Altogether unusual

The Red Dragon

'The most beautiful people I've known are those who have known trials, have known struggles, have known loss, and have found their way out of the depths.'– Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

I have no idea how this day even passed. All I know is that my motorcycle takes me home, where mom and dad are packing.

"Hey guys! Are we going somewhere?" I'm a little panicked. What if we leave and I don't have time to talk to Jonathan? Yeah, like that's the most important thing. I won't be finishing school here. And my job.....But somehow the only thing I can think about is Jonathan. Kudos on setting your priorities straight, Clarisse!

"No, baby girl. Your father and I have to go to Paris for 3 days. He needs me there. You are ok on your own I presume. Or can we persuade you to come with us?"

"I'll be just fine. Tomorrow I'll make my first tattoo remember?" My fake cheery voice alarms both of my parents. I see them exchanging glances, then my father leaves the premises. Mom takes me to the chicken, by the hand, like I'm a little girl again, and we seat face to face.

"Clarisse, what is going on with you and Jonathan?" I can see she is concerned, but I honestly don't know what to answer. Even I don't know what happened.

"What do you mean?"

"I heard him yelling at you this morning. And he left in quite a hurry. Almost didn't say good-bye."

"He had to go home, that's all."

"Clarisse, that is no way to treat you!" My father enters the kitchen and I realise he's been listening the whole time.

"Daddy! He was just in a hurry. That's all."

"Yeah, and I can fly on a broom." Mother replies smiling.

"Shhh, daddy doesn't know!" I reply trying to divert her from the topic. Though luck tough.

"Listen, darling, I allowed him to come here, to sleep in your room every week. Sometimes more often than that. But I did it...we did it because we wanted you to have friends. You were friends, weren't you?"

"We realize you are a young woman now, and we are trying not to impose on you, but it seems to me he's not treating you right. Baby girl, are you in love with this man?" Heeello dad, always smack dab in the middle of the subject!

"Mom, dad, you are the best parents ever. I am happy you did let him spend time with me. He is my friend. Nothing more."

"Are you sure there is nothing going on between you two?" I know it's bad to lie to them. And more than that, my mother doesn't even buy my bullshit. I can see she's scared of what I might answer. She knows he has a girlfriend. She also senses I like him more than I declare.

It pains me to say it, even if it's true. I take a deep breath and answer as frank as I possibly can. "No. There is nothing going on between Jonathan and me. We are really good friends. Nothing more."

"Ok. I believe you. If you say so, I believe you." Mom raises her hands, palms up, signalling the end of the discussion. Also her surrender. "We'll go back to packing now because your father, he cannot handle the job. When we get back I want to see pictures of tomorrow. And we will make a scandalous celebration. Deal?"

"Deal." She is not 100% convinced of what I just said, but she chooses to believe me. I do too.

They leave on Friday morning, before I go to school. After I kiss and hug them, wishing them a good trip, I go to pick up my outfit for today. I need to make myself feel good against myself. Against my stupid depressed brain over a stupid guy. I put on a pair of simple snug leather pants paired with heavy boots with spikes. I am aware the clients have more confidence in a tattoo artist who has good, visible tattoos. Entire articles have been written about this phenomenon. The clients know it is unlikely for the artist to have done his or her own tattoos on the upper side of the body. Nonetheless, the number and the high quality, or should I say the spectacular in them, make the clients trust us more. And we always need their trust. I mean we are about to use a needle to carve an almost impossible to remove image in their flesh, inflicting a considerable amount of pain in the process. We have to look healthy and clean. I know mother was obsessed when I had my first one done. Hepatitis, tetanus, tuberculosis and HIV was all I heard for weeks. So not only we have to work clean as a first, golden, goes without saying rule, but we have to show that we work clean. Taking all these into consideration I chose a strapless black top to wear tonight. It will show my tattoos, as well as my white, soft skin and muscular healthy body. I put a black shirt too, for school. I don't want to show too much skin there.

"Hey, black kitty!" I hear Eve from across the hall. "Let's go eat. I feel like I'm going to faint if I don't."

"Yeah, yeah, you always say that, and then you eat a tomato."

She laughs out and spanks my bum while pacing forward in line. We take our food and go to our table. Eve checks around, looking for Jonathan, I suppose. I don't even know if he said something to her about our...fight. I presume it was a fight. Jonathan is kind of weird regarding our activities together. He said that the sleepovers should be our secret because the people would talk, Eve would draw the wrong conclusions, and so on. So she doesn't know he spends nights at my place, which I presume it means she doesn't know about the fight.

"Clarisse!" I yelp at her calling. "Where did you go, girl?"

"Sorry! Thinking about tonight, the tattoo and all."

"That's right. I'm sure you'll do a great job. Sorry I cannot be there."

"Thanks, darling. And don't worry. But I do expect a celebration."

"Listen, do you know anything about Jonathan?" she keeps spinning her head to locate him. I see her frowning for the shortest of the seconds, but then she's laughing crazy and indicates a direction with a nod. Now I observe them too. "Our Jonathan is serious about this girl, isn't he? Not just a fuck anymore! I tell you! Guys? Will never be honest about their feelings. I swear I never saw him with a girl before." She turns back to her food and continues to rant. "Just you and me at the weird table, kid!"

"Yeah, just the two of us," I reply numbly. We change the subject and we talk about clothes for the party I invited her and Jonathan in two weeks' time. Some band for which I made the album cover has a concert in London. Of course I am not usually around for these things, but for the first time in my life I am able to give a positive answer to an invitation. Of course my friends are not really into that type of music, but they have been more than willing to come with me. We girls agreed on buying some Goth outfits. It goes without saying that I'll be the judge of the clothing. Eve sustains that colourless is a science and I own the key to it. After a lot of talking and joking we part ways to go to our classes.

I arrive to the saloon in time to drink a cup of coffee. I smoke a cigarette too, since my nerves refuse to cease stretching and stretching. I'm afraid I'll hear a snap and I'll fall dead on my face. I review in my mind the things a have to do. I have the drawing on tracing paper, we have met several times to discuss his ideas and how could I make them reality. My palms are sweating and I can only think about the gym and how blowing off some steam would help. Isn't it strange how we wish for things to happen and when they are about to, we want to run away, scared? That's me now. I wish Jonathan was here. He's so fucking cold and composed all the time that he calms me down. I cannot believe he got so mad at something I didn't do on purpose. If he were my friend he wouldn't have taken it so bad. Am I not right, guys? Oh, God damn him and his British blood!

Mark, my customer, just entered the saloon. We greet happily and we exchange pleasantries while he undresses himself. I keep looking at the door hoping someone I love will enter and smile at me encouragingly. I know I seem though at times, but boy, would I be glad not to be alone in a situation which may as well decide my entire future! Mark is seated on the special chair, chest pressed against the multifunctional backrest, slightly leaning forward. He is shirtless now and looking good. His torso is nicely worked, with round, muscly shoulders settled on a wide back. He is a little too big for my taste, but he's good-looking. On one of his impressive shoulders I will put my mark. He wants a red dragon, the head of it on the bulging upper arm, the body continued on the shoulder and down to the shoulder blade. I clean him nicely and shave off the possible hair, to leave the skin smooth. The door behind me opens and I almost jump off my chair to check who entered.