Rafi disappeared into the back. I looked at the pictures and photographs on the wall. Each time Rafi asked, I declined. My tattoos were private. Reminders of my past, my feelings were imbued in each one. Sorrow, shame, love, hate.
Every tattoo had a meaning behind it, and I didn’t want them on show for everyone to see.
Hell, I didn’t think I’d shown them to anyone other than Julie. I had none on my face or hands. Nothing could be seen unless I was naked, and I was never that.
Julie had only seen two or three, and certainly not the ones that meant the most to me.
I clenched my fist and watched as the veins in my wrist stood out. White scars marred the skin, but Rafi never said a word, never asked the question that no doubt lingered on his lips.
I went back to last night and what I’d seen. For years, I’d known in my heart that loving or lusting after another man was wrong. It was a sin, disgusting, and taboo, so why did I want it so much? Why did I find Killian the most beautiful man I’d ever seen?
Why did I want him to touch me like he’d touched his partner last night?
I’d resisted all the urges when I arrived home. How, I didn’t quite know. Maybe Julie’s words were finally getting through to me. I’d been reasonably calm this morning. Something had settled within me. Maybe it was seeing the men in the club, or perhaps I wanted Killian more than I cared to admit.
So much so that I was willing to forget my anxieties. Nah, I knew that wasn’t the case. Why was life so fucking complicated?
Rafi returned moments later and got to work getting everything ready. I watched with interest as he laid the equipment out on the tray.
His talent never ceased to amaze me. I’d been visiting him for years and refused to let anyone else touch me. If he wasn’t available, I waited until he was.
More importantly, he made me comfortable. There were no accompanying anxieties, no panic attacks. His voice was always calm. He kept conversation to a minimum, and I knew nothing of him other than his name.
Rafi.
Was it his first name? Surname? I didn’t know. Everyone in the shop called him that. If I were a different person, perhaps we’d have been friends.
“Sharp sting, H. You know the drill.”
I nodded, giving him permission to start.
I’d seen people cry whilst getting their tattoos, whereas I relished the pain it brought. This wasn’t too bad, though. I’d had worse.
I lay back in the chair and closed my eyes, the buzz of the machine soothing my frantic brain. It wouldn’t take long, but it’d be enough. Hell, I’d sat there for hours at a time with some of my bigger pieces, never flinching, never complaining.
Rafi had laughed once and asked if I was a robot. He’d never seen anyone as stoic as me, but I’d never been one to show my emotions. Not since I’d lost my parents, anyway.
Lost in my head, I was surprised when he told me he was done. I glanced down at the words, the skin around them red and raised.
“Like it?” He put the machine down and dabbed at the tattoo, removing the last vestiges of blood.
“I do, thank you.” I gazed at the words that meant so much to me. Not just because of my parents, but because when I’d heard the words float from Killian’s mouth, they’d hit me in a way none had done before.
Barely Breathing.
This was me for the past few years, like I was barely keeping my head above water. But what did I have to live for?
The realisation was like a gut punch, knocking the breath from my body.
This wasn’t right. I’d stopped living the moment Grandma had died, but surely it was time to change. Time to do something about my life.
“I don’t need to tell you how to look after it. You’ve had enough.” Rafi covered it, his gloved fingers gentle on my skin, “but if you have any issues, come back in, and we’ll sort it out.”
“Thanks, Rafi.”
He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. “Huh, I don’t think you’ve ever called me by my name. Not in all the time you’ve been coming here.”
“I’m sure I have.” I rolled my sleeve back down.