Book IV of the UNC Series
Carter Blake has a bone-deep hatred for the world-and especially for the people in it. All he wants is to keep his head down, focus on school and basketball, and avoid the mess of human connection. After enduring years of...
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The studio room is bathed in fluorescent white light, with the music drifting through the speakers in a low hum. I flex my fingers when my hand cramps from clenching the pencil as I carefully draw intricate lines over the sketchbook. My tongue pokes out through the seams of my lips, licking the top lip slowly as I cock my head, inhaling softly as my pulse remains calm and relaxed.
My leg taps gently to the beat of the music as my mind floats off, getting carried away with my art. This is the most relaxed I've ever been and probably will ever get.
The high of getting a tattoo might beat this feeling, but allowing my thoughts and creations to flow is euphoric. The lightweight sensation in my head, the numbness of limbs, is just another high without the use of substances.
I've never been a fan of drinking and drugs, thanks to Ricky. Though I'm surrounded by those who often indulged in them, like Spencer and friends from my past life, I never found the appeal in them. Having my inhibitions lowered and not being in complete control of my actions isn't something that sounds alluring.
However, I'm not someone without a vice. Tattoos and piercings are my addiction, my high, an obsession, a fixation.
And when I finally get the opportunity to permanently ink someone else's body with my art, visible for all to see, it'll be a rush like no other. The most powerful high, the unrecoverable bliss, a bolt of electricity that I'll never want to come down from.
It has to be better than any orgasmic elations I've ever experienced in my life—not that I've experienced much from past partners. When tattooing myself has given me that rush, inking someone else has to be equally addicting.
And nothing and no one can ever take that feeling away from me.
As I add the last line, I smile down at the finished piece.
Key—short for Keyan—is the owner of the studio and decided to take a chance on me three years ago when I was in desperate need of a job and had nowhere to turn.
Key is a tall Middle Eastern guy with the darkest shade of curly hair and arms full of tattoos that I envy—though I'm currently working on building the sleeve on my left arm, it's very much incomplete. He also has numerous piercings, including an industrial piercing, his lobes filled with spacers, his septum, his eyebrow and a labret piercing.
I love his art, but he's also generous enough to tattoo my hand-drawn art and let me practice even though I'm still building my portfolio and can't afford to buy my own equipment. Now I'm so close to renting my own chair. I have the money, but I still need to perfect my work.
Key has a client coming in, hoping for a tattoo of a geometric elephant with little intricate details of past memories she wants incorporated into the art. While he is actually the one who's going to design and tattoo the piece onto her—since the client specifically asked for him—he asked me to take the opportunity to create a few sketches that I could then practice tattooing the faux skin so that he could critique my shading and line work.
