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It takes me almost a minute to muster up enough breath to speak. "It's perfect."
"You sure? We can play around with the placement?"
"I'm sure."
"It's normal you're scared, especially for your first tat. But I want you to know: I've had people regret a lot of ink. Straightedge tattoos, ex's names, bands or sports teams. But nobody has ever regretted a tribute. This one is touching."
I barely manage to nod.
"You want your boyfriend in here or you want him to wait outside?"
I'm about to say here when I bite my tongue. Ethan isn't my boyfriend yet. We haven't really talked about what happens after we get to New York.
Not that I need to tell Brendon my life story.
I play as casual as I can while surrounded by needles (not very casual). "He's not my boyfriend."
Brendon cocks a brow. "Guy holding your hand while you get ink isn't your boyfriend?"
"Yeah, well, he was my boyfriend, but we broke up a while back. Now we're… It's complicated."
Brendon shakes his head. "It's never complicated. If you want someone in your life, you make it happen."
Ah, so he's a wise tattoo artist. Normally, I'd come back with something smart and sassy. At the moment, I'm a little distracted by thoughts of needles.
It is good advice.
I wish I could see things that black and white. If you want someone in your life, you make it happen. Period. End of story. The end.
The wise tattoo artist calls Ethan into the suite. Then he closes the door and sets up the bench seat so I can sit backwards with my chest against the back. "Take a seat."
Ethan's blue eyes are filled with concern. "You okay?"
I nod. I'm okay. But okay is good. Okay is the best it's going to get until I'm away from all the needles.
I keep my eyes on the wall in front of me. It's covered in framed images of tattoo designs. They're nice, traditional designs—mermaids, tigers, skulls and crossbones, hearts devoted to Mom or Dad.
"I'll take this slow. You breathing, Violet?" Brendon asks.
"Yeah. Barely."
He addresses Ethan. "Give her your hand."
Ethan presses his palm against mine. He rubs the space between my thumb and forefinger with his thumb. It calms me enough I can take a deep breath.
"Squeeze his hand as tight as you want. If that's not enough, tell me to stop." Brendon's voice is equal parts soothing and authoritative. "Okay?"
My voice is equal parts terrified and nervous. "Okay."
Nerves flutter in my stomach and chest as he finishes pouring ink and setting up needles.
My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when the needle turns on. The buzz is much louder when it's this close.
Am I breathing?
Is it possible to breathe?
Ethan squeezes my hand. "You're okay, Vi."
