The Unnatural

Chapter 2: Sunday, December 19

PETER

Peter lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, wincing. The whole of his right leg felt hot with pain, as if it was pierced with a skewer, rotating over an open fire.

He looked at the surrounding walls, trying to distract himself from the agony by examining each tattoo mock-up displayed, gauging whether or not it would be something he'd ever ink on his own body. Most of them consisted of animals: monkeys with fangs, war horses charging, dolphins breaking the surface of the water in an arching leap. None fascinated him.

"How you holdin' up, Pete?" the woman under his feet asked.

Peter looked down for the first time; he was scared to look, much like he was the previous two sessions. Danielle, the tattoo artist, was wearing black gloves; one hand was pressed against his knee, the other held the needle. Tiny droplets of blood accumulated on the paper underneath his leg. Peter became pale and nauseous. He felt his hand being squeezed and brought his eyes to it. By his side was his girlfriend, Amanda, eyes bright and baby blue. His, a light green.

"Are you okay?" she mouthed.

"Yeah..." He gulped. "Barely feel a thing."

She bent low and kissed him on the nose.

"Liar," she whispered and kissed him again.

"Yeah, you fucking liar. You totally look like you're about to cry," Peter's best friend, Robbie, sitting on the other side of him, said.

"Fuck you, Robbie. Just wait till you get yours, you'll ball like a bab—" He gasped with a short throb of pain.

Robbie laughed harder.

"It looks pretty cool, though," Robbie admitted. "We'll be badasses at school. Maybe we'll even get noticed."

"Come on, that's not why you're doing this, is it? To be popular?" Amanda asked.

"Of course not," Peter said. He lifted his head again and looked down. His leg was becoming the canvas of a galactic war scene. From his knee to his ankle stars shone and ships flew, with auroras glimmering in the backdrop. Red laser beams blasted at a ship the shape of a giant planet.

"Remind me what this is again?" Amanda asked.

"Jesus, Pete, how are you with this girl?" Robbie joked.

"Shut up. Robbie!" Amanda said laughing, and swung a punch over Peter, connecting with Robbie's arm.

"Yeah, shut up, Robbie. I like that she doesn't know. It just means I get to introduce it to her," Peter said.

"Aren't you the lucky one? It's from Star Wars. A New Hope to be exact. It's the destruction of the Death Star. Luke Skywalker joined the rebel alliance, and while piloting an X-Wing starfighter he focused himself with the Force, then fired two proton torpedoes into a thermal exhaust port, conveniently located on the surface of the Death Star, which I have my problems with, but hey, it was the seventies. Anyways, it blew up and the good guys won. At least until the Empire Strikes Back that is..." Robbie proclaimed.

"Spoiler alert!" Amanda said, then looked at Peter. "And you think this tattoo will get you friends?"

"No. Well, I don't know. You don't get it. See, you go to a private school and actually have friends outside of us. In public school, everyone belongs to their own group. But if you're like Robbie and me, who dress normally, get straight As, and don't really mess around, we just kind of float by unnoticed. Maybe now I'll stand out. I had to squirrel away money for two years just to affor—AHH!"

"Sorry," the tattoo artist said. "After three sessions, you're not used to this by now?"

"Nope. Never."