The Mormon Renegade

Chapter 22

"Tris! We're outta milk and gluten free bread, can you go to the corner store and get some?" Scout pouts, slamming the fridge door so it rocks from the impact.

I gotta do the weekly shop or Scout'll bite my head off... talk more later?
I send the text receiving a reply three second later.

"Yeah, yeah I'm going there now, anything else?" Ipredict the answer in advance of her enthusiastic response.

"Ice cream. Lots and lots and lots of ice cream." She triggers the memory of those kids yelling for the Lolly shop while I was making my escape nearly a month ago.

Opening Jake's response I read, Yeah of course, looking forward to it. Wink and air kiss emoji.

We've been corresponding this way non stop for two weeks now. We haven't progressed romantically in our relationship but there is a definite connection that was established the night I got arrested. Ah memories. 

The gift he gave me as a sign of his gratitude was a handcrafted bracelet he supposedly bought from overseas intending to gift it for his friends birthday when he substituted her a ring instead. 

"Love you." I declare finally leaving the apartment after she reciprocates in a lovey dovey manner. "Love you too."

Living with Scout is effortless, given we both have our fair share of hissy fits and petty arguments yet we prevail stronger and closer afterward.

She's adopted the role of best friend, driving instructor and life expert all at once in an effort to help me rely on her less and form stronger independence. There must be a God up there somewhere because she really is a blessing.

Wearing the off shoulder sweater she bought me I brace the temperamental winter, prepared for its bipolar mood swings of freezing cold and autumn warmth in the spam of one day.

Enjoying the setting suns rays on my pale collarbones I reach the corner shop later than usual, far too delirious to notice. "How ya doin' Tristan?" 

Christian Coma —or CC as the locals call him— slides a Playboy centrefold behind the cash register pretending to wipe away excess dust on the translucent surface. "I'm hungry, how 'bout you?"

"Literally nothing has changed since the last fifty times you've asked me." He says disgusted by his lack of social life.

"So why don't you make it interesting instead of making google eyes at Miss February?" CC face palms his bandana forehead, ears turning cherry red.

"You saw that, huh?"

"You're as subtle as the Kardashians." He has a good laugh at this, packing the groceries I bought into a plastic bag, I exchange the money for the food well aware of our low stock at home.

"You're change."

"Thank you."

"Also..." He prevents me from leaving by shooting his lanky arms in my path, I could trace each stroke of his extravagant tattoos. "I promised to do a solid for a buddy of mine if that alright with you." Curious I ask if his 'buddy' is Jake by any chance.

"No actually, it was Andy who asked about you." Andy Biersack was asking about me? I thought I was the outcast whose childhood wasn't 'normal' just because I didn't understand his pop culture references. "You don't say?" 

Once I've bought a chilled coke I never had the luxury of consuming back in Mormonmania, I act disinterested while also speechless, "M'kay, bye, thanks again CC." It was said rather rushed but he waves farewell nevertheless.

Taking the route a little out of the way back home so Marv the Prophet doesn't badger me with his relentless prophecies, my attention is enraptured by a Golden Ink Tattoo Parlor.

In the outside darkness the portraits of beautiful ink art cluster the glass window, glowing in artificial light, the only area uninhabited by a poster supplies the sight of customers getting tattoos or deciding on a design. 

What better way to stray from the person I was then paying for a spur of the moment tattoo?

Entering the decent size parlor a young guy, presumably in his twenties eyes me up and down raising an are-you-serious eyebrow. "Hi, you here to get inked or correct a tatt home wrong?"

Tatt gone wrong?

"Uh, just a regular tattoo. It's my first time." The most undermining thing you can say includes anything that implies your a newbie because people prey on those vulnerable qualities. He smiles to himself amused, "Alright, do you have a design in mind?" There is a large wall covered and overwhelming amounts of large symbols in different styles and colours.

"Where's the least painful area to get a tattoo?"

"Well for starters there's the forearm—" Easy to cover, sounds good.

"Sold. I'll have the zodiac symbol for cancer on my forearm, is there anything else I have to do before we start?" He crosses his arms puckering his lips in uncertainty.

"Alright." Lifting the flimsy sweater sleeve, I lie on the leather bed similar to a hospital gurney. He shaves the area, places a stencil of the black lines as an indication of how the final product will appear.

The nerves kick into high gear when the needle begins to vibrate and disgracing myself beyond repair I back out of the decision after one stroke, unable to deal with the permanent aftermath.

"Sorry." I mutter again, head low and avoiding eye contact, morbidly embarrassed by my lack of willpower.

I make it outside and turn down an unfamiliar path, not realizing my mistake until I run into a massive pub brawl that seems to have blown way out of proportion.