Chapter 10
Becca
I don’t feel the moment my body gives out.
There’s no sharp break, no clean end to the chaos—just this slow, heavy pull, like I’m sinking somewhere deep where everything softens. The noise fades first. The panic. The fight. It all slips away until it’s just… quiet.
And then—
I’m somewhere else.
I know it before I even open my eyes.
It’s the smell.
Ink. Clean and sharp, mixed with that sterile edge that never bothered me the way it does other people. It settles into me like something familiar, something safe. My chest loosens without me trying.
I open my eyes slowly.
And I’m back.
The shop.
I can hear the machines humming in the background, steady and constant, like a rhythm I used to live by. It wraps around me, grounding me before I even fully take it in.
“Don’t overthink it, Becs.”
My chest tightens—but not in a bad way.
I turn my head, and there he is.
Cody.
Leaning against the counter like he always did, arms crossed, watching me with that same calm look. Not judging. Not hovering. Just… there.
Like he always trusted me to figure it out.
“I’m not,” I mumble, even though I know I am.
He smirks, pushing himself off the counter and stepping closer. “You’ve redrawn that line three times.”
I glance down at my setup, exhaling quietly. “I just want it right.”
“It is right,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
That was Cody.
No pressure. No doubt. Just this steady belief in me that I didn’t always have in myself.
I can feel it all again—the nerves, the excitement, the way my hands used to shake when I first started. I remember walking into the shop that first day, my sketchbook practically glued to my chest like it was the only thing I had to prove I belonged there.
Everyone told me not to do it.
Stick to drawing.
You’re good at painting, don’t ruin it.
Tattooing isn’t stable.
That world isn’t for you.
They all had something to say.
None of them understood.
Drawing on paper was never enough for me. I didn’t want something people looked at once and walked away from—I wanted something permanent. Something that meant something. Something people carried with them.
Cody was the only one who didn’t shut it down.
He barely said anything at first. Just flipped through my sketchbook, slow and quiet, like he was actually seeing it instead of judging it.
Then he looked at me and asked, “You ever hold a machine before?”
I remember shaking my head.
And instead of telling me I couldn’t—
He nodded.
“Good. Then you don’t have bad habits to unlearn.”
I almost laugh now, thinking about it.
That was it. That was all it took.
He gave me a chance when no one else did.
I can feel those nights again—the long ones where everyone else left and I stayed behind, practicing until my hand cramped, until my eyes burned, until I couldn’t tell if I was improving or just stubborn.
Cody never rushed me.
Never made me feel stupid for asking questions.
He taught me like I belonged there.
Like I wasn’t something temporary.
“Your lines are clean because you care too much,” he told me once, standing behind me while I worked. “Most people rush. You don’t. That’s your strength—just don’t let it turn into hesitation.”
I held onto that.
I still do.
That shop… it wasn’t just a job.
It was everything.
The people. The stories. The way someone would sit in my chair carrying something heavy, something they didn’t always say out loud—and leave a little lighter.
I met so many people there.
Good people.
Broken people.
People who trusted me with pieces of themselves they didn’t trust anyone else with.
And somehow… they trusted me.
I was building something.
I didn’t have to fight to prove I belonged every second I just… did.
Cody made it feel that way.
Like I had a place.
Like I had family.
I remember laughing there.
Actually laughing.
Not forcing it. Not thinking about what comes next. Just being in it.
I was happy.
I didn’t realize how much at the time.
I thought it would always feel like that.
But it didn’t.
It changed.
And I can see it now clearer than I ever did before.
The day he walked in.
Izzy.
At first, he was nothing.
Just another client.
Another face.
But even now, I can feel the shift.
It was small. Easy to ignore.
But it was there.
He didn’t carry himself like everyone else. There was something about him—something that pulled attention without asking for it. Like he already knew what people saw when they looked at him.
Confidence.
But not the kind that felt safe.
The kind that made you curious anyway.
I remember the first time he sat in my chair.
The way he watched me.
Not in a way that made me uncomfortable—but not normal either. Focused. Like he was trying to figure me out while I worked.
“You’re new,” he said.
I didn’t even look up. “Not that new.”
I could hear the smirk in his voice. I didn’t have to see it.
That should’ve been it.
Just a moment.
But it wasn’t.
He kept coming back.
At first, it made sense—clients come back all the time.
But then it wasn’t always for tattoos.
Sometimes he just… showed up.
Sat around.
Talked.
And I let him.
I didn’t question it.
Didn’t see anything wrong with it.
Cody did.
Of course he did.
“You sure about him?” he asked one night after Izzy left, his tone casual but his eyes not missing anything.
I brushed it off. “He’s just a client.”
Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t entirely true.
But I didn’t want to look at it too closely.
Because Izzy felt… different.
The shop was steady. Safe. Grounded.
Izzy wasn’t.
He was unpredictable.
There was something about him that pulled at me in a way I didn’t understand—but I didn’t try to understand it either.
I just let it happen.
And slowly—
Without me even realizing it—
Things started to shift.
I stayed later.
But not for practice.
For him.
My focus changed.
The things that used to matter the most… started slipping without me noticing right away.
Cody said less.
Not because he didn’t care.
Because he was watching.
Waiting for me to see it on my own.
But I didn’t.
Because when something feels good in the moment—
You don’t question it.
You don’t look at the patterns.
You don’t stop and think about where it’s going.
You just follow it.
Even when it starts pulling you away from everything that made you.
And now—
Lying somewhere I can’t even see—
I feel it.
That shift.
That moment where everything started going wrong.
I didn’t lose it all at once.
I let it slip.
Piece by piece.
And I didn’t even realize it until it was already gone.
I remember the night Cody stopped circling it and finally said exactly what he meant.
The shop was closing, lights dimmed, that quiet settling in after a long day. I should’ve been done already wiping down my station, packing up, heading home.
But I wasn’t.
I was stalling.
Waiting.
I didn’t even try to hide it as well as I thought I was.
“You gonna lock up,” Cody said from across the room, “or you waiting on company?”
I didn’t answer right away. Kept my hands busy, wiping the same spot twice like it mattered. “I’m finishing up.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, pushing off the counter. “You been ‘finishing up’ for a while now.”
I exhaled through my nose, finally looking at him. “Just say it.”
He didn’t hesitate this time.
“It’s him.”
Izzy.
Of course it was.
I leaned back against my station, folding my arms like that would somehow steady me. “What about him?”
Cody walked closer, slower than usual—not unsure, just choosing his words carefully. That was new.
“I know who he is,” he said.
That made me pause.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means I’ve seen him before he ever stepped foot in here.” His eyes stayed on mine, steady. “Magazines. Ads. Industry circles. He’s not just some random guy that wandered in off the street.”
My stomach shifted slightly, but I didn’t let it show. “Okay… and?”
“And” Cody continued, his tone tightening just enough, “guys like that don’t just hang around places like this for no reason.”
I frowned. “He likes tattoos.”
Cody shook his head. “He likes attention.”
That hit a little sharper than I expected.
“He’s got that playboy image for a reason, Becs,” he went on. “I’ve been in this industry long enough to know the type. They move fast, they charm easy, and they don’t stick around when things get real.”
I pushed off the counter slightly, shaking my head. “You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t need to sit down and have a drink with him to know what he is,” Cody replied, calm but firm. “I’ve seen enough of his kind come through here. Different face, same pattern.”
Pattern.
That word stuck.
I didn’t like it.
“He’s not like that with me,” I said, quieter now but holding onto it.
Cody’s expression didn’t soften—but it didn’t harden either.
“That’s how it starts,” he said.
There was no judgment in it.
That made it worse.
“He shows you just enough to make you think you’re the exception,” Cody continued. “Makes you feel seen. Different. Like you’re not just another girl he’s talked to.”
My chest tightened.
Because that part—
That part felt a little too close.
I crossed my arms tighter. “You’re assuming a lot.”
“I’m recognizing behavior,” he corrected.
Silence stretched between us for a second, heavier this time.
I looked away first, my eyes dropping to the floor because I didn’t want him reading everything on my face.
“I can handle myself,” I said.
And I meant it.
Cody nodded slightly. “I know you can.”
That didn’t change his stance.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he added.
I looked back up at him.
“I’m worried about you not seeing it until it’s already done damage,” he said.
That landed.
Harder than I wanted it to.
Because Cody didn’t say things like that lightly.
“He’s already shifting your focus,” he went on. “You used to stay late to work. Now you’re staying late to wait. That’s not you.”
I opened my mouth to argue—
Then closed it.
Because he wasn’t wrong.