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“Why not?” Mica grins. “We were young and dumb, everyone wants to leave home when they grow up, don’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know, I never really had a home,” Belle replies. She’s not looking for sympathy, just stating a fact.
I get it. I remember the nomadic feeling of being moved from pillar to post on deployment, but I chose that life. Belle never asked to be born into it. I can’t imagine what that would be like.
“At least you had a dad,” Johnny spits.
“And you had a mum,” Belle snaps back. “It’s not my fault that Dad worked, tosspot.”
Johnny scoffs but doesn’t say anything else.
“Miami is our flagship store.” Kelly quickly jumps in to ease the tension. “It’s where people can come if they want a tattoo from one of us, specifically. Whenever we open a new store we go and spend six to twelve months there setting it up, but we always come back here.”
“So you guys are, like, famous in the industry then?” Belle asks, sounding impressed.
“You’d know if you weren’t off ‘finding yourself’ all the damn time,” Johnny snaps.
Fuck, he sounds like a petulant child. What’s his damn problem tonight?
“Stop being a cuntpuddle, Johnny,” Belle sighs.
“That’s a bit rich, bro, given that you didn’t know she was flying in from L.A.,” Mica teases.
“So, Belle, how do you know Anya then?” I ask.
“I met her in Thailand when I was…seventeen, I think?” She shakes her head. “I was going to get a tattoo in a really dodgy place, and this badass, beautiful, tattooed chick stepped in and stopped me. I was so glad she did! We spent the rest of the night drinking margaritas, and she told me to meet her in the morning. I did, and she took me to a different shop where she was working with her boyfriend at the time. Anya gave me the tattoo I wanted, and we were pretty much inseparable during our time there. When I moved on, I stayed in touch because Anya was a traveler too. We met up a few times over the years, and she always gave me new ink when we did. Imagine my surprise when I found out she was working for Johnny and fully booked more than a year in advance!”
“Speaking of, you’ve got a lot of ink, Belle. What’s your inspiration?” Mica asks her with a twinkle in his eye. I’ve noticed all evening he’s been checking her out — or at least checking out her artwork. Me? I’ve been checking her out, too, despite what I keep telling myself about not being interested. She’s stunning. I may not have any intention of going there, but I can still enjoy the view.
I observe how Belle smiles at Mica, takes a deep breath and is about to launch into her ink story, her eyes lit with passion, when Johnny jumps in, once again answering for her.
“Sex,” he says in a flat voice. This time though, Belle doesn’t get mad, she deflates, pain and anger clear in her eyes. The joy that had sparked in her at getting to discuss something she clearly loves is instantly snuffed out by her brother’s callous remark.
“What do you mean?” Mica asks, spinning to face Johnny, annoyance written all over his face.
“I mean, all of her tattoos represent someone she’s fucked.”
I can’t help it, but my eyes scan her body. I’m not judging, I’m in no place to judge anyone’s sex life, but damn…that’s a lot of tattoos.
“Fuck you, twatface.” Her soft voice is barely above a whisper and tears have filled her huge brown eyes. “It’s not that at all. You’re twisting it.”
I lean across the table and tap its top to catch her eye. When she looks at me, the tears are gone, and I admire her for not letting them fall. Fuck Johnny. What a prick. He’s been a prick all night, actually. I don’t get what his deal is.
“Why don’t you tell us? We know Johnny well enough to ignore everything he fucking says,” I tell her softly with a rueful grin. I’ve not spoken much to her all night; I'm in a foul mood from Linda’s call earlier. This girl probably thinks I hate her, so now’s the perfect time to prove otherwise.
“Thanks.” She smiles. “All of my tattoos are based on the connections I make with people. Experiences and memories.” She starts off slow, tentative, but as we ask questions and prod her along, she gains confidence and begins to elaborate.
“See this one here?” She points to a hyperrealistic eye on her wrist with an iris that’s both blue and brown. It’s beautiful and very well done. “This is the eye of a homeless girl I met in Vietnam. Her family had shunned her because of her segmental heterochromia. Or different colored irises to most people. In their culture, it’s believed to be a curse or the mark of the Devil or something, so they threw her out.”
“Fuck, that’s harsh,” Kelly mutters.
“Absolutely. She was only ten when we met, and she’d been on the streets well over a year at that point. It’s amazing what humans can endure and survive when given no other choice.”
“Jeez. So why did you get the tattoo?” I ask, sucked in by her story.
“I wanted to remember her, her struggles and her resilience. So I’m reminded I don’t ever have it that bad, and to be thankful for what I’ve got. No matter how hard things seem, I can endure.”
“That’s really beautiful, Belle. Show us more,” Mica prompts, eating up her every word. He’s looking at her like she’s the moon during an eclipse. Entranced, in awe. Fuck, so is Kelly.
