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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 tak
e 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."
I'm okay. He's right. I'm okay. I look up at him, at his clear blue eyes, at his boyish smile, at the dimple on his cheek.
His presence calms me. It really does.
"You're going to feel a prick," Brendon says.
I squeeze Ethan's hand until I can't feel my fingers. Words barely make it to my lips. "Okay."
The needle hits my skin. It's more than a prick. It's like a flu shot. Actually, it's like several flu shots every second.
It fucking hurts.
I chew on my bottom lip. I dig my nails into the back of Ethan's hand. My heartbeat slows. My breath steadies. It hurts, yes, but at least now I know what I'm dealing with. I'm not trembling with anticipation.
"You're got this, Vi." Ethan rubs my hand with his thumb.
I've got this.
Not enough to respond, but I do have it.
