sort of cream and lets me stand up. I look down at my collarbone as much as I can and see a patch of black.

"It's better to stand in front of the mirror," John suggests. I follow his instructions and smile at myself once I see it. It's three birds, each one a different shape, trailing along my collarbone. I know what they mean and I know who they stand for. Our little family.

"Tris," Eric smirks behind me. I turn around and squeal in excitement, showing him the artwork. He looks down at his wrist and I follow his gaze, grabbing his arm and turning it over. Within his geometric patterns is a small, solid letter 'T'. You wouldn't notice it if it wasn't separated from the other patterns on his skin.

Review and tell me what you think! Obviously tattoos are like a symbol in this universe, I could not exclude them :)