AN: This is so excitng, oh my god. I've had this fanfiction on the go for months now. I wrote this chapter in MAY. It's October now and I've edited it and it's completely done now. I really do hope you enjoy this, and I'm trying to stick with it, as all my other stories are incomplete. Very incomplete. I kind of just give up, you know?
Anyway, if you like this, leave me pretty comment, vote me, follow me,do all the things. Okay.
I present to you, the first of many (hopefully) chapters of Tattooed Heart.
Liv
x
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*Bridget’s POV*
’Marcus, I’m trained. I’m trained and I am ready to actually tattoo people now.’ I plead with my boss yet again. Hoping he will change his mind, I flutter my eyelashes. ‘Please.’
Marcus is a big, burly man in his late 40s and today he sports a leather jacket and a bandana patterned with skulls. He shifts to the side and crosses his arms, revealing the word ‘Mom’ tattooed in an arrow heart (A/N: I just had to throw that in there) He acts the big, tough biker guy but he’s a real softie at heart.
‘Fine. The next to walk in, yours.’ I squeal and thank him by hugging him with force. He probably didn’t even feel it. ‘Now-Bridget, let go- now I’m going to put the equipment out, so stop jumping around.’
I need to make sure I look the part. I might seem a little girl that needs babying and listens to some stupid girl band like...like the Spice Girls. I’m pretty mature. I’m alone most of the time, so I don’t have to talk to anyone and explain myself. And, no, I am in no way lonely, I’m just happy to keep to myself. With a name like Bridget, people either think I’m a three year old or a ninety year old.
There is no inbetween.
I check my reflection in the dirty, cracked bathroom mirror, surrounded by messily scrawled graffiti, cigarette stubs and old chewing gum. And a worrying smell from the last stall on the left. Ignoring the terrible odours, I adjust my black leather jacket. Underneath, I wear a baggy black tee reading ‘The Rolling Stones’ in crumbling, peeling letters. It is tucked into my dark red skirt, teamed with chunky Doc Martens.
I could look worse.
‘Bridget, get out here.’ Marcus yells. At last, my time has come. I check my reflection once more. My redish lipstick isn’t smudged, and my hair (which I sprayed with some sea salt thingy) sticks out in the dull room. Long, electric blonde waves don’t exactly go unnoticed in such a dreary, plain place. I run out into the main room, ready to become a world-famous tattoo artist. Marcus puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me in my tracks. ‘It’s really important that you do well today, Bridget. It’s early days but if anything goes wrong, we could quickly be out of business, got it?’ He scratches his head, which is sparse of hair. (‘It’s not bald, it’s thinning, Bridget’
‘Marky-Is it okay if I call you Marky?’ He shakes his head. ‘M-Dawg, do not even worry about it. I can totally do this. Look at these people. It’s not as if there are any attractive boys here to distract me.’ I say, slowly spinning on my heels.
Pause.Oh god, here we go. Obviously, you know what’s going to happen here. But oddly, it doesn’t turn out to be the way you think it will. This boy that I’m about to meet isn’t going to be the one I fall madly in love with. Before I even turned round, I knew I’d eat my words and there’d be a hot boy. You see- eh you’ll find out soon. Okay, unpause.
I was wrong. A boy had just walked in. I recognised him from somewhere. He was dressed in a way that I could only describe as effortless. Is that even a term? Well. He wore greyish skinny jeans, so tight around his legs that I wasn’t sure how he could breathe. He had a blue checked shirt on, and Ray-Bans pushing his long dark hair off his forehead. He wore worn out combats on his feet. His arms were riddled with tattoos, all small and slight, but maybe meaningful too. He was either a great guy or a complete jerk.
There is no inbetween.
*Unknown POV*
‘Mate, I’m heading out now. Yeah, alright. See you Niall.’ That was a short conversation. All Niall does is call to say he can’t make it or he’s busy or something cam up. This time it was tattoos. It’s been about two years since he said he was going to get one. It was going to be ‘Made in Ireland’. On his bum. He chickened out when we were there getting them, leaving the rest of us with tattoos we didn’t really want, we just got to encourage him. So much for that.
I arrived at the parlour just after twelve. I stood outside in the blazing heat, smoking a cigarette before I went in. Marcus had just opened this one, much closer than his old one in Norwich which we all visited. Louis hasn’t been to this one yet though. I put out my cigarette and walk inside, the vibe instantly changing, with a cool breeze hitting my face, and old music playing from somewhere in the back.
I’m in the waiting area for around five minutes, and then I go into the other room. I see Marcus and some blonde girl in conversation. He looks worried, but from what I can see from the back of her head, she’s happy.
‘...not as if there are any attractive boys here to distract me’ She turns towards me on her heels. Her eyes grow wide when they fix on me. I wonder whether she’s concentrating or not as she fumbles behind her and reaches for the equipment. I look away from her, not interested as she looks around fifteen. What’s she doing in a tattoo parlour? She’s pretty though. Dazzling blue eyes, bright blonde hair, big red lips and quite a nice smile, but she isn’t exactly my type. Liam would like her because her features are similar to Dani’s, only this girl was blonde.
I talk a little to Marcus, catching up with him. I was hoping he’d tell me more about her, but he didn’t, and it would seem weird if I was asking about some little girl. He then leads me over to the ripped, wrinkled leather chair.
‘Hi, I’m Bridget. Erm, what, er, what will you be having done today?’ Why is she stuttering? I tell her what I’d like and show her the picture on my phone. As she works on my tattoo, she looks at me as if she’s trying to place me. Oh God.
‘I’m sorry, can I just ask, why are you staring at me? It’s really creeping me out. I mean, shouldn’t your eyes should be on the tattoo, not my face.’ I snap. I realise how mean I’ve just been. She looks a bit taken aback by my words. ‘Sorry, I’m being so rude, I’m sure you’re concentrating. Sorry.’ She laughs a smile creeps onto her face. I’ve won her over with my charm. Not.
‘No, it’s er...it’s fine, I’m not staring at your face- not that you’re not face-staring material, erm- I was trying to figure out where I-‘ She stops herself. ‘Where I can get the....product. Th- the product you use in your ha-hair. ‘She looks unsure of what she’s saying. ‘For my, er...for my boyfriend. Yeah. His name’s H-Hoyt. Hoyt...Needle...Ink. Needlink. Hoyt Needlink. It’s French.’ She’s obviously making this up as she goes along so that I become jealous of ‘Hoyt’.
But that is a cool name, to be fair.
‘It’s not product. It just stays back by itself- or with a bandana or sunglasses- or it doesn’t. There is no inbetween.’ She smiles at this last bit and fumbles around with the cling film she’s wrapping my arm in.
‘That’s you done. Okay, it’s £12.95. How would you like to pay?’
‘You can just...put it...on my, on my tab.’ I don’t have a tab. Oh.
‘Sure, can I get your name?’ She grabs a pad.
‘Styles. Harry Styles.’ She doesn’t even notice.
‘Can I get your number?’
‘Now who’s the weirdo?’
‘For the tab’
‘God. Here you go.’
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AN: okay, don't hate meeeeee, i know its short and terrible.
also i don't really know how tattoo parlours work so i was babbling about the price and rooms and equipment and stuff. if you do know what they're like , or if i have something wrong, do tell meeeeeeee
ALRIGHT I'M LEAVING GOD.
