Shield - Gallavich

Chapter four - Tattoo

I suppose you could say that Ian and I never had the strongest of relationships. It started with me abusing him for fuck sake, what did he ever even see in me? I was such a coward hiding behind my tough act, its not like anybody even hassled me after I came out except my dad but who gives a shit about that asshole anyway. Fuck, I hate that son of a bitch.

I get out of here tomorrow and honestly that scares the shit out of me.

I'm walking down this corridor with my hands running through my hair trying to decide what I'm going to do about Svetlana and Yevgeny. Its not like I have any money, I don't know how I'm going to earn any either. Not many employers are searching for ex-convicts as their trusty employees.

Why am I such a fuck up? Oh yeah because I was raised by the shittiest family in the shittiest part of town you can find. Beautiful.

I scan the room around me and spot Bruce in his man-made fortress of paper towels trying to hide the fact that he is obviously tattooing some guy. The guards don't exactly pay any attention around here so if you ask me its a waste of perfectly good paper towels.

The familiar buzzing is relaxing to my ears as I continue to walk towards the comforting sound. Bruce doesn't even acknowledge my existence as I gorp at his hand-crafted tattoo gun. It doesn't look like the safest of contraptions but what are you meant to expect for a prison tattoo gun.

I inspect the gun carefully and wonder how he managed to get half of this shit. It's mainly held together by rubber bands with a small plastic cylinder and then the needle pointing out at the end, looking like it could snap at any minute.

I watch over his shoulder as he messily draws out the edges of a skull onto his 'clients' skin. Bruce always refers to the guys who come to him as his clients, its as if it comforts him to play pretend tattoo shops. Hell, I would rather have a pretend tattoo shop if it made this place seem less depressing.

"You having one Milkovich?" I'm taken back by Bruce automatically knowing that I'm stood behind him. I swear this asshole must be psychic because he hasn't looked up once since I stepped into the room. Bruce sniggers to himself making the line of his skull design even worse (if thats even possible).

Silently, I take a minute before I give him a reply. Do I want a tattoo? What tattoo would I even want to get? A certain face flashes into my mind and I smirk.

"Yeah sure, as long as your hands are steadier than they're being on that poor fucker." I reply taking in the picture of the deranged skull on the guys skin in front of me.

"Hey, I never claimed to be an artist! Sit down and draw out what you want, you bastard." he tosses a chewed up pen towards me, how the fuck did he get this?

Tearing a scrap piece from the paper tower fortress, I sit down and think over what it is that I actually want. I couldn't exactly draw his face, plus I don't think I would trust Bruce with that since it would probably turn out looking like John Travolta.

I go for the next best thing which is of course his name.

After about 20 minutes of waiting, I get comfy inside the fortress of ultimate secrecy, flashing the guard a wink who obviously knows whats going on. An eye roll is given to me in response. I slide my piece of paper towel to Bruce.

"What's this then? Your dead dads name or some shit?" he examines the flimsy design with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Erm, sure something like that." I would really rather not go blurting about Ian all over the place considering I would soon be on everyones bitch list and probably beaten to a pulp before I can make it out alive tomorrow.

"You've been in here long enough to know that this ain't for free Milkovich. What you got for me?" I roll my eyes.

"Yeah I know score, I'll pay you tomorrow." little does this fucker know that I'm out of here tomorrow and he isn't getting anything for his so called hard work.

He nods without questioning me any further and cleans off the end of his needle. I point to where I want the tattoo and he begins prodding it into my skin.

"Here?" he questions looking up at me and I reply with a small nod.

It feels soothing once I begin to get used to the familiar pain again. After around 15 minutes my eyes are beginning to close as I start to drift to sleep until Bruce finally pokes me awake to tell me that its done.

As soon as the gun stops its assault on my skin there is an instant feeling of heat to replace it. I literally feel like my skin is on fire and its irritating as fuck.

Bruce places some paper towel over the design and tapes it down. Not much of a professional safety guard really but it will do the job.

"No looking until I've been paid, you got that Milkovich?" obviously, this is a safety precaution for his shitty artwork. Its almost guaranteed that my tattoo looks like utter crap and if I look now then it will risk me not paying up.

"Yeah right, I'll come over tomorrow." I reassure him as I climb out.

I begin to walk away when a guard stands in front of me to block my path, placing his hand on my chest. This can't mean anything good.

Shit.