Each one was worse than the last. I’d assumed it was karma. It was my fault they’d died that day, so it was the universe punishing me for being so selfish.
My final family was totally different from any I’d experienced before, and I had no idea how to handle it. I’d left behind the ones who only cared about the money they got for taking in an orphan and found myself inside a loving one, which, for some fucked-up reason, genuinely wanted me there.
I couldn’t believe it the day I was dropped off to find this lovely house with seemingly happy and normal parents. There had to be a catch. I’d spent the past few years in hell—enough to know there wasalwaysa catch.
But I was welcomed into their family as if I were their own and shown to a bedroom bigger than I’d experienced in a lot of years. It was unbelievable, but I couldn’t handle it.
To this day, I have no idea why they put up with me. They did everything they could for me, but I pushed back at every opportunity. I’d skip school and end up being returned by the police when they found me off-my-ass drunk somewhere. I’d climb from my bedroom window to escape, to find a distraction I so desperately craved. I was the teenager from hell, I know that, but they stood by me, and Brooke and I struck up a sisterly bond that to this day hasn’t been broken. We are the most unlikely of friends, but she’s seen me at my darkest, and, just like her parents, she never let me go. For that, I’ll forever be grateful.
The light wind blows and movement at my feet catches my eye. Reaching out, I pull the dandelion from the ground and hold it up in front of me, inspecting the seeds.
Sucking in a deep breath, I purse my lips and blow. The seeds are immediately released and dance off into the warm afternoon air, floating away to find a new life elsewhere.
My heart clenches at the same time my cell pings.
Pulling it from my purse, I find my best friend’s name staring back at me. How does she always know?
Brooke: If you need me, call me x
Scrolling up slightly, I find the address she promised to send me.
Could I?
Her words from earlier come back to me.Today could be the day, you know.
Placing my cell back into my purse, I stand. After taking one last look around and breathing in the fresh air, I head back to my car.
The address is for the other side of town. I have no idea if they’re open or where exactly it is, so I decide that while I’ve got nothing better to do, I’ll have a little road trip before going home and getting another grilling from Brooke.
I stop off at a coffee place and grab myself an afternoon snack and one very strong cappuccino that will hopefully help keep me awake before I carry on.
When I get closer, I put the address into the GPS and allow it to guide me to my destination.
It has me pulling into a dark and dingy parking lot which looks less than appealing, but as I drive around, I spot the neon light from the studio in the distance.
Something flutters in my stomach, but I have no idea if it’s nerves or excitement.
After killing the engine, I sit there staring at the tattoo studio for the longest time. I’ve learned the location—I could leave, knowing that one day, when I feel ready, I could return.
But that isn’t what happens. Instead, I find myself pushing the door open and stepping out. I look around, feeling a little uneasy about the parking lot, before making my way toward the glowing sign. It looks familiar somehow, but I don’t know where I might have seen it before.
A few doors down, there’s a bar. The temptation to go and get a drink to give me a little courage is strong. That’s exactly what the old me would have done.
I tell myself that I’m stronger, that all I’m going to do is go in and ask about getting an appointment.
As I get closer, a pink “Open” sign glows, putting an end to any chance I had of not being able to go inside.
I push the heavy door open, and I startle when a bell chimes, alerting whoever is here that I’ve joined them.
As nerves assault me, I glance around the space. There are huge black couches in the center of the room with an elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the light casting unique shadows around the walls that are covered in ink designs. But they’re not like the ones I’ve seen before. There are no simple love hearts, or images of Tigger. It’s artwork. I take a step toward one of the walls, my eyes not knowing which bit to focus on first as a heavy pair of footsteps approaches me.
When I turn around, I find a middle-aged man with short hair and quite possibly the biggest beard I’ve ever seen. Of course, he’s covered in ink.
“Afternoon, how can I help you?” There’s something in his voice that relaxes me immediately.
“Um … I’d like to see about getting a tattoo.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” He winks at me, and the twinkle in his eye makes me smile.
