Page 50 of Gunner
He closed the door to his room and took a seat on a rolling stool near his table. I removed my hoodie and placed it, along with my keys and wallet, on a chair against the left side wall. The space was adorned with pictures of completed tattoos he created, and a few of his drawings accompanied them. He patted the table, and I hopped up, leaving my feet to dangle off the side.
Needles, whose real name was Monroe, handed me the drawing he worked on for me, and I stared at it, feeling tears build in my eyes. Every little detail he and I discussed was incorporated into the design, and I pursed my lips as I handed it back to him.
“Any changes before we get started?” he asked, pulling on a pair of gloves as he began to pour ink into little cups.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered.
I watched him set new needles in his tattoo gun, and when he tested it, I jumped at the loud vibration. Somehow sensing my nerves, he took his gloves off and leaned back on his stool. He reached into the pocket of his cut that was hanging on a hook behind his workstation and pulled out a joint. Rolling the stool closer to me, he handed it to me with a lighter and raised his eyebrows in expectation.
I wasn’t a regular or even semi-regular smoker. More like I tried and fell asleep. With being responsible for Jacob, it wasn’t something I did often, so I looked at it, then to him.
“It’ll help relax you, but if it’s not what you want, tell me what I can do to help you unwind. The more tense you are, the more uncomfortable it will be.” His tone lowered and he kept his gaze locked with mine as he explained, “Covering scars can be painful, and I only want to help.”
I swallowed and went to stand from the table, thinking I needed to go out back to smoke it. He stopped me and opened a window on the far wall that was covered with the darkest window tint I’d ever seen. It was black as midnight until he opened the window and placed a chair under it. I moved to the chair, and he rolled his stool over next to me as I lit the joint and inhaled. The coughing was immediate as the harsh smoke hit my throat and lungs.
He pulled a bottle of water from a small fridge under his worktable and handed it to me as I passed the joint to him. The cold water refreshed my throat, and the coughing subsided as he handed it back to me. For the next few minutes, I smoked, allowing the weed to lift my anxiety and lessen my worry.
When it was halfway burned down, I lifted my hand when he offered it to me, and with that, he extinguished it in the ashtray. I sipped my water and stood, feeling my head wobble slightly from the intoxicant as I walked back to the table. Sitting on the table, I watched as he got the image of the tattoo ready to put on my skin.
“Lift your shirt so I can get this position correctly,” he advised, and I turned, lifting the bottom of my shirt, exposing my mid and lower back.
Staring straight ahead, I let the euphoric feeling of the weed overtake me and pushed down the memories of how the seven scars were put on my body. Four men, seven tallies, and a moment of my life I wished I could forget. I could hear their laughter and feel their hands on me as Needles removed the stencil from my skin. I stood and looked over my shoulder into the mirror.
The design covered the seven slices into my back with beautiful flowers and butterflies. I knew it was cliché, but knowing something beautiful was covering something so ugly made me smile. I looked up at him and could see the worry in his eyes.
“Let’s get started.”
He smiled at me and helped me position myself on the table with my face resting in the little hole at the top. The first jolt of the needle against my skin was unexpected but not painful. I was expecting more pain and remarked, “It’s not as bad as I was expecting.”
“Before long, you’ll be addicted to it like everyone else.” He chuckled as he worked on outlining the flowers and butterflies.
Over the next three hours, he meticulously worked on me, and we talked about everything under the sun except our own pasts. I didn’t bring up his father, and he didn’t bring up my uncle. It was nice to not feel like I needed to explain or reason my emotions to someone. We just existed in our private bubble as he helped me heal.
I checked in with Kade a few times, letting him know I’d be home before eight. He spent the day with my brother, dealing with whatever issue Dalton was having following Uncle Mick’s death. I hoped he would like my surprise when he saw it. Since the first night I was able to share myself with him, the night before Mick died, we hadn’t been able to have any time alone. I hoped to change that tonight.
I was lost in thought when a cold spray of liquid misted my back, and Needles wiped over the entire tattoo. It stung slightly, but I was eager to see the finished piece. He helped me from the table and handed me a small mirror as I stepped up to the large one on the wall. Turning my back to the wall, I lifted the small reflective surface and tears filled my eyes as I saw the completed tattoo.
Three small butterflies were perched on various flowers, appearing as if they were ready to take flight. The scars were covered with the stems and petals of the flowers and the bodies of the butterflies, hiding them in plain sight. The whole piece was done in various shades of gray and black, and for the first time since that fateful night, I felt whole.
My eyes lifted to meet his, and I lowered my shirt as I stepped up to him. Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him deeply, needing him to understand how much this meant to me. He patted me on the back awkwardly, and I released him to wipe the errant tears from my cheeks.
He cleaned my back again and placed come cling-film to my back before taping it down. He gave me instructions on how to keep it clean and moisturized.
“Gunner can walk you through the healing process. He’s done it enough times, he could write the instructions,” Needles joked as I pulled my hoodie on, feeling the tenderness in my back.
“I can’t thank you enough for everything,” I admitted as I reached into my wallet and handed him money for the tattoo.
He held his hand up, and I looked at him with confusion. “Sadie, I can’t take your money for this one, but I’ll let you pay for the next.”
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, and he guided me from his room into the closed lobby of the shop.
We sat on a soft leather couch, and he spoke softly, his eyes everywhere but mine. “No woman should have to carry the scars of a man’s selfishness on her body. I understand the pain seeing them can cause, and to be able to give you something beautiful to cover them makes me happy. It was an honor for me to be able to do this for you.”
I looked at my clasped hands in my lap before bringing my watery gaze to his. Clearing my throat, I asked, “Is that something you do often? Help women cover scars that hold them back?”
He exhaled deeply and his gaze left me as he focused on the far wall. “I’ve done a few pieces over the years. Sometimes, it takes people a long time to be able to let go of the pain.”
I knew there was so much more to that statement, but it was none of my business. If Needles wanted to talk, he knew I would be there to listen.
