Through a Glass, Darkly ▷ Isaac Lahey

Tattoo

I glanced around the dingy tattoo parlor with my arms crossed tightly across my chest. I probably looked uptight and out of place, in my floral print dress and cardigan, but I was here for my brother. My crazy brother had forged our mom's signature to get a tattoo to congratulate himself on not calling his ex-girlfriend all summer.

Why couldn't he just buy himself a large tub of chocolate ice cream to celebrate his willpower like the rest of us?

"Boy," the tattoo artist said loudly, his voice filled with dry amusement. "it's a good thing you drew me a picture."

I held back my laughter as Stiles showed me a picture before holding it up to Scott. "Hey Scott, sure you don't want something like this?" He held up the lizard design, causing me to snort loudly at my brother's unamused expression. "Too soon?"

"Probably. Just a little." I giggled, earning a high five from Stiles.

After a moment of idly flipping through an example booklet, Stiles spoke up again. "I don't know, man, are you sure about this? I mean, these things are pretty permanent, you know?"

Scott shook his head. "I'm not changing my mind."

"Okay, but why two bands?" I asked, stopping to admire a picture on the wall of a particularly detailed wolf howling at the moon.

He shrugged, and sent us both his trademark dopey smile. "I just like it."

"But don't you think your tattoo should have some sort of meaning, or something?"

I nodded my head at Stiles' words, before leaning over his shoulder to glance at the design book he had.

"Getting a tattoo means something." Scott argued, causing me to roll my eyes.

"I don't think that's-"

"He's right." The tattoo artists voice cut me off. I was so startled by it I ended up banging my nose on Stiles' shoulder. "Tattooing goes back thousands of years. The Tahitian word tatua means 'to leave a mark'. Like a rite of passage."

"Yeah," Scott said with a smug smile. "you see? He gets it."

Stiles gave my face one last once over and gave me a thumbs up before he turned and gestured to the man, pulling his signature 'are you kidding me?' face. "He's covered in tattoos, Scott."

"Literally!" I emphasized.

"Okay," the tattoo artist said gruffly. "You ready? You ain't got any problems with needles, do you?"

Scott shook his head "Nope." His conformation was all the man needed to fire up the needle, filling the room with a loud, unpleasant buzzing.

Stiles squirmed beside me. "I tend to get a little squeamish though, so..." Before any of us could react he collapsed on his face right onto the floor.

I groaned loudly. "I got him." I waved off the tattoo artist and Scott, who looked ready to get up, as I knelt down to check on our idiot.

____

"Oh man..." Scott hissed as we settled into the jeep.

Stiles paused, not putting in the keys yet. "You okay?"

"Kinda burns." Scott grimaced, and I watched his pained expressions in the mirror.

Stiles pulled his ice pack away from his face and gestured at Scott's arm. "Yeah you just had your skin stabbed about 100,000 times with a needle."

I snatched the ice pack away from Stiles, and forcefully placed it on his head, making him whine in pain. The look I sent him stopped him from trying to move away.