Page 4 of Depraved

“You know she can’t find out.”

“Are you telling me your mom won’t know that her perfect little ballerina got her skin inked…permanently?”

“Geez, Red. You look disappointed.”

“Fuck, yeah, I am. This is like the best way ever to piss your mother off, yet you deny me the pleasure of seeing the look of shock and disgust on her face for the first time ever.”

I shimmied out of my tights, placed them on top of my bag, then slipped back onto the chair. “My mom would kill me if she finds out, which is why I want it here.” I pointed to my inner right thigh, and Red’s gaze followed.

She rolled her green eyes. “I’d much rather we tattoo this baby on your forehead so mommy-dearest won’t ever be able to miss it.”

“Shut up.” I chuckled. “Now, hurry up. I have an early class tomorrow.”

Red studied me with curious eyes. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Now get a move on before I change mind.”

“Okay, then.”

It took Red about twenty minutes to trace the image on the stencil paper. While I watched her work, I thought about what my mother would do if she ever found out. Perfection was my mom’s religion, and she had spent my entire life making sure it was mine too. Ever since I could remember, my mom had always talked about me following in her footsteps, becoming this perfect ballerina. How I would perform around the world, be the star attraction as the beautiful Odette in Swan Lake. Dancing was my mom’s life, and she had managed to make it my life as well.

“All right, let’s do this.” Red pulled on a pair of gloves and cleaned the area on my thigh. “I’m not gonna lie, it hurts like a bitch.”

I snorted. “Have you seen my toes lately?”

“Oh, God. Fucking masochist. I still don’t get why you torture yourself so willingly when it’s not even something you want to do.”

“It is.” My words didn’t come out as strong as they should have.

Red just cocked a brow at me as if to say, “Who are you kidding?”

It wasn’t that I didn’t like ballet. I did. As a little girl, I loved dancing around in the garden, letting my own music guide my steps. But my mom’s obsession with dancing took the music inside me away, and now it was merely the steps that remained.

The buzzing of the machine started, and without warning, Red grazed the needle across my skin, all along the traced image.

I cringed, the scratching pain burning my flesh. It was as if a thousand needles pierced my skin, pricks of torture marking me. But after a few seconds, the pain started to dissipate—or my skin got used to it. Either way, it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be.

The more Red moved the needle over my skin, the more I started to like the burn. It wasn’t like the ache throbbing in my toes. Maybe because the pain was a result of a decision I had made, and not bleeding blisters because of something my mother wanted me to do.

I leaned back, lifting my gaze to the roof while Red continued inking my inner thigh. Metal music played in the background, and I closed my eyes, imagining the steps if I had to dance to the rhythm of it. My mom would die a slow, painful death if she had to witness me dancing to metal music. Nothing but classical music was played in our house. Even as a kid, my mom would let me listen to Mozart rather than nursey rhymes.

With a sigh, I placed my arms over my eyes, feeling just a little sorry for myself stuck in the gilded cage my mother had put her little swan in. Good God. I was becoming that girl. The girl who would carry psychological scars because of her control-freak mother. I was already living with a borderline eating disorder because I was taught how to count calories since I was eight.

“And that’s a wrap.”

I sat up abruptly. “Are you done already?”

“Dude, I’ve been working on this baby for the last two hours.”

I glanced from her to the bright purple clock on the wall. “Wow, who knew pain would make the time go by so fast?”

Red placed the protective wrapping over my freshly tattooed skin. “I’ve said this a million times, and I’ll say it again. You are a fucking weirdo who’s in need of a good old-fashioned fucking.” She pulled off her gloves with a snap, and I pulled on my tights.

“I tried that, remember? And look how that turned out.”

Red held out two painkillers in her palm, her gaze pinned on mine. “Don’t kid yourself, my friend. That wasn’t a good old-fashioned fuck.”

“Oh, that’s right.” I took the pills and tossed them back, swallowing them without water. “That was just one giant disaster when the guy I dated was all hot and heavy to take my virginity, yet when I finally said yes, he stood me up. What guy says no to getting laid?”