I pushed myself up onto my elbows and peered up at him. “Is this a tattoo emergency?”
“Ellie,” he said, sitting back down. “Let me tattoo your scars.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “Is that even possible?”
“With old scars, yes. I’ve seen some artists turn scars into beautiful works of art. One woman had her mastectomized breast turned into a flower.”
“That would f**king hurt.” My own scars felt weird and overly sensitive if I touched them too much.
He nodded. “It probably will hurt. But you’re tough. And the pain will be worth it.”
I shook my head, trying to get some sense into it.
“Don’t you trust me?” he asked.
Well, no. I didn’t. I wanted to. But I couldn’t. That said, I had been wrong about him trying to contact Javier. And I still had his phone, and no weird calls or messages had come through. But did I trust him with my body, into making it something beautiful? Did I trust his talent and his skill—his passion?
I did.
“How much is it going to hurt?” I asked.
“A little more than your normal tattoo. I have a tattoo on the bottom of my foot. It would probably hurt just the same.”
I made a face. “Ugh, you do?”
He slid off his Reef sandals and showed me. It was the symbol for the Wu-Tang Clan.
I had to laugh. “Are you serious?”
“I went through a serious wigga phase and started listening to all this old rap. I think I knew I was going to grow out of it, hence the placement.”
I was still smiling at that. It felt good. “Boy, LA changed you.”
“Tried to change me. I found myself again.”
We exchanged a humbled look.
Then, “Will you say yes, Ellie?”
I looked down at my leg, covered by denim. What the hell. Why not? What difference would it make to me? If he could handle the Wu-Tang Clan on his sole, I could handle his art on my scars.
“This won’t interfere with our plans for tonight will it?” I asked.
He gave me a small smile and started emptying out his kit onto the luxe bedspread. “It should only take about three hours. You’ll be able to walk, though to be honest you probably shouldn’t wear pants. But it’ll be bandaged really well. No one will see.”
“Only three hours?”
“I just want to do the front of your leg, where it’s more pronounced. I don’t want to do too much at once. We can save the back for another time. If you wear a loose and long dress or skirt this evening, you’ll be fine.”
I swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. “Will I get a drink for the pain?”
He shook his head. “You’ll bleed too much. But you’ll do fine. I promise.”
And so with the curtains open and the sun blaring in, I stripped down to my underwear and lay on the towels he’d spread out on the bed.
He sucked in his breath as his saw me, his eyes traveling from my toes to my hips, as if he hadn’t seen it all before.
“Jesus,” he whispered, gaze lingering everywhere. “I keep forgetting that you’re art already.”
I felt strangely shy at his admiration and fidgeted with the corners of the towel. “So what are you going to tattoo on me?”
“Whatever your scars tell me to,” he said.
I lay my head back on the bed as he started prepping my leg. I didn’t want to watch. I wanted to submit. I looked out the window, the sun glinting off the Rio building in the distance. After a few minutes, the needle buzzed, alive and waiting to transform me.
I put my sins in his hands.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Then
The girl stood outside the tattoo parlor, shaking her head adamantly. She had promised her boyfriend that she’d get a tattoo with him, but she was getting very cold feet at the last minute.
“Come on, angel,” Javier crooned to her, taking her hand. “Everyone gets nervous their first time. It’s a little like sex, although you should be so glad you don’t have to wear the loss of your virginity on your sleeve.”
I kinda will, she thought to herself, unable to keep from smiling. Not only had she lost her virginity to Javier, but they had talked for months about getting tattoos together. Javier already had several, a large cross that ran up his spine, and his mother’s name scribbled on the inside of his bicep. The girl had none.
They had decided to go with a musical theme based on songs they would pick out for each other. Javier was partial to the song “On Every Street” by Dire Straits. Being a big fan of the band, the girl loved the song but could never understand why her boyfriend had associated it with her. After all, the song talked about a woman’s “injured looks” whose “fingerprints remained concrete,” and the man with a “ladykiller regulation tattoo” who was “still on the case” and forever searching for her in “a ravenous town.” Javier’s answer was always the same, that no matter what happened to them, he’d always come looking for her, on every street.
At the time, the girl thought it was romantic. And perhaps, in some twisted way, she still did. But she couldn’t decide how to incorporate that into a tattoo. There was a line in the song about the moon hanging upside down, and she thought that might be a good one. Then Javier suggested she get the written notes to the part of the song that always made her cry. She said she cried when she heard it because it made her feel what the hero in the song felt. And that was alone. Just three simple notes, and she felt all the grief of losing your lover, forever confined to a never-ending search. She told him it sounded like your heart echoing down a black corridor.
Her song for Javier was Nine Inch Nails’ “Wish.” A darker, faster, more frantic song but one of her favorites. But when it came to the cryptic lyrics, to wishing there was something real in a “world full of you,” she wasn’t sure who the song was about. Her or Javier?
He decided to get it on his wrist, just the word “Wish.” He said he had always wished for a woman like her and every time he looked at his hand he’d be reminded that wishes did come true.
Still, despite the commitment and support, the girl was having second thoughts. It was more than just the pain; tattoos were forever. Her tattoo spoke of a future that may or may not happen. Did she want it to come to pass, to look down at her arm one day, knowing Javier was looking for her? Did she want to feel that empty, seeking sound?
Javier was making sure she’d always remember the first time she had sex and the first time she got a tattoo. He was imprinted on her body in so many ways. And in the back of her head, buried deep behind logic, hidden behind first loves, sex, lies and power, the girl knew that she was being branded, for him to own, forever.
It took a bit more pleading and coaxing outside the parlor on that day when the clouds pressed down on Ocean Springs like a humid hand. But finally, and as usual, the girl gave in. She had a hard time saying no to Javier. It was one of the reasons why, a year later, her mark became her lover and the master of her heart. She never meant to fall for Javier. She couldn’t even understand how she did, how she succumbed to a man who did very bad things, who was part of an organization that had once done very bad things to her.
But when you’re twenty, the heart wants what it wants and if you’re dedicated enough, it gets what it gets. Youth and naivety did so much for this girl who was now calling herself Eden White.
Javier kissed her hand, staring intently at her with the sharp, yellow-green eyes that won her over to begin with. “I hope I’m always a part of you, Eden,” he said with conviction. “You’ll forever be a part of me. A world without you in it is a song without the music. You need both to make it whole.”
She felt her cheeks flush. Javier could be terribly romantic, and the strange part was he was always sincere. He lived his life bravely and with passion, so much so that when he was dispatched by Travis—the man who started it all, the man she had yet to see—he made savagery an art. It made it easy for the girl to forget the type of man she was dealing with, because when he was dealing with her, she was a sacred jewel—his queen.
It wasn’t until later, when it was almost too late, that she rediscovered the snake. He was starting to slip through his cage. And it was frightening.
The girl took in a deep, steadying breath, and leaning on Javier for support, entered the parlor. An hour later they came out with their marks forever on each other, sinking into their skin. Her arm was heavily bandaged and soaked through; his song had made her bleed more than normal.
It was her first warning.
Now
To say that the tattoo hurt was an understatement; it hurt so much that I needed something to bite down on. The hotel towel looked like it had been chewed up by a disobedient dog, but it was better than screaming, which I felt like doing on more than one occasion.
Most of the time I just looked straight out the window, imagining I was floating high above the gaudy people at the pool below. Sometimes though, I would sneak a look at Camden. He almost dissolved into the tattoo, into my body, that’s how involved he looked. He was like a sculptor, whittling away my ugliness, leaving trails of beauty behind. What started off as a bare branch growing from the roots of my foot soon unfolded into a leg full of cherry blossoms. Camden made the criss-crossing lines into a tangle of green growth; he coaxed my dead skin into living flowers.
When he was finally done, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead and snapping off his gloves, I felt like crying. Not just that the pain was over but that something amazing had been birthed from my tragedy. For the first time in my life, I was able to stare at my leg with something other than disgust, anger, and shame. I felt awe and I felt pride. And, whether I wanted to accept it or not, I felt gratitude. Camden…
I couldn’t even complete the thought. I stared at him, unable to say anything except “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Ellie,” he said. “And thank you. Now you can see what I’ve always seen.”
My throat felt thick and I swallowed hard. Noting this, he got up and came back with a glass of water from the bathroom for me. I drank it down but still couldn’t come up with anything to say.
“Are you done admiring my work?” he asked with a wink. The truth was, I didn’t think I’d ever be. The pink cherry blossoms were so full, vivid, and life-like. It really looked like a tree had grown around my leg. “I’m going to have to wrap you up now.”
I nodded and winced as he began to wrap my leg with layers of bandages. He worked quickly and gently, his strong hands treating me like I was precious to touch. It was humbling having him dote on me like that, and for once it felt good to be taken care of. I didn’t want to brush him off and tell him I could handle it myself—I wanted him to handle it. I needed him, his touch, his attention. All of it.
When he was all done he ordered me to stay put. By now the sun was setting and casting the Vegas sky coral above the glitzy lights. He thought I should stay off my leg for a little while if I was going to be walking around for the rest of the night.
As he propped my leg up with a pillow, I said, “What about the clothes? I need some nice clothes and shoes for tonight and we’re running out of time.”