Page 20 of The Good Girl

“She’s my favorite canvas.” He grins before snapping himself out of whatever thoughts he was having. “Right, where we tattooing?”

The fire that lit inside me with my father’s text still burns, giving me a bravery that I don’t normally feel, and I’m desperate to clutch onto it with everything I have. “My ribs.”

There’s a flash in his eyes as he creates a template. “You know it’s going to hurt, right?”

“I’m aware.” I want the pain. I want the control. It’s going to feed my anger until I no longer feel like I’m about to overflow and lose control.

“Is this your first tattoo?” Looking between us, he sucks in a sharp breath. We nod, glancing at each other. “These are pretty big first tattoos, in painful places. God, what is it with you Silvercrest lot? First Atlas, and now you. I can’t decide if you’re brave assholes or just stupid kids.”

“Atlasisan idiot,” Athena replies with a chuckle as she begins texting, messaging her brother no doubt to tell him, judging by the smirk she flashes me. I knew that twins were close, but Attie and Atlas were on another level, and part of me was jealous. Tabitha had Easton watching her back when he was home from college and then there was me. Alone. An only child because of complications that meant my mother couldn’t have any more children.

Zeke tests the tattoo gun, the buzzing noise filling my ears, and my eyes widen as he watches me. “Or maybe you have a pain kink…”

“No, sorry.” I imagine if Tristan was here, he’d probably insinuate I have some sort of daddy-pleasing kink in an attempt to get under my skin. Though the thought of inflicting pain on him is somewhat appealing. “No kink. Just expressing myself.”

“Right, top off.” Zeke brings out several small pots of ink and lays them on the worktop with some cream and blue towel.

I should be more afraid, but I’m not. My heart is hammering in my chest but it doesn’t feel like fear, more like anticipation. I want this. I’m making this choice.

“Bra too if you want it to come up to here.” His fingers dance across my skin, indicating on the ribs where I want it to sit. Handing me some blue towel and tape to cover my breasts, he indicates towards a small bathroom at the very back of the building. I have no qualms about my body and so I turn away from him, placing the blue towel on the back of the chair. Facing my cousins, I begin to unbutton my blouse as they wolf whistle and tease me. Shrugging off my uniform and removing my bra, I pick up the blue towel and tape the squares securely in place.

He motions to a black chair that’s been tilted backwards until it’s almost horizontal. It looks a little like the one in the dentist’s office, which sets me on edge. I lay on my side with my arm above my head, as he instructs, trying to slow my breathing, and we place the template. Once he confirms I’m happy, he begins and I’m surprised at how little it hurts. I was expecting agony, and instead it just…burns. It’s sore and stings, but it’s nothing I can’t handle, and I wonder if my years of ballet and cheerleading have trained my body to accept a certain level of pain.

After about forty minutes of chit chat, Attie peers over from her seat, trying to get a better look, and I flinch at the excitement in her voice as she squeals, “Tristan is going to love it.”

I growl through gritted teeth, the pain steady but uncomfortable. “I don’t care what he thinks.”

“Oooh, boyfriend?” Zeke asks, his tone is friendly and I know he’s just making conversation to distract me from the fact he’s dragging vibrating needles through my skin.

“No.” The word comes out more forcefully than I’d like and he pauses, to check that I’m okay. Giving him a small nod, I motion for him to continue.

“Fiancé.” Tabitha supplies as she stands to take a picture of my art in progress. I despise the word, and it sends an involuntary shiver through me that Zeke seems to pick up on as he pauses, unwilling to risk ruining his handiwork.

I don’t want to discuss Tristan, the weight around my neck, while I’m getting a cage tattoo. He is the very thing trying to ensnare me, and that fact is not lost on me. I refuse to let this turn into a sign of my acceptance of my fate, because if I do, then it’s all pointless. I repeat the word firmly. “No.”

“Els…” Her tone is soft as she places a hand over mine, where I’m gripping the top of the chair.

“I am my own person, Tabitha, I don’t belong to anyone.” I bite the words out, barely restraining my anger. Zeke raises a brow as he carries on marking my body.

Attie approaches and I’m beginning to feel a little ganged up on as I’m exposed and vulnerable. “There’s nothing wrong with needing someone, you know. Have you ever considered that you could be part of a team?”

“We’re all in this, Elena. Even him.” Tabitha’s voice is bitter, and I tense. “Besides, you’re not the only one expected to marry for strategic reasons.”

Ahh. Blake Rutherford. It was easy to forget about him when he didn’t live in Silvercrest and wasn’t a Legacy. He was one of the new-money recruits that The Society had welcomed in, his family joining the organization a few years ago. As a new family, they were desperate to secure power, and since they were fuel tycoons, the Black family had offered up Tabitha. The Rutherfords, unsurprisingly, had eagerly accepted. Since she was only seventeen, and Blake was twenty-one, they wouldn’t be expected to marry until after college, that was the one courtesy the Black family had secured for their daughter. Blake was a rumored playboy, always surrounded by scandals and tabloid exposes on his wild college antics. Since she rarely brought him up, I never paid him any mind, but I knew she was aware of his reputation. I feel a twinge of guilt as Tabitha’s green eyes regard me sharply.

When Zeke announces I’m done and covers my ink, allowing me to dress, I excuse myself for some fresh air. Looking over my shoulder, I see Tabitha clambering into the chair, offering up her forearm for her tattoo, and I try to shake away the swirling storm that keeps building inside me.

Leaning against the wall outside, I let the last of the sunlight warm my face. Why was I struggling to keep my emotions in check these days? I knew better than to behave like a toddler, throwing a tantrum. I sink to the floor, and rest there on the balls of my feet, my head tilted back against the brickwork.

I barely register the shop door opening, and I don’t notice Avalon until she’s squatting down beside me. I don’t know how the heck she managed to sink down in her pencil skirt, but she still looks both gorgeous and graceful as she regards me carefully.

“I know you don’t know me but I just wanted to say that you are no one’s doormat, just remember that. People will walk over you, but only for as long as you let them.” She looks at me, her blue eyes intense as they flit over my face as if she was cataloguing me, memorizing me for some reason.

I cough awkwardly and break the eye contact. “I don’t know what you mean…”

“Yes, you do. You are wound tighter than a top.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and for a moment, she looks haunted. “But beautiful girl, your control is slipping through your fingers.”

I resist the urge to snort, what control? My life is not my own. A fact that is becoming increasingly obvious with every passing day and I’m powerless to stop it.

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