Page 4 of Beneath the Burn

“No!” She glared at him. “Of course not.”

He turned away, settled by the conviction in her voice, irritated he didn’t have an excuse to kill the boyfriend.

Her minty breath curled over his shoulder. “Done up with the right design, your scars would be a kick ass reminder.”

His spine snapped upright. He didn’t want a fucking reminder.

“You know, a reminder you survived.”

He wished he hadn’t. “You done with this speech?”

“And healed.”

He never healed, not where it mattered. This was a mistake. “We’re done.” He stood to leave.

The sound of an angry hornet halted his forward motion.

She dialed down the machine’s ohms, fidgeted with the rubber band hugging the dual-coils, and patted the table. “Sit down, you big baby.”

The promise of spending fifteen minutes in the spotlight of her magnetic eyes snuffed out his unease with her trying to read him. “Can you keep your opinions to yourself?”

A shrug. The flicker in her icy blues should’ve sent him running. Instead, it wrapped phantom fingers around his stupid lonely heart and tugged him back to the table.

For the next fifteen minutes, the silence of the room was shared only with the vibration of the motor and her occasional humming. Off-key and erratic, most of her melodies were unrecognizable, though the one she frequently returned to sounded a lot likePunk Rock GirlbyThe Dead Milkmen.

Yeah, you’re for me, punk rock girl.

Not once did she violate his no-touch rule. He tried not to think about why the stab of the needle was less painful than the touch of a finger. In fact, the discomfort was almost as pleasant as her whimsical tunes. It was exactly what he needed. When fifteen minutes spread to an hour, he held still, wishing time would too.

Her iron clattered on the bench. She flexed and relaxed her hand. “Have a look.” She nodded toward the full length mirror on the wall concealing the front door.

He jerked from the comfortable idleness he’d nestled into. Unease crawled over him, furrowing into his shoulders, tightening the muscles there. He tagged his shirt from the floor and pulled it on. “I’m sure it’s perfect.” Just like her.

“Oooh-kay. I need to bandage it.”

He moved to the door. “Nah, it’s good. I’m going to step out for a smoke.”

The humid night air embraced him, dampening his tobacco and slowing the burn as he puffed. Why was he lingering? He already paid her, and the guys were probably looking for him. He needed to get back. He couldn’t leave.

A few minutes later, she walked out, eyes scanning the street and settling on him.

“Thanks for the ink. It helped.” More than helped. It was the best distraction he’d ever tried. Or maybe it was her. “I underpaid you, but I’ll send you more money when I have it.”

Her mouth fluttered between a frown and a smile, and she locked the deadbolt. “Don’t do that, but if you decide to take a different approach with the ink, you know where to find me.” Her lips settled into a smile. Then she walked away, taking all the air with her.

“Wait.”

She paused, looked over her shoulder, lips still curved heavenward.

“What’s your name?”

Her smile faltered then resurrected into a blinding vision. “Charlee. With twoe’s.”

Charlee.His future had a name.

He ground his teeth. She was on her way to see a man.

An unfamiliar pressure ballooned in his chest and boiled the blood in his veins. He locked his knees, forced himself to remain where he was. He knew where she worked. He would square his shit. Then he would come back and win her. “Charlee what?”

---