Page 70 of The Scars We Heal

“Be right there to help you, buddy,” a male employee called out to Jake, who offered him a mock salute.

“Van has done all of my tattoos so far. He’s a cool guy, so you don’t have anything to worry about. Some tattoo artists can be assholes, but Van will be good to you, I promise.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Cool, cool.”

The buzzing of tattoo machines and lo-fi music filled the space, and nerves rose in my chest as I continued to look around. My eyes bounced from one spot on the wall to another, unable to stay focused on one thing.

Footsteps approached the front of the shop, and my eyes snapped to the man in front of us. His arms were covered in tattoos, and ink peeked out from under his black T-shirt, snaking up the sides of his neck.

“Hey, name’s Van. Jake told me this will be your first tattoo, yeah?”

I nodded, words trapped in my mouth.

Van laughed, but it was warm, not malicious. “No need to be shy. Do you have a design idea?”

“Yeah. I have this one that I found.” I pulled out my phone, showing him the delicate fine-line rose.

“Very pretty. If you’re sure about that, text it to me and then I’ll draw something up and get sizes printed out. In the meantime, I’ll also have you fill out this paperwork and attach your ID.” He handed me a clipboard and a pen. “Jake, you got a design for me, too, buddy? Or are you just here for moral support?”

“I’ve got one, too, if you have time.”

“Always, my guy.” Then he disappeared to the back.

It only took me a couple minutes to fill out the paperwork and read the fine print. Tattoos are permanent, aftercare instructions will be provided, I’m not under the influence type of stuff. The rest of the time was spent anxiously waiting. My palms were clammy and butterflies swarmed my stomach, but I wanted to do this. For myself.

When Van came back, we spent the next thirty minutes or so picking out a size and placing the tattoo stencil on my arm.

“Happy with this?” he asked when I looked in the mirror for what felt like the fiftieth time. “We can move it as much as you need. It’s going to be there forever, so make sure you like it.”

I nodded. “I like it here.”

“Good deal. All right, I’m going to have you sit here, and then I’ll adjust the armrest.”

He worked in silence, meticulously prepping his machine and ink and adjusting my position until we were both comfortable, only grunting out a few words in the meantime.

Jake sat next to me ready to hold my hand just like he promised.

“All right, Caitlin. You ready?” Van asked. “Just remember to breathe.”

“Ready.” I closed my eyes, not wanting to look. When the needle hit my skin for the first time, I inhaled a sharp breath and flinched.

“Are you doing all right?” he asked.

“Yep.” I gritted my teeth, trying not to tense up. Jake was right. It didn’t feel great, but it wasn’t necessarily unbearable. Just uncomfortable. After a few minutes, my body got used to the feeling and I started to relax.

Jake got up to go to the restroom, squeezing my free hand before he left.

Van jumped on the opportunity. “Jake’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh?” My eyes bounced over to him.

“Yeah. I mean, the dude never shuts up about you. It’s been like that for years.”

“How long have you been doing tattoos for him?” I asked, trying to gauge how many years were years.

He blew a raspberry. “At least eight. The first time he came in was when he was fresh out of college.”

I hummed. “Hopefully nothing bad.”