No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Once out of her house and in my car mid-Sunday morning, Ikra adjusts in her seat.

"How many books did you bring?" she gripes, moving the hulking bag of books towards the back. "It's not gonna take that long."

Reversing out of the driveway, I comment, "I gotta have enough material to keep me from dying of boredom."

"What are they, anyway?" She grabs a book and analyzes the cover. "Dude, really? Great Expectations? We read it for class two years ago."

"You did. I wasn't in Advanced English."

She scoffs. "I was constantly talking about how annoyingly long it was and complained about Mrs. Havisham being a piece of shit. You must've had some idea what it's about."

Ikra types the directions on her phone and holds it up for me. 

"Good thing I'm reading it and not you."

"Your loss." 

She chucks the book in the back with the others. Little does she know the bag's full of other books from British writers. If I'm researching for how I'm gonna live in England and go to school there, I might as well enjoy some of it. Reading a book or two would help calm my nerves.

Although Mom was bitching about me spending all yesterday at the library instead of spending time with 'my loving family'.

The cramped highway has us in traffic for much longer than I want. By the time we finally exit, I'm cranky as hell, and I want those boozy coffees I've been finding ads for online.

Tikki Tats is located in a small building complex. Three times we drive past it before calling ourselves dumbasses for not seeing it the first time. Since all the parking spots around it are full, I end up parking the car two blocks away. 

"Next time, I'll make an appointment at a place I can find no problem," Ikra gripes, pulling the door open.

My shoulder aches from the weight of the books. "And a much closer spot."

I shuffle through the paperbacks as Ikra checks in with the receptionist. My friend's getting nervous with every passing second. Once everything's set up, a burly man with a sleeve comes out from the back. Introducing himself as Topper, he greets Ikra with a handshake and warm smile.

He notices me with an Agatha Christie book. "Is this your friend?" he asks Ikra.

She nods, slightly shaky. "Yeah, is it cool if she's with me?"

The tattoo artist peers into the back. From where I stand, another artist is with her customer. "Tell you what, today's been pretty slow. As long as your friend doesn't cause too much trouble, I don't care."

With a smile at me, Ikra takes my hand. Her palm is clammy. 

The room reminds me of a typical hair salon model. Instead of big bottles of hair products and hair dryers, tiny bottles of ink and a fancy ink machine are placed on the counters. The black chairs swivel whenever I brush a hand against the backs of them. Two long tables are in the very back of the room, also equipped with ink and machines.

Topper has Ikra sit down in one of the many empty stations, and invites me to occupy the next one. He talks to her in a calming voice, making sure the design is exactly what she wants.

I keep focus on the book as he preps her upper arm for the tattoo placement. Now and then I peer over the pages to see how Ikra's holding up. He doesn't stop talking the whole time he's setting up the machine with red ink for the outline.

"Is there any significance behind the design?" Topper asks.

The way Ikra's voice skips suggests her hesitation. "It's not that meaningful compared to the other tattoos I wanna get." Pointing at the outline Topper placed on her arm, she mentions, "Like the little tortoiseshell cat in the center is for luck."

She delves into more of her tattoo ideas as Topper inks, every so often changing the ink color in the gun before resuming. He asks more in-depth questions so Ikra keeps talking. Once in a while she'll wince whenever the gun hits a spot.

Out of concern for my friend, I'll read a page at most before spending ten minutes observing. Most of the time she seems okay. At least okay enough to stick her tongue out when I offer to hold her hand for support.

Huh, maybe Jeremiah had a point with wanting to show emotion and getting shit for it.

After an eternity passes, Topper finishes up the tattoo. The other artist had long finished her previous customer and starts her next appointment. Ikra gets her tat covered in clear wrap and tips to keep it clean until it's healed.

I stand next to my friend as she pays up front. Stuffing her card in her wallet, Ikra follows me to the car. She avoids using her arm as she gets in the passenger seat.

Ikra's quiet as I get us back on the road and on our way home.

"How was it?" I ask. The silence from my friend's getting unbearable.

She snorts. "You were there. How'd you think it was?"

Tsking, I answer, "From where I was sitting, painful."

"You got that right." She stares at the new tattoo through the Saran wrap. "Then again, it wasn't that bad. Like, I got cramps worse than this."

For some reason this strikes me as hilarious. Hell, I'm tempted to pull over, I'm laughing so hard. Ikra, on the other hand, contemplates getting out of the car when she gets the chance.

"Niamh, it's not that funny," she says.

I take a couple deep breaths. "It kinda is. The next time I'm cramping, I'll just pretend I'm training for tattoo sessions."

Ikra just huffs. "I request a subject change."

"Fine." I go through an intersection. "How was your birthday yesterday? Was it fun?" 

She shrugs. "It was okay. Mom and Dad thought it was funny to give me presents wrapped in Christmas paper and say they forgot to give me the rest of my Christmas presents. Again."

"What a couple of dicks."

"Actually, that's them playing their favorite joke."

"Oh." Now I feel bad for calling her parents dicks.

Ikra chuckles. "They're a little dickish for not letting you guys come over and celebrate."

"Yeah, why is that?" 

Oh shit, we're back on the highway again. And the traffic looks worse than before. Fuck.

"Something about wanting to celebrate my first birthday as an adult with only family. I don't know, it's kinda stupid." 

Ikra stares at her tattoo again.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah... I think."

She turns on the radio and switches station. The rest of the drive is us singing along to hip hop. Or rather, Ikra's getting the lyrics down and I'm mumbling through it.

The car rolls onto the open spot in the driveway. Ikra slowly takes off the seat belt but doesn't open the door yet.

"Look at this, would you? You see anything weird?" She leans over to my side, showing me her arm.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"The red spots around the piece." Her finger hovers over the area she's talking about.

"All I can see are the specks of blood smearing under the clear wrap."

She hums. "You sure?"

"Yeah. If you're worried about an infection, the website had the infections page, remember? They're hella careful with their equipment being squeak-clean."

"Okay." My friend doesn't seem too convinced. "Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it."

"No problem. Just remember that you owe me a ride when I get inked."