Page 121 of Pierced

Which is why I’m nervous.

“You ready?” she says.

I half-nod. “Mm-hm,” I sound out, not at all convincingly.

“We don’t have to do this,” she says.

“Yeah, we do.”

“No, we really don’t.”

“Yeah, we really do. I paid the guy a shit ton of money to stay open.”

She sniffs in a laugh and shakes her head. “Grand gesture,” she mutters. “Okay. Then let’s go!” She takes my hand and begins pulling me across the street toward the glowing neon sign.

And then, totally unexpectedly, I hear a syllable leave my lips.

“Sac—” I get out before stopping myself.

“What?” she says. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, what did you start to say?” She arches an eyebrow.

“Nothing. I didn’t start to say anything.”

“You started to say ‘sacapuntas,’ didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Yes. You did.”

“No… I started to say… sock… Puppet.” That’s the best I can come up with?

“Sock puppet...”

“Mm-hm.”

“...Why?”

I shrug. “Dunno. I hear there’s a great sock puppet show we should check out when we get home.” She eyes me with deep skepticism. “What? I like puppets.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head as I now take her by the hand and charge ahead.

We enter the place and it’s more well-lit than I think I was imagining. It’s not very dungeon-like at all. It’s as sterile-looking as a doctor’s office.

A massive, hulking fellow called Jean-Luc is waiting for us. The only part of his body that is not covered with tattoos is his face. There is a tiny rose just below his left eye, but comparatively, his face is clean. Everywhere else though… I can only imagine the hours it took.

He shakes Myrtle’s hand, then mine, and when I glance at his forearm, I see “De douleur, de plaisir.”

Out of pain, pleasure.

Yep. That’s what they tell me.

“Monsieur. Mademoiselle. Bon année,” Jean-Luc says. Then, in English, he adds, “So. What are we doing?”

I describe to him what it is we want. He looks at me with slight reservation.