You Don't Know Me

Tattoo

CHAPTER 38

The only thing I've thought about these past few days have been my mother's funeral. Everything else has not been worth thinking about.

As soon as I got home from the funeral, I went to my room and didn't come down for days until I desperately needed something. I refused to see anyone and wanted some alone time. I’ve not bothered replying to my calls or my texts because everything around me didn’t matter.

Four days later, I'm not feeling as down as I did before. So I get dressed and go downstairs, but there's no sign of Andrea or my dad. I've barely seen them recently.

I make myself some food and sit on the sofa in the living room and search for something decent to watch, but nothing seems interesting enough. I sigh, not knowing what to do to make time go faster. 

Somehow my mother is in my thoughts and I spend quite a while just thinking about her. I remember every little detail about her. I don't want to stop because I'm afraid I'll forget something. I know that as time goes by I'll slowly forget things about my mum, bit by bit. I can't let that happen, so I decide to get a tattoo.

I stand up and go to my room, searching for my fake ID, as I know the legal age for a fake ID is eighteen years old. I definitely can't wait two years to get a tattoo, so I look harder, determined to find it.

I end up finding it under some of my books on my desk and to say that I'm relieved is an understatement. I get dressed and head out, taking my phone and my purse with me. I decide not to bother writing my dad a note because he hasn't bothered informing me of his whereabouts so why should I?

There is a tattoo parlour called "ExtINKed" which is only a ten minute walk and I've heard nothing but positive comments about it, so I decide to try it out. I can't help but feel nervous and excited at the same time.

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Ten minutes later, I walk inside the tattoo parlour and I'm told to take a seat. I sit down and notice that there are also a few other people who are also waiting. 'You're a little young to be getting a tattoo dear' a woman in her late forties states as if it's a fact. 'No, not really because I'm eighteen.'

'Yes, but that is still young. Most people usually get their tattoos in their early twenties.'

'I guess I'm not most people then.' I think the conversation has ended and I'm thankful for that but then she asks 'do you know what tattoo you’re going to get.' I subtly roll my eyes because I don't want to be rude but I also don't want to keep talking to this woman.

 'Yes, I do.'

'That's good, so what is it?' Before I can even reply, a young man calls me into a room. He tells me to take a seat and I introduce myself.

 'You look quite young, probably the youngest I've seen, so how old are you?'

'I'm eighteen.' I say, prepared for this kind of conversation.

'Okay, can I see some sort of proof then?' I nod and get my fake ID from my purse, handing it to him. He analyses it for a moment before handing it back to me. 'Okay, now that we have that out of the way, what can I do for you today?'

'Well, I wanted a tattoo.'

'What kind of tattoo?' I get a piece of paper that's folded up from my purse. It's a paper I put there a while ago. It says "mum" in Japanese, with two love hearts on each side of it. I show it to him and he asks 'you want this tattoo?'

'Yes.'

'No problem, may I ask why you chose this because I didn't expect it from you.'

'Well what did you expect then?'

'I expected a cliché quote or something girly.' I roll my eyes at his stereotypical attitude.

'It basically says "mum" in Japanese.' I wait for him to reply but he's waiting for me to carry on, so I just continue. ‘My mother died recently and I wanted a tattoo to put a smile on my face, something I can look at anytime; anywhere and still remember her.' I look at him and he just stares at me, so I sigh and continue, 'I got it in Japanese because my mother has always wanted to learn the language but that won't happen now.'

'I'm sorry.'

'And two hearts symbolises my love for her and the love she returned back to me.' I finish, ignoring his apology.

'You've really thought about this haven't you?'

'Yes, can we start now?' I ask impatiently.

'Yes, where do you want it?'

'My wrist,' I hold up my right wrist to show which one I want it on. 'How long will it even take?'

'It depends on your pain tolerance.' I roll my eyes because that's not a proper answer. He gets his equipment ready, preparing it. I take a deep breath and he begins. I close my eyes because I don't want to look and he starts. Immediately, I tense up and I forget how to breathe.

 'You okay?' He asks, noticing my reaction. I nod my head and he continues. 

My muscles scream in pain. I feel like I'm receiving multiple bee stings. I flinch and mutter 'ow,' as the needle goes a little deeper into my skin. Instantly, he stops and asks 'do you want some water to drink?' I shake my head because I want this over and done with as soon as possible. He nods and resumes his art on my wrist and I mentally promise myself that this is my first, as well as my last tattoo.

It’s a hot pinching sensation and I use my left hand to cover my face up, putting pressure on it which helps distract me from the pain of the tattoo. As the pain increases, I increase the pressure and that's what I continuously do throughout the time that my tattoo is being done. 

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An hour and a numb wrist later, the tattoo is complete. 'All done.' I sigh in relief and sit up.

'How much?' I ask and he replies with '£95.' I hand over £100 in cash and say 'keep the change,' before walking out of the room.

On my way out of the tattoo parlour, I pass the same woman who was irritating me before. She notices me and stands, 'how did it go?' She asks and I take deep breath before shrugging, 'it was fine.'

'Really? Just fine? Not painful?'

'Nope.' I say avoiding her gaze.

 'Most people say it hurts.'

'Well, I guess I have a high pain tolerance then.' She opens her mouth to reply but I cut her off and say 'look I have to go now,' before walking past her. I pull my hood up, folding my arms protectively over my chest and take the familiar route back to where I call my home.