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“Some of them I had when I was younger, some are reminders.”
“Of what?” I ask. He pauses and I suddenly worry I’ve overstepped. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”
“No, it’s not that. They’re reminders of things that are important to me. The lion on my chest, he’s there to remind me to be brave when I need to take risks. A reminder that they’ll pay off. Then the king card on my forearm is just because of my last name and to remind me to gamble on myself sometimes. I have a date written on my ribs too. The others are just drawings that I liked, but the lion is my most important one.”
“A date?” I ask, scanning over his arms with some tribal drawings, a butterfly, some roses. His skin looks beautiful.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” I don’t push because even though I am dying to know something more about him that he clearly doesn’t share with many people, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
His shoulders stiffen slightly as he battles with something in his head. Silence falls over us until, finally, he turns to face me. “It’s the first tattoo I got after my parents divorced.”
I nod, yet not fully understanding how that impacted him, but also knowing that if he wants to share more with me, he will when he’s ready.
I change the subject, sensing that might be what he needs. “I want something to remind me of this… today. The feeling I just got from being on your bike for the first time, the feeling I have right now that isn’t just the nerves–well, itisnerves—but it’s also a taste of something, freedom maybe? I don’t know. Do I sound certifiably insane?”
He nudges my shoulder with his, his playful side back. “No, you don’t.” He thinks, tapping his fingers together in front of him. “You could have the wordyeswritten somewhere.”
I turn my head to stare at him. His eyes are a lighter grey, dancing with the sparkling idea. “I like that, actually. It’d be a good reminder.” I look over the scripted writing, but I realise that I don’t want this to be just anyone's writing. “Will you write it for me?”
This time when he smiles at me softly, I see so much vulnerability on his face and it tugs at my chest. “You sure you want my writing tattooed on you forever?”
I nod. “It’ll be a good reminder of today… and how much you’ve pissed me off already,” I say, not meaning a single word about him pissing me off. In fact, I’m realising he’s a bit like an onion, he has layers, or whatever non-ogre analogy that also makes sense.
His head throws back in laughter. “Okay, you got it. One tattoo coming up.” He turns to call for Cece. “Wait, where will you have it?” he asks.
I look at my body, hoping for some kind of inspiration. “Maybe my left wrist.”
Cece comes back into our waiting area. “You picked something, honey?”
“Yes. This clown is going to write it for me.” Pointing to Grayson with my thumb.
She smiles a genuine smile. “I’ll get him a pen then.”
Grayson turns to me, eyes still shining brightly. “You can change your mind.”
“I know, but I’m not going to.”
Cece comes back, passing him the pen. Grayson writesyesfour times and I pick my favourite one. She does some fancy transferring thing so it can be placed onto my skin, and I settle into her tattoo chair. The smell of antiseptic is so much stronger here it makes my nose wrinkle.
“You wanna hold my hand?” Grayson asks standing right next to my chair I’m in.
“Am I going to need to?” I ask, my earlier fears of it being incredibly painful suddenly flooding back to me.
“Depends on how good your pain threshold is.”
“I’ll be good… I think.”
Cece sets up her equipment but when a buzzing sound starts, I jump. “Relax, it’s just the needle.” She laughs, “You ready?”
I nod my head, swallowing all my nerves like razorblades.
As soon as the needle touches my skin, my free hand digs into the leather of the seat. The sting is strange; it’s pressure and tingly, and ouch, yeah, definitely hurts. My eyes are so scrunched closed. I don’t want to open them in case I see something that’ll make me yell stop, and having half of a tiny word on my wrist will not be ideal.
The cool wipe of a cloth soothes my hot skin. “All done,” Cece says and my eyes spring open.
“That’s it?” I ask, confused.
