Page 105 of Malaise
THIRTY
My hands shakeas I flip through the Clearfile folders jam packed with pictures: hand drawn, clipped from magazines, and actual photos of work the artists at the tattoo parlour have done.
“Any clue yet?” Tanya asks. She leans over and jams her hand in the pages, stopping my incessant browsing. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah, I like the way it’s blended together.”
Looking at tattoos is all I’ve done the past two days since coming to terms with the fact my parents aren’t going to do a damn thing to help me on this. If a person could be worn out from browsing ink, then I’m exhausted. Still, it served its purpose: I have some idea what I want today, and also haven’t spent the better parts of my days stewing over how to get Carver’s name cleared.
“Tanya.”
We both go rigid as a deep voice quite literally commands her name from the far side of the counter. Something flips in her stunned gaze, and she springs to her feet, swinging her hips as she approaches.
“Hey, Wolf.”
“Been too long already, girl.”
I crane my neck to try and steal a look at this huge-sounding man who’s going to be leaving his mark on me, but the short wall between the waiting area and booths blocks my view.
“It was only a few nights ago,” Tanya whispers, leaning in close as though she’s discussing some conspiracy.
A thick tattooed arm shoots out from behind the desk, and his hand stops just shy of her jaw before he deftly strokes her hair off her face. It dawns on me that I’m holding my breath.
“I’ll let you both through. She here with you?” He leans forward and pokes his head and shoulders over the counter.
And what a head and shoulders they are. The guy’s massive: all muscle bulk, hardly any fat by the looks of him. A thick beard covers the lower half of his face, and by his natural blond tones and pale complexion, I’d say he has some sort of Scandinavian heritage. Probably why he’s so massive; he’s practically a Viking.
“Hey there, Meg.”
“Hi.” I wiggle my fingers in a wave.
“Come on round.”
He lets us through to where the magic happens, and gestures to a black, leather massage table-looking thing.
I jump up and sit on the side, legs swinging as I look over the beautiful drawings framed on the walls. Tanya props a hip into the bed beside me and takes my clammy hand in hers.
“You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t tell me we have a first timer,” Wolf teases in his chocolaty tones.
I nod sheepishly.
“An ink virgin.” He sucks in a breath between his teeth, making a light whistle. “I’m honoured. Any idea what you’d like, darling?”
“I like those Day of the Dead girls.” I picture the one Carver had drawn on his bedroom wall in my mind. “Half skull, half pretty face.”
Wolf nods knowingly. “Sentiment to it? Or just something you like?”
I shrug. “I just like them, but I guess it’s a reflection of myself.”
“In what way?” He spins on his stool to start paging through a well-worn notebook.
My gaze connects with Tanya’s, and she gives me a warm smile.
“I guess,” I explain, “that people tend to look at me and see the attractive girl and think that I must have it all together, but really, I’m so screwed up that I’m pretty much dead inside.”
Wolf shoots me a concerned look before resuming his search. “Deep.”