At 3:00 I go back to my home, circling the perimeter anxiously, making sure no one is on my tail, or waiting for me. I slide back in through my window. My place is definitely a sight for sore eyes. I say a small prayer of thanks; nothing is changed from the way I left it. After that, the first thing I do is take a nap. I try to eat afterwards, but I'm too nervous, and it just comes back up. I bathe and change and it's morning already. My anxiety is insane, giving me hot and cold flashes and making me sweat like a dog.
I don't know how I'll get through the day- I have clients booked. People who want permanent art on their bodies, people who expect their artist to have a steady hand. My hands are having their own private seizures, thrashing about wildly, much to my disdain. For once, I have a client, a man from the nicer part of town. I can't afford to lose his kind of clientele.
My only option is to draw a cold bath, and dunk my head in. I figure that if it works for hangovers, why not anxiety? The cold water wakes me up and makes my nerves tingle pleasantly. I fix my hair and face so I can open shop. Who was I kidding? I've only one client.
It's been two weeks since I've had a client, so the place is covered in dust. At least it's a small space. My client comes in early, so I have less time than I would've liked to clean. The man is very handsome, tall and lean, with dark curly locks of hair and a face that only God could've carved. I turn redder than normal, embarrassed by my mess. He smiles when he comes in, revealing handsome teeth, and a handsome name: Horace Bigsby.
Despite the fact that he gets half naked, and I get to stare at his beautiful body for hours, I can't keep my mind off of my other job, and especially, my boss. As I tattoo his stone- hard stomach, I can't help but compare his to the Doctor's, he doesn't have a thin line of hair running down his navel, and he doesn't exude sexual power or confidence like the Doctor.
Sooner than I know, Mr. Bigsby's tattoo is finished; Its a beautiful mermaid, with an emerald green tail that wraps around his belly button. We make bare, shallow, yet pleasant small talk, and he invites me to a gathering he's having later on. I can't imagine why. Men of status usually try not to be seen with ladies with professions. Even though that bothers me, I agree to go, and he promises to send a car.
I just wear a plain black dress, I don't really care to impress others, its a surprise I leave my home to begin with. I know that I'll feel under- dressed, and anxious to leave. It's a good plan, because I have work in the morning, with the doctor, of course.
Mr. Bigsby lives in a plantation style home, similar in design to the one I grew up in. My heart aches at the sight of all the fineries, the satin curtains, and the marble floors make me homesick- which is very ironic- because after sitting in his living room, refining the art of being a wallflower, I see a flash of someone quite frightening through the crowd. I stand up with a shock and quietly as I can, dash for an exit. Yet, as I round a corner, Mr. Bisgby appears, and grabs me by the waist. "My dear, new friend, I have yet to receive you properly."
"Oh, that's fine, I was just heading out; I'm not really a social butterfly. I think I'm more suited to watch from afar, and well, people are a little put out by that sort of thing."
He chuckles. "Neither am I, to be honest, but when a man is thrust into a life that makes one's monetary dependency depend itself on society's liking pf him, he learns to deal with it. I thought that by inviting you, I'd have a kindred spirit around. Also, I think if you spoke to some of my friends, you'd gain some well- to- do clientele."
I am shocked by his statements- I didn't think he'd be so smart, yet he is. I honestly can't think of anything to say to him.
"He pulls me with him to another noisy room. "To be honest, my parents are marrying me off to some beast that I hardly know or that matter. I'd like you to meet her- she has a phobia of tattoos so she's the reason you'll be seeing me more often now."
I giggle, and he leads me by my elbow to a group standing 'round a fire place. He pushes through and pulls me in. "Where is my dear fiancé? I have a friend I'd love her to meet. She's the girl who did my tattoo." He pulls his shirt up to show his friends, a group of men who laugh at the sight of it. One man with a scraggly beard claps him on the back and says, "You're crazy, Horace. The woman's going to tear you apart"
"Good!" He replies, "Then I won't have to live another day in her presence." His friends laugh harder, and another man leaves too fetch her. I watch Horace interact with his friends, and show off his piece. He keeps a hand on me and makes sure to smile reassuringly, and keep me in the conversation. What a nice man. He looks over my shoulder and his whole persona droops.
"Ah, dear friend, my fiancé approaches," He turns to me to her and my heart drops. "Meet Sarah."