Rose Tattoos | H.S (discontinued)

𝐒𝐢𝐱

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

I jumped in surprise because of the person behind me who spoke out of nowhere. Turns out my parents are still awake even though they usually go to bed at around 8:30 P.M.

"Were you at that goth shop again?" My father questioned in the same tone as my mothers.

The way he said "goth shop" didn't roll off his tongue smoothly, you could practically hear the disgust in his voice whenever he says it.

My parents aren't so keen on the fact that I have a side job as a tattoo artist while I'm attending university. Apparently, it didn't give them a good image to show to their friends whose children are the living definition of flawless and perfect.

"Yes, I was at the tattoo parlor again because I work there." I shot back, putting emphasis on "tattoo parlor" to correct my father which only triggered a deeper level of anger in the two of them.

"I just don't understand." My mother threw her hands in the air in frustration, she shook her head and walked off into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. My father and I followed close behind.

"Don't understand what?" I questioned roughly. Heat rose to my cheeks quick; I was infuriated. We've been through this millions of times and they should know by now I love my job.

"How you could work for a monstrosity!" She screamed. "We put you in college to major in something like nursing or pharmacy and make tons of money for your future! Not waste our hard, earned money on being an art major." she spat.

To say I'm lightly offended is an understatement. When I broke the news I was going to go for an apprenticeship the day I turned fifteen my father and mother scoffed right in front of my face. Saying that my art is "childlike" and "unappealing" to look at, especially on one's body.

It did hurt to hear that but I didn't let that stop me from chasing my ambitions. I still went after that apprenticeship and kept improving my artwork to perfection which led to my hiring as a licensed tattoo artist at eighteen.

Of course, my parents were angered that I chose this line of work. What pissed them off even more was when I even said I was going to major in art in college. From that day on they look at me in spite for choosing what I chose.

"I already said I'm not interested in nursing or pharmacy," I sighed. It wasn't that I look down at those careers, it just wasn't something I see myself being happy with in my future. "I like art and I'm going to pursue a career in art!"

"Look at your sister, Alyssa is a succesful doctor who makes lots of money. You could be just like her if you forget about your kindergarten drawings and take yourself a lot more seriously!" exclaimed my father.

Back at it with the insults towards my art. At this point, I was completey over it with their rude remarks. Nothing will make me want to change my career choice and nothing will change their view on me unless I become a carbon copy of my sister.

"I'm just as good as her, even if I'm not a well-payed doctor." I whispered. Tears dared to spill from my waterline and down my cheeks.

I trudged to my bedroom and shut my door quietly, there was enough disturbance in this house amongst my parents and I, there wasn't any point in creating more.

A tingling sensation formed in my nose and the tears that sat in my eyes finally spilled. I hated how the two of them could easily ruin my self esteem and dreams by simply saying "you're not good enough unless you're this or that."

I sat on the edge of my bed; breaths uneven and allowing myself to have a good cry for the millionth time over this arguement. You would think by now I would brush it off like it's nothing, but it hits me deep everytime.

Instead of sitting on my bed until I calmed down, I stood up and paced back and forth in my room to try and ease my nerves and hope my train of thoughts lead to something happier.

The pacing didn't help much it just made my thoughts race through my mind. It was probably due to the fact that I could see my unfinished pieces scattered on my desk through my peripherals; it was those things that my parents absolutely despised.

I picked up one of my artworks which is an abstract drawing inspired by Picasso's paintings. It was by far one of my favorite pieces.

I ripped it up along with all my other unfinished artworks and threw it in the bin. More tears streamed down my face as my parents words repeat itself in my head.

An unbearable pounding began forming in my head. I took a seat on my swivel chair to rub it out. It's getting late and I didn't want to fall asleep while feeling the pain of a headache.

After a couple moments of rubbing my temples and finally getting my breathing back on track, I spaced out and still continued to think about this nights earlier events.

As much as I wanted to cry even more, I couldn't let myself do so, enough is enough. Luckily, my eyes found something to stop itself from forming more tears.

There was an old quote on my wall that I made back in middle school when I was experimenting with sharpies and the gradient painting style.

I found that random quote by an anonymous person on Google images to make my piece and it read, "Be strong because things get better. It may be stormy now, but it never rains forever."

And that gave me the slightest belief of hope.