The Bad Boy Is A Loser

15. || sometimes quiet is violent

Author's Note: Check out the new trailer up above, if you'd like!!

It was officially the first week of December. Winter had arrived and for Troy, that meant walking for over an hour to work every day in less than appropriate clothing for the cold weather. The winters up north were always frigid, leaving it's citizens with numb hands and chattering teeth every time they stepped outside.

It was mid afternoon when Troy's first client came through the door. He was tall and muscled, appearing to be around the same age as him. The athletic, jock type was the impression he gave.

"Troy!" Ricky called from the receptionist desk, "You've got a client!"

     In just a few short shuffles, Troy was beside the wooden desk, greeting the customer with a casual nod of his head.

     "Hey," The mousy brown headed athlete greeted the artist with a smile, spread from his chiseled cheeks, "I had an appointment for two o'clock with you. Colton Wilkerson ring a bell?"

     He appeared to be nervous, bouncing on the heels of his feet and keeping his hands in his pockets.

     "Yeah!" Troy exclaimed, "The numbers... You wanted the numbers on your arm."

      "Seven, twenty eight, two thousand fourteen," The customer, now introduced as Colton, recited, "You got it, man."

     "Alright, well let's get started." Troy nonchalantly motioned his hand in the direction of his station behind them.

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     Creating small talk with clients was difficult for Troy when he first began working at Allen's Ink, but after doing it since the age of eighteen – seven years ago – it was much easier.

     Colton sat still in the black, leather chair, occasionally wincing or gritting his pearly, white teeth, as the tattoo gun dug into his flesh.

     Troy chuckled at the obvious misery the male was going through on his upper arm.

     "The pain's the worst part," The artist said light heartedly, "At least you'll get to show it off, though. That's my favorite part."

     Colton gave a husky laugh. "I can tell," He said, eyes trailing to the sleeve of ink on his working arm. "I mean, I probably would only show it off to just a few people, though... A lot of people I'm closely linked to aren't really fond of... ink."

     Troy's eyes stayed glued to his work, but his brows wiggled with interest.

     "So, why've you decided to rebel today?"

     A pause came from the client before he began. His voice was somber and monotone, as if he were trying not to recall a distant memory.

     "Well, it's my mother's death date," He replied, "My friend... He's like a brother to me. He got his mom's death date tattooed on him too, not long ago. Can't remember who did it, though. Anyways, I felt like if I get anything on me, it should mean a lot."

     A frown pressed against Troy's lips.

     "Yeah, that's rough," He said. He was at a loss for words. Though he hated his own mother, he could imagine the pain of losing a loved one. "I'm guilty of getting stupid tattoos, though. I used to think just like that but now I have so many, I'm gonna start looking sappy if all of them have too much sentimental value."