Page 8 of Knot All is Crystal
The latex gloves snap as I pull them off and toss them in the wastebasket before I grab the small mirror on my counter. “What do you think?”
She takes it from me, turning her face from side to side to see the new jewelry from all angles. Her curly black hair bounces with each movement. When she finally hands me the mirror back, she’s beaming. “I love it!”
Satisfaction rolls through me. I don’t care that it’s just a run-of-the-mill nose stud. Helping people decorate the canvas we’re forced to exist in brings me joy. Knowing that I can help someone feel a little more comfortable in their skin is one of the main reasons I do this.
The teenager waves and heads to the register, where Win cashes her out.
“You got anything on the schedule for the rest of the day?” I look up and see my mentor, Trina, leaning over the side of my booth. We’ve got a cubicle-style setup here, and I don’t mind it, but she always manages to startle me.
“Nah, open, why? Got someone you wanna pawn off?”
She shakes her head. Pink hair flops to the side as her eyes narrow in judgment. “When was the last time you took a day off?”
“I need the money.”
Trina knows this. She plucked me off the street as soon as I was eighteen and had me apprentice under her. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if she hadn’t. I was about to graduate from high school, and my foster parents were gonna kick me out the day I walked. Those three months I got to apprentice before then helped me save up enough to get my shitty apartment.
I’m still there five years later. It’s a point of pride—my first taste of freedom.
But freedom isn’t free, and fuck, it seems like things keep getting more and more expensive in Lunarcrest lately.
“Well, don’t burn out, Gage. I would hate to train a new right hand. I just housebroke you.”
I snort and wave her off. “I’ll be fine.”
The bell over the door dings, and I look up and see my favorite customer walking through the door.
“Crystal!” I say happily. “Is it that time again already?”
She flushes bright pink across her tiny, upturned nose and ducks her head. “Yeah, it is. You got time for me?”
Every three months, almost to the day, for the last four years, Crystal comes in and gets a tattoo. Everyone here knows her, and at this point, she feels like part of the staff.
Like it wouldn’t be the same here without her.
And I’m the only one who’s ever tattooed her. I’m only a little smug about it.
When she first started coming, I was still an apprentice, so I had the cheapest rates. She was flat broke, but it seemed important to her, so she didn’t mind that her lines may not be perfectly crisp as I was learning.
I still charge her that same rate all this time later. Either Trina doesn’t know, or she doesn’t care. I’m betting it’s the latter.
“The usual?” I ask as she slides into my booth.
Her pretty hazel eyes are foggy today as if she’s been crying. I’ve seen several versions of Crystal over the years, but this one is the most common.
I don’t know what life is like for the Omega, but I know pain when I see it.
“Yeah, please.” Her hands begin to fumble with the button of her slacks, and then she slides them down her body. I’m a professional, so here in the shop, her skin is just a canvas.
But if we weren’t here…
“Preference of what?”
She lies out in front of me, stretched on her left side. “No, whichever fits. I trust you.”
“Maybe I could rework one of the older ones,” I say quietly, humming as I run my eyes across the piece.
“No. No reworking. I need a new piece.”
