Leandra
~
I knew that I was feeling emotional, but that still didn’t mean that I was wrong for coming here. I needed a show of strength to get me through the rough patches, and what better way to do that than get a tattoo? After all, you couldn’t lose a tattoo, so it was always there when you needed it.
While I’d been lying about having breakfast with my mother this morning, karma had gotten me good when she had stopped by unannounced this afternoon.
She’d wanted to discuss a cute condo on Cince Street, and she’d wanted to lecture me on my future.
She’d gone on and on about how I wasn’t getting any younger, and that it was time for me to start taking my life seriously.
Then, as if it hadn’t been enough that she’d been sticking her nose in my finances, she’d started in on me being single when all her other friends’ daughters were getting married and planning families.
When I had pointed out that I was only twenty-six, she hadn’t wanted to hear any of that.
She’d only gone on to make a case for looks fading, and if I waited much longer, no one was going to want me with how I was already letting myself go.
So, after having dealt with her toxicity this afternoon, needing something to counteract her evil, I’d started looking at positivity quotes on Pinterest, and after a while, it’d started giving me inspirational tattoo ideas, and a lot of them had been pretty and unique.
At any rate, once I’d made the decision to get something permanent, there’d been no question on who I’d wanted to give me my first tattoo.
Even though things were weirder than normal between me and Dalton, his professional reputation was without reproach.
His work was also legendary, and I trusted him to do the best job possible, even if he disliked me.
I was also hoping that this could be an olive branch of sorts.
Despite my anger last night, I didn’t want to be Dalton’s enemy.
I didn’t want him to hate me, and I didn’t want to hate him.
Even if I didn’t have an unhealthy attraction to him, Rya was important to the both of us, and she was worth the effort to play nice.
Nevertheless, I’d also known better than to call him to book an appointment.
For some reason, I could see him trying to talk me out of it, so I wanted to ask him in person, so that he could see how serious I was.
I needed something to remind me that I was enough, and I hoped that Dalton would understand that.
I’d also chosen a thin sail font for the inscription, and though I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted it to read yet, the design was already in my head.
Plus, since I didn’t want anything complicated, it wouldn’t take Dalton long to do a mockup of some kind of sketch, and if it did, then I could always make an appointment for the actual tattoo later.
Letting out a deep breath, I grabbed the door handle, and the little bell above chimed with my arrival.
Now, while I didn’t know much about Blood & Ink, I knew that it was owned by a spitfire named Ricki Summers.
Having met her before, she was about five-six, had blonde hair and hazel eyes, and had enough martial arts disciplines under her belt to make her scary.
She did not look like someone who would own a tattoo shop, but it was rumored that her art had been featured in enough magazines and expos to make her a well-known name in the industry.
In addition to Dalton and Ricki, she had two other artists working for her, Ernie Higgins and Dune Hollister, and she had a piercer named Lynne Fenton.
Since I followed Dalton’s professional page, I’d seen some of his fellow co-workers’ designs, and to say that they were all gifted was an understatement.
The door shut behind me, and the place looked like the lobby of a doctor’s office.
It was classy, clean, and had a soothing taupe and chocolate color scheme to it, which was in extreme contrast to the outside of the building.
Now, as for the back of the shop, that looked like a typical tattoo parlor.
Each workstation was personalized to its artist, but it was all black walls, loud art, and it smelled of disinfectant.
Honestly, I had no idea why the lobby was designed to look so out of place, but who was I to ask those kinds of questions?
After all, I’d never owned a business before.
“Can I help you?”
I looked over to see that Lynne had walked out from the back, and as soon as she noticed that it was me, she gave me a quick smile.
While Rya was a regular staple here, it wasn’t often that I stopped by.
Even though the work vibe was very chill here, this was still Dalton’s place of business, and I tried my best to respect that.
“Hey, Lynne,” I greeted.
“Hey, Leandra,” she greeted back. “Are you here to see Dalton?”
I nodded. “Is he busy?”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” she answered. “C’mon...I’ll lead you back.”
Now that was the one thing that Ricki Summers was an uncompromising stickler about. While she didn’t mind her artist having guests, no one was allowed in the back without an escort. She was not about to be liable for stupid people, and so we were not allowed to just roam about.
I followed Lynne to Dalton’s workstation, and he must have just finished with a client because he was wiping down his chair, and everything looked neat and tidy.
“Hey,” I said as soon as Lynne walked away, and Dalton’s head immediately jerked back in surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
“I want a tattoo,” I announced.
Dalton stopped wiping down his chair as he turned fully to look at me. “You want a tattoo?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Of what?” he asked, his voice suddenly sounding bored. “A rose? A heart? A Sanskrit symbol that you can’t even understand? Or let me guess...you want some deep, inspirational, unique saying that will bring you peace?”
I had to bite my tongue to keep the tears at bay.
He was mocking me, but he also wasn’t wrong.
I did want something unique and inspirational, and it was shitty of him to make me feel stupid for it.
Of course, he couldn’t know that, but still.
I was also certain that he’d never spoken to other customers like this.
If a girl came in here, and she wanted something simple like a rose or heart, he probably had no problem doing it for her, and he’d probably charge her peanuts for something so simple.
Refusing to cave to his opinions, I said, “Well, since you mentioned it, I was looking for an inspirational quote.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. Honestly, after a visit from my mother, it was a wonder that I wasn’t in tears right now. “I want something in sail script, and I was hoping that you had some extra time to fit me in.”
His brows immediately furrowed, and it was then that he realized what time it was. “Did you drive over here by yourself?”
“It’s not that late, Dalton-”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he spat. “You know better, Leandra.”
“But I came straight here,” I assured him. “I didn’t stop anywhere else.”
“I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck,” he repeated. “You know better than to be on this side of town this late at night.”
“Can we fight about that later?” I huffed. “I’m here for a tattoo.”
Then he said something that really hit me hard.
“I’m not giving you a tattoo, Leandra,” he stated evenly. “I don’t care what it is, I’m not doing it.”
I had to swallow my emotions before I asked, “Why?”
“Because you’re not the kind of person who gets tattoos,” he replied, and it sounded like an insult. “You’re the type that books a day at the spa to ignore her problems.”
That was untrue and also unfair.
“I’ve never been to a spa a day in my life,” I told him. “And I thought that you were going to stop judging me.”
“I was,” he scoffed. “Until you walked in here, asking for a damn tattoo. An inspirational quote, at that.”
“What’s wrong with inspirational quotes?” I asked, my voice getting a bit loud. “What’s wrong with someone wanting something that is meaningful to them, or is there when they need it?”
“Nothing, if they’re not the walking, talking epitome of the perfect blonde with a ten-million-dollar trust fund and no damn problems,” he fired back.
“I mean, seriously...why in the fuck would you need an inspirational quote inked into your skin forever? What real-world problems could you possibly have, Leandra?”
That hurt.
That hurt a lot.
“You think that I don’t have problems?” I asked, my voice no longer loud.
“I think you’re clueless,” he answered honestly, and wasn’t that a bitch.