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Thankfully, I’d had the good fortune of packing clean underwear, so I wouldn’t have to go commando, and my bra was now dry in the bathroom. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any spare clothes. Staring at the wedding dress, I sighed when I knew what I had to do. Back into this ridiculous ensemble. I wasn’t even going to try to button it, though. I wasn’t that flexible.
Wearing hot pink high tops, a stolen black hoodie—it was mine now—and a wedding dress, I ran out of the side of a building for the second time in twenty-four hours.
Except this time, there was no car waiting for me. I was on my own.
The February wind whipped around me as I walked down the street, storefronts blurring as I passed. I had no idea where I was going, just that I couldn’t be in that hotel a moment longer.
The realization this was the first time I’d been alone in months was shattering. I didn’t know if I’d been making the best decisions so far, but at least they’d been mine. That was saying something.
A door opened before me, and a girl with teal hair exited. Music from inside blared out into the street, catching my attention. It was an old ‘90s song.
“I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a…”
I turned toward it like a siren song instead of continuing my aimless journey. A girl with face piercings and a neck tattoo looked up as I approached, her eyes widening at the bottom half of my outfit.
“Looks like there’s a story there,” she said in lieu of a greeting, her voice smoky and deep.
“You have no idea.” I looked around at the colorful art adorning the wall and the neon lights. “Tattoos,” I said as I read the word twisted in neon.
“Yep. And piercings,” she said, drawing my attention back. “I should advise you against making an emotional decision, but I have a feeling you need to see this through. Whatever it is.”
I snorted, liking that she wasn’t dismissing me despite my obvious turmoil.
“Can you tattoo anything?” I asked as an idea formed.
“Just about. What you got in mind, sugar?”
I lifted my dress to show my thigh where Hawk had bitten me, marking me as his right on the inner part of my thigh. For some reason, it felt significant, and I suddenly wanted to immortalize it forever.
“This?” I asked, glancing up. She peered over the counter, tilting her head as she debated.
“Yeah. I can do that. That all?”
“And a hawk.”
“Sure, thang. You have a picture?” she asked as she passed over a clipboard with a piece of paper attached. I liked how she rolled with me and accepted my requests as genuine. I hadn’t had many people treat me like that. Just how much had I let my mother shelter me?
“Do you have some options?” I asked, scanning the consent form and signing it. I handed her my ID and credit card as she pulled out a book. While she entered the information, I flipped through the portfolio until I found the one I wanted.
Sitting in a chair ten minutes later with my wedding dress hiked up and spilling off to one side, I closed my eyes as the tears fell. It wasn’t because of the tattoo gun but the pain in my heart.
“Some people find it cathartic to talk while I’m doing this. Tell me, what’s the story behind your attire? Unless you often wear wedding dresses that cost more than most people’s cars.” She lifted a brow, and I blushed at that. I hadn’t known.
I couldn’t blame my ignorance, though. For too long, I’d been walking around numb, letting everyone else make decisions for me and live my life. While I could be mad at them for doing it, I hadn’t stopped them either.
This dress proved it, and it was time to take responsibility for the half-life I’d been living.
“Hmm, where to start? I accepted a proposal from a guy I didn’t love because I was too scared to say no in front of a crowd of people. Then I convinced myself it would be okay, but when I stood in front of the mirror yesterday, I knew I couldn’t go through with it.”
“So, you ran away?” she asked, tracing the bite mark.
Smiling, I spent the next however long giving the tale of how I’d run out of the baseball stadium in my high tops. Stolen my own wedding feast by threatening a server with a fork and the ludicrousness of the wedding toppers.
“No shit. Your mom had you as Sandy? Like from Grease?” one of the other patrons asked. He was a burly man with several tattoos, sitting a booth over. It was endearing he knew the musical.
“Yep, or at least it resembled her. It was very ‘50s-esque. Ridiculous, right?”
“That’s some messed up shit. What happened next?” another tattoo artist asked.
