Kristin clenched her teeth at the low buzzing sound of the tattoo gun. The needle jabbed her skin.
“Try to stay still,” said the tattooist, an acne ridden young skinhead sporting a Skrewdriver t-shirt.
“Sorry,” said Kristin, settling back into the chair and closing her eyes.
It hurt like hell, but she found the pain strangely soothing. It was so immediate, so pronounced, that she couldn’t think of anything else. That came as a relief. There was only the staccato jab of needle into flesh rather than the endless loop of nightmare images from the past few days.
How long had it been? She tried to recall. Nothing came to her. She didn’t know the day of the week, never mind the date. She had left before Christmas and now it was what?
She didn’t think it was the new year because she was sure Soothe would have partied. Or maybe they had, and Kristin had already forgotten.
The tattooist wiped a cloth across the patch of flesh just above her hip to reveal a letter H. He glanced back over his shoulder at Soothe who was smoking a cigarette and leafing through a tattoo magazine.
“We doing ‘property of’ or just the name?”
“Just the name,” said Soothe.
“You got it,” he said, switching the gun back on and going to work on the next letter in Hanger’s name.