Sam clenches her teeth against the pain of her third tattoo being etched into her skin.
The tattoo artist glances up at her. "You alright, sweetheart?"
"I'm just fine," she answers, gripping the hard leather seat. She chances a look down the length of her body to where the needle is digging into the skin of her hip, and feels a wave of nausea overcome her senses. She groans.
"Not much for pain, are you?"
"Nope. Not much for pain." Sam looks up at the ceiling where the lights are bright and posters hang down from where they peeled off.
"So, why are you getting a tattoo?" The artist stops, fiddles with the small machine.
"I don't know," she mutters truthfully. She had started getting them only four months ago out of uncertainty, of feeling like she didn't quite know herself like she used to. So she had wanted to brand her body to bring herself back down to where she belonged. Getting inked was what made her feel kinda like Sam Puckett again, and not the heartbroken porcelain doll she felt herself becoming.
She winces when the artist puts the needle back on her skin.
After the process is done, Sam is standing in front of a mirror, barely listening as the tattoo artist explains to her about what must be done to keep it free of infection. She's narrowing her eyes at her tattoo, turning this way and that.
'So it goes,' it read in small font. "So it goes," she muttered.
The artist had her sit down and patched a bandage over her fresh tattoo, then passed her a salve for a small price.
Sam takes her time getting back to the town of Austin, and by the time she pulls into the gravely lot, it is a little past four and the sun is starting to settle. She climbs out of her car with little hassle and doesn't notice the new car in the lot—the blue pickup truck that sat just a few spots away from where she usually parks her car.
She's bombarded by Skylar when she steps into the small foyer. She winces and tugs small arms from around her waist, away from her smarting tattoo.
"I missed you!" Skylar blinks at her and smiles.
Sam tugs her hair out of its ponytail and turns, heading up the stairs to her second floor apartment. "How was school," she asks Skylar when she hears small feet pattering after her.
"I didn't go. Daddy got in a fight with mom and left late last night, and this morning, mommy wouldn't wake up, so there was nobody to take me to school."
"Yeah? What happened to Aunt Deb?"
"I don't know," Skylar pants, climbing up the stairs after Sam.
Sam sends Skylar a pained look when she reaches her door, says kindly, "Listen, I'm not much up for company right now."
"Oh," the girl's face falls.
Sam swallows her guilt. "Why don't you go keep your mother company until your father comes back?" She holds her breath until the girl has trudged through the doors leading to the stairwell, and once past her door, she ignores the two missed calls blinking on her phone, turns on her stereo, and sits down with her camera.
::: ::: ::: :::
Freddie lets go of a long breath when he's seated in his truck again. He had gone on a walk after pulling to a stop in front of the short, three-floor apartment building almost three hours ago. During his pass of the back of the building, he came across the young girl that he saw in the video he had watched with Carly three days ago, and stopped, fidgeting. The girl looked up at him with a quizzical expression on her face.
She sat back on the ground, fingering a doll she held in her lap. "Who are you, sir?"
"I'm Freddie," he answered confidently. "One of Sam's best friends."
"Sam never mentioned you."
Freddie's nerve faltered. He let out a slow breath and said, "Yeah, I grew up with her in Seattle. I guess she doesn't remember me much."
The girl hummed and shrugged, turning back to the arrangement of various toys and dolls around her.
"Sam lives in this building, right?"
She nodded.
"Could you, by any chance, let me know which floor she lives on?"
"Sam lives in three-b, the second floor. But she's not at home right now."
"Oh." Freddie felt something like relief wash over him, if only for the extra time he would get before having to see her again.
"Yeah, I tried knocking," the girl continued. "I wanted her to come and play with me, because, see Bonnie?" She lifted a redheaded doll. "She just got married to John, and I wanted Sam to take them to the swingset where their house is so that Cortney could visit them." She gestures first to the swingset, then to a shorter, blonde doll.
Freddie nods, lost.
"Hey!" she exclaims, widening her eyes at him. "You can take them to the swings!"
"Um, I don't know…"
"C'mon, mister, please?" And she smiles, and Freddie thinks, that's what Sam sees every day, before giving in.
Time flies as he animatedly entertains the girl, and before he knew it, a few hours had passed and the girl was gathering up her toys to go inside for an early supper. She glanced at Freddie, said, "I'm glad to see Sam getting other friends," before bouncing off.
Freddie had brushed the gravel off of the seat of his jeans and walked around the building once more before going to sit on the hood of his truck. He watched as the sun began to fall, breathed in deep to quell his jumping stomach, and stretched one last time before sliding into his car.
He closes his eyes for a few minutes, and then grabs his phone, thinking of calling his roommate back in New York to ask him how he's doing when he sees a car pull into the lot.
His stomach does a flip and he has to tangle his fingers together on his lap to keep them from tapping a staccato beat against his legs as the person he's been waiting on steps outside of her car.
Her head is down towards the ground and she walks slowly, as if afraid of her day ending when she gets into the building. Freddie thinks about going after her, thinks of her being all smiles and open arms as he talks to her for the first time in two years, but he crushes the urge.
He waits a long beat after she's disappeared into the building, then climbs out of his truck and makes his way toward the door.