Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) (8 page)

“
Um. Yeah?
”

This guy
’
s intense.

“
Hey Stacy
—
these kids aren
’
t drinking are they? They signed the waiver?
”

Stacy answers with a middle finger pointed in Paco
’
s direction.

I straighten my shoulders and nudge his arm.
“
I
’
m fine. I
’
ve wanted this tattoo for a long time. You can start.
”

He studies me for half a beat before turning back toward his station. When he scoots closer with the gun in hand, black ink glistening on the tip, I lean my head back and close my eyes. I gasp on first contact, but slowly, the sharp sting of the needles makes me smile. My breath evens and I find myself in another place entirely. If I listen close enough, the sound of crashing waves drown out the buzz of the tattoo gun.

“
What
’
s the story behind this ink?
”

I open an eye and look at Paco. His face is inches from my arm, focused on the detail. I didn
’
t even realize how long I
’
d been lying there. He
’
s already finished with the outline, shading and moving toward the color. I quickly look away, not wanting to see the tattoo until the end. I move my other arm behind my head and study the laminate above me.

“
I guess you can say it
’
s a reminder.
”

“
Oh yeah? Of you?
”

I nod.

“
The girl represents innocence and hope. The flowers are beauty. And the quill signifies the stories we
’
re made of
—
where we come from and what we make of ourselves.
”

He glances up at me and then back down to my arm.
“
You
’
ve been through some shit?
”

I frown.
“
Why?
”

“
You haven
’
t even moved. You practically fell asleep as I outlined your entire forearm. And now, as I
’
m shading in the color, you
’
re making conversation without the slightest waver in your voice.
”
He shakes his head.
“
Trust me. Nine out of ten people are asking me to wait, to give them a smoke break, to get a drink of water
—
stupid shit.
”

I look at him.

“
You though, you just go somewhere else.
”
He pauses and waves his arm around.
“
People who can separate themselves from this kind of pain know how to from experience.
”

When I don
’
t respond he grunts and returns to silence.

I
’
m beginning to think Jessa
’
s right. There has to be some kind of sign or target or something that makes people believe I want to go all kumbayah and shit. I focus again on the cracks in the laminate above me until I hear Paco clear his throat. When I look down I realize he
’
s done.

“
What do you think?
”

I move my arm for a better view and suck in a quick breath.

Ohmigod.

My arm looks like color-exploded. Surrounded by a gold frame, the girl twirls through a field of peonies, her dress blowing in the wind. Her arm is out toward the sky, her hand holding the quill. But what makes me lose every single word I ever thought I had
—
is the little girl
’
s hair.

It
’
s crimson. Just like mine. And with the strands flowing behind her in the wind, it looks like wisps of flames trailing in her wake.

“
I love it. I do. It
’
s amazing.
”
I look up and try to blink the tears away so I can see him but they just keep falling. They just keep falling and I don
’
t even care, don
’
t even move to wipe them off my cheeks.

He claps his hands.
“
Good. I
’
ll be right back with some instructions on how to care for it.
”
He walks away and hollers for Stacy.
“
Grab my phone! I need to instagram that arm.
”
He fist pumps and then points to Tim.
“
Go look at that arm, fucker. It
’
s amazing.
”

I can
’
t stop staring. For as long as I can remember, my body has been something to hide. I hated myself. Hated looking at myself in the mirror and seeing hints and reminders of what it was like to feel razors sliced into flesh. Now? Now it
’
s just
color.
Color and art and beauty and I can
’
t stop staring. I
’
m so transfixed I don
’
t even hear Jessa and Ren walk over to where I
’
m seated.

“
Damn, Stephanie. That
’
s amazing.
”
Jessa
’
s voice is slightly nasal, and I glance up at her new piercing, not surprised to see that it looks as if she
’
s always had it, outside of the slight swelling in her nose.

“
Thanks. I love it. The metal suits you, Jess.
”

She smiles and curtsies.
“
Doesn
’
t it? Hurts like a bitch, though.
”
She wrinkles her nose and whimpers at the pulling of newly-pierced skin.

Paco comes over with a paper towel soaked in water.
“
Okay. This is gonna sting like hell for a few seconds but it
’
ll draw out the excess blood and plasma. Do this once when you get home today as well. Put some regular soap
—
none of that fancy shit
—
and then get the water as hot as you can take it. Speeds up the healing process.
”
He gently places the towel on my arm and I breathe in quick and sharp.

I exhale between my teeth, closing my eyes and breathing through the pain.

“
Dude, Stephanie. You
’
re such a badass. I need you to teach me your buddhist ways.
”
Ren moves to scratch his forehead and then winces, realizing he
’
s using his newly tatted arm. He points to me.
“
My guy did that and I cried.
Cried.
”
He shakes his head and looks away.

“
Fucking embarrassing.
”

I laugh and motion my chin toward his arm.
“
Let me see!
”

He takes his finger and gently moves back the binding around his arm. I sigh in appreciation.

“
Ren that
’
s incredible.
”

I lean forward so I can get a better look. His tattoo stretches from the back of his shoulder to his elbow. There are trees
—
huge Redwood looking ones with incredibly detailed trunks and branches and leaves
—
lining the top of his shoulder and snaking their branches around his back. Beneath the trees is the profile of a man playing the trumpet. Coming out of his trumpet are the words
we
’
re all stories in the end.

“
What does this even mean? And how can you fit all these things together and it look so
…
natural?
”

Paco laughs at me and glances up at the tattoo. He turns his head and hollers toward Tim in the back, still cleaning his station.

“
His arm looks baller, dude.
”

He looks up and smiles.
“
Thanks, man. It would have been easier had he not been squirmy.
”

Ren looks offended for half a second before turning toward me to explain.
“
I grew up in Northern California
—
spent my time playing in the Redwood forests. This guy? He's my great-grandfather and spent time as a famous trumpet player in a jazz band during the 20s. And this quote comes from one of my favorite episodes of Dr. Who
—
because it
’
s true. We really are all stories in the end.
”
He shrugs and I keep staring.

Paco dries my arm before bringing out a small tube of Aquaphor. He motions toward Ren
’
s arm.
“
Deep shit, man.
”

Ren nods in agreement. I keep staring.

“
Wait. Wait. I love it, I do
—
especially the quote
—
but Dr. What?
”

His eyes bug out of his face.

“
You don
’
t know the doctor?! That quote is basically from the best monologue in the history of talking. You
’
re hurting my heart, Steph.
”
He clutches his chest.

“…
um. No? Should I?
”
I look between Paco, who
’
s chuckling under his breath and Jessa who
’
s muttering something about harnessing the nerd under her breath.

Ren shakes his head slightly and then looks away.
“
How can you not know the Doctor? It
’
s like this whole relationship is a lie.
”

I look at Jessa.
“
This is one of his nerd things?
”

“
Correct.
”

“
Is it like a book series? TV show?
”
Paco pats my arm, letting me know the wrapping and doctoring is completed, and I hand him the rest of the cash I have in my pocket.

“
It
’
s a TV show. And don
’
t worry about him. Seriously. He gets borderline batshit when we start talking about these things so the offense isn
’
t real. He
’
ll get over it.
”

Ren widens his arms and juts out his chin.
“
Hello? Ladies? I
’
m right here.
”
Dropping his stance he gives us a defeated look.
“
Fuck
’
s sake.
”

I hide a smile and gather my things, gingerly wrapping my purse around my chest without bumping the tender skin. Jessa does a good job not laughing at Ren
’
s expense until I catch her eye. We burst into giggles and walk out the door, laughing at the hilarity of nameless doctors and colored pills. Ren follows us, grumbling the entire time.

.::.

Before heading to Sunset Cliffs, we eat at Luigi
’
s. We walk in and see people at tables covered with a single pizza. Like, the pizza coves the
entire
table. Ren claps his hands.

“
Good. I
’
m so hungry.
”

It
’
s a small local restaurant
—
beach front and run down in all the best ways. The owner, a burly 60-something year old surfer, takes our order and strikes up a conversation with Ren and Jessa while I find us a seat.

It doesn
’
t take long for our food to arrive. Garlic bread that steams with the aroma of salty goodness, pizza that has cheese on top of cheese on top of every meat imaginable, and ice-cold cokes. My stomach growls and I place a hand over it. I had no idea how hungry I was until I see the food and that surprises me. I think today is the first time in months that I
’
ve actually eaten two full meals.