by Bella J
I sat on the chair and eyed Red with suspicion. “You’re going to make this as painful as possible, aren’t you?”
“Can I ask a question?”
“No.”
“Then, yes. Yes, I am.”
Red busied herself tracing the image on a piece of stencil paper while I grew more nervous by the second.
“One,” I said, and Red slowly turned to face me. “You can ask one question.”
Red bit her lip, green eyes glancing all around the room while I heard the wheels turning in her head. “Okay, I do have one question.”
“Yeah?”
“And it’s by far the most important question I can ask right now.”
“Yes?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You better give me the truth.”
“Of course.”
Red scooted closer, her face hard with an immense amount of seriousness. “So, my question is…does your mom know you’re getting this tattoo?”
The heaviness of the moment lingered for a split second before I burst out laughing. “Are you serious? Is that your question?”
Red shrugged. “It’s a legit, important question, my friend.”
I snickered. “No, Red. My mom doesn’t know. And she won’t know either.”
Red threw her hands in the air. “Are you trying to fucking torture me?”
“You know she can’t find out.”
“Are you telling me your mom won’t know that her perfect little ballerina got her skin inked…permanently?”
“Geez, Red. You look disappointed.”
“Fuck, yeah, I am. This is like the best way ever to piss your mother off, yet you deny me the pleasure of seeing the look of shock and disgust on her face for the first time ever.”
I shimmied out of my tights, placed them on top of my bag, then slipped back onto the chair. “My mom would kill me if she finds out, which is why I want it here.” I pointed to my inner right thigh, and Red’s gaze followed.
She rolled her green eyes. “I’d much rather we tattoo this baby on your forehead so mommy-dearest won’t ever be able to miss it.”
“Shut up.” I chuckled. “Now, hurry up. I have an early class tomorrow.”
Red studied me with curious eyes. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Now get a move on before I change mind.”
“Okay, then.”
It took Red about twenty minutes to trace the image on the stencil paper. While I watched her work, I thought about what my mother would do if she ever found out. Perfection was my mom’s religion, and she had spent my entire life making sure it was mine too. Ever since I could remember, my mom had always talked about me following in her footsteps, becoming this perfect ballerina. How I would perform around the world, be the star attraction as the beautiful Odette in Swan Lake. Dancing was my mom’s life, and she had managed to make it my life as well.
“All right, let’s do this.” Red pulled on a pair of gloves and cleaned the area on my thigh. “I’m not gonna lie, it hurts like a bitch.”
I snorted. “Have you seen my toes lately?”
“Oh, God. Fucking masochist. I still don’t get why you torture yourself so willingly when it’s not even something you want to do.”
“It is.” My words didn’t come out as strong as they should have.
Red just cocked a brow at me as if to say, “Who are you kidding?”
It wasn’t that I didn’t like ballet. I did. As a little girl, I loved dancing around in the garden, letting my own music guide my steps. But my mom’s obsession with dancing took the music inside me away, and now it was merely the steps that remained.
The buzzing of the machine started, and without warning, Red grazed the needle across my skin, all along the traced image.
I cringed, the scratching pain burning my flesh. It was as if a thousand needles pierced my skin, pricks of torture marking me. But after a few seconds, the pain started to dissipate—or my skin got used to it. Either way, it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be.
The more Red moved the needle over my skin, the more I started to like the burn. It wasn’t like the ache throbbing in my toes. Maybe because the pain was a result of a decision I had made, and not bleeding blisters because of something my mother wanted me to do.
I leaned back, lifting my gaze to the roof while Red continued inking my inner thigh. Metal music played in the background, and I closed my eyes, imagining the steps if I had to dance to the rhythm of it. My mom would die a slow, painful death if she had to witness me dancing to metal music. Nothing but classical music was played in our house. Even as a kid, my mom would let me listen to Mozart rather than nursey rhymes.
With a sigh, I placed my arms over my eyes, feeling just a little sorry for myself stuck in the gilded cage my mother had put her little swan in. Good God. I was becoming that girl. The girl who would carry psychological scars because of her control-freak mother. I was already living with a borderline eating disorder because I was taught how to count calories since I was eight.
“And that’s a wrap.”
I sat up abruptly. “Are you done already?”
“Dude, I’ve been working on this baby for the last two hours.”
I glanced from her to the bright purple clock on the wall. “Wow, who knew pain would make the time go by so fast?”
Red placed the protective wrapping over my freshly tattooed skin. “I’ve said this a million times, and I’ll say it again. You are a fucking weirdo who’s in need of a good old-fashioned fucking.” She pulled off her gloves with a snap, and I pulled on my tights.
“I tried that, remember? And look how that turned out.”
Red held out two painkillers in her palm, her gaze pinned on mine. “Don’t kid yourself, my friend. That wasn’t a good old-fashioned fuck.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I took the pills and tossed them back, swallowing them without water. “That was just one giant disaster when the guy I dated was all hot and heavy to take my virginity, yet when I finally said yes, he stood me up. What guy says no to getting laid?”
Red rubbed her forehead, deep in thought. “Will we ever know what the fuck happened that night?”
I grabbed my bag and pulled it over my shoulder. “It’s been a year, Red. I’m over it.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you curious, though? I mean, Terence stood you up, disappeared for a few days, only to return with a broken leg, avoiding you like the fucking plague.”
“Don’t care.” I walked to the front of the shop, spotting a couple looking at tattoo images on the wall.
The beads clattered behind me as Red followed. “I still think your father has something to do with it. And the fact that no guy has come near you since then screams conspiracy.”
I leaned my head to the side as I turned to face her. “You need help.”
“Ha,” she scoffed. “Says the one with ballet shoes and a fresh tattoo.”
With an amused grin, I pulled my friend in for a hug. “Thanks, Red. Let me know what I owe you.”
“Dude, you can pay me by telling me the story behind that specific tattoo someday.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, Red,” I pulled away, “there’s no story. Promise.” After giving her a peck on the cheek, I opened the door. “Love you, psycho.”
“Love you, bitch.”
The couple looked at us, and I smiled when I walked out the door. The friendship Red and I shared was unique, special. We were exact opposites. Ying and Yang. Always had been. Yet I wouldn’t trade her for anything or anyone in the world. Her free spirit was the only thing that kept me grounded, kept me sane when everyone else around me drove me crazy. One could have said I lived the free life I yearned for through my best friend. Besides her constant need to feed me carbs and sugar, Red understood me. Never judged me. Even knowing the kind of relationship I had with my mother, she never criticized my choices or questioned the decisions I made when it was based on what my mother wanted, and not what I wanted.
On
my way to my car, I spotted the familiar SUV parked farther down the road. Maybe Red was right. Maybe my father had something to do with Terence and the way it all played out. Even after countless fights, my father still had private bodyguards follow me wherever I went, keeping tabs on me and those I interacted with. But I’d long made peace with it. I had an overprotective dad, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. A part of me could understand why. He was the police commissioner and knew what kind of world we lived in. But I also wished he would give me the space I needed to just…be me.
I reached my car, about to disable the alarm, when I felt it. Someone was watching me, and it wasn’t my father’s bodyguards. I could feel it in the chill running through my bones. The sense of being watched tingled at the back of my neck, my every instinct on high alert.
I was about to turn around when my phone started ringing, and I hastily got into the car before answering.
“Hello?”
“Alyxandria, where are you?”
I rolled my eyes when I heard my mom’s voice. “I’m on my way home now.”
“It’s past eleven. Honestly, Alyxandria, what respectable woman is still out on the streets at this ungodly hour?”
I pushed the key into the ignition. “As I’m sure you already know, I was visiting Red. I’m on my way home now, so relax.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
“No, Mom, I haven’t. Are you happy?”
“Do not take that tone with me, young lady. I’ll leave a handful of almonds on the kitchen table. Eat it when you get home. Nothing else.”
I let my head fall back against my seat. “Really, Mother?”
“Need I remind you that you can’t afford to pick up any weight? Not now.”
“I hear you, Mother. Loud and clear.” I wiped my forehead with my fingers, the sound of my mom’s nagging aggravating my lingering migraine. Every word coming out of her mouth made my heart beat faster and faster. Anger simmered beneath the surface of my tongue, urging me to scream at her. Swear at her. I wanted to tell her all the things I never had the courage to. But I couldn’t. Apparently, I suffered from what Red called “approval addiction.” Disappointing my parents seemed far worse than purging myself from the anger and resentment they so expertly evoked.
“I’ll be home in twenty. If you need assurance, ask the men you and dad have following me.” I hung up, tossing my phone to the passenger seat.
Frustration caused me to grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. This had been my life, living with a mother who constantly fretted about what I ate and how much I weighed. Ever since the day I turned eight, my mom weighed me every goddamn morning, and whenever I picked up an amount that wasn’t in accordance to my growth, she’d have me on a diet faster than I could say “Twinkie.”
“God.” I slammed my hand against the wheel. Red warned me this would happen one day, that I would wake up and suddenly find myself hating my life. Her warning came after my mom and I had a huge fight and I decided to go rogue by stuffing every bar of chocolate I could get my hands on into my mouth—only to vomit it all out two hours later because my body wasn’t used to a sugar overload. And that wasn’t the first time I vomited because of my mother’s obsession with my weight.
With a sigh, I took the keys between my fingers, about to turn the ignition. A loud cracking sound came from my window, and glass exploded everywhere. My first instinct was to cover my face as glass pieces shattered around me. It happened so fast, within a split second my ears were ringing and my mind hazy. I didn’t know what the hell was going on until I was pulled through the broken window.
Glass sliced my palms as I tried to grab hold of the window frame, but it was no use. I was yanked out of the car within seconds, my ass slamming against the pavement while hands came out of nowhere, grabbing me everywhere while I thrashed and fought to get free.
I was sure I screamed, but there was no sound. Everything was on mute besides the loud ringing in my ears. Too much was happening at once, my mind unable to make sense of it. Hands grabbed my ankles, and there was pressure around my throat. When I reached up, gasping for air, there was an arm around my neck, choking me. Desperate to take a breath, I scratched and tried to pull at it while my legs thrashed violently. My entire body was jerking and squirming, but I had no control. Every muscle, every movement was automatic. Instinct. Somehow, while trying to free myself, I managed to glance down the road, trying to see if my dad’s men were on their way to help me. But the SUV was gone. There wasn’t a single car parked down the road. My next thought was Red. But with the heavy metal music and constant buzz of the tattoo machine, Red wouldn’t hear me scream. God, I couldn’t hear myself scream. I was alone. Terrified.
Manically, I started to thrash. “What the hell are you doing? Who are you?”
No one answered. Even if they did, I doubted I’d be able to hear. All I could hear was the rapid beating of my heart, a terrifying thump that knocked against my chest.
I tried to look at them. I tried to focus. But it seemed like a hundred masks blurred together, and I couldn’t figure out how many of them there were. Two. Three. Five. Ten. I didn’t know.
“Who the hell are you?” I screamed, and pain erupted on my cheek, burning my skin. The fist came out of nowhere, leaving me with the taste of my own blood on my tongue. Hands violently tugged at my hair, pulling the strands from their roots with excruciating pain. I didn’t know where to grab, how to fight back. All I knew was I needed to get away.
The grip one of them had around my arm was so tight, it ached all the way to the bone. But I didn’t care if he broke my fucking arm; all I cared about was surviving.
“Please stop! Don’t do this. Stop!”
Whether it was a fist or an elbow, I wasn’t sure. But it slammed right into my nose, and my head exploded with stars. My body went numb, my hearing muffled and sight blurry. The wild thump of my heartbeat against my ribs was violent, panicked, as if my heart could leap out of my chest any second. My adrenaline spiked, and I had the sense of things moving too quickly, making it impossible to process what was happening.
The next thing I knew, I was in the trunk of a car with my hands tied behind my back, my feet tightly bound together. Once they closed the trunk, I was cloaked within darkness, my sight stripped away. I heard the ignition start, and my body thrashed against the hard panel of the trunk as the car sped off. Judging by the sound of tires spinning on the asphalt, the car was driving fast—too fast. It was mere seconds when men started screaming, and what sounded like gunshots being fired. But among the different sounds of chaos, I heard something else. Something familiar. But my senses were scattered, and I couldn’t place it.
“Lose the fucking tail, man.”
“I’m trying, okay? Fuck!”
Between rapid breaths, I heard the panic in their voices while I struggled to free myself from the ropes.
“Where the fuck did these assholes come from?”
“I don’t know, but you better fucking lose them, or we’ll all be corpses by dawn.”
My jaw clenched as I tried to swallow the threatening tears. I didn’t know what was going on, or where they were taking me. All I knew…I had been kidnapped.
The car jerked and swerved to the side, sending my back slamming against the metal of the trunk. A sharp ache jolted up my spine, but the adrenaline made me forget about the pain instantly. Harsh braking, sudden turns, and rough acceleration had me crashing into all corners of the trunk. But no matter how much it hurt, the only thing I could think about was getting away. Even while tied up, my legs felt jittery, as if ready to run.
“Jesus Christ. This was supposed to be a simple job. Kidnap the girl, make the delivery. Done. Now we have the goddamn Kings on our asses.”
Kings?
That was when I heard it again, the familiar sound I couldn’t place. It came closer and closer until I realized what it was. The roar of engines. Motorcycles.
“Come on, guys, what are you waitin
g for? Shoot the fuckers!”
My heart was no longer inside my chest. It was lodged in my throat, and I couldn’t breathe, choking on my own panic.
“Please.” My voice was nothing but a whisper, fear squeezing the air out of my lungs. I wanted to beg and plead. I wanted to promise these men the world if they would only fucking let me go.
My hands shook behind my back as I tried to feel around me, to see if I could find the trunk release. But I couldn’t find it. This had to be some old junker with a souped-up engine.
Another sharp swerve, and I slammed headfirst into the corner of the small, confined space. Light exploded through the darkness, and a high-pitched ringing cut out every other sound around me. The loud sound of more gunshots forced its way into my throbbing head.
“We’re running out of options here, man. These fuckers have us surrounded.”
“Shoot them!”
More gunshots, screeching tires, and a loud crash as my body jerked in every direction. Fear. Adrenaline. It all ran amok inside me. Every bone in my body erupted with pain, my mind still scattered. After only a few seconds, I realized there was no sound. Nothing. Just an eerie silence.
The car wasn’t moving. The men weren’t shouting, and the familiar sound of roaring motorcycles was gone.
I remained still. But the sudden silence turned my rapid breaths into a deafening sound in the dark.
Oh, God. What’s happening?
Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I tasted the saltiness with the metallic tang of blood. My mind was a whirlpool of the most horrifying thoughts any girl could have. Was this my last night on Earth? Would I die while being beaten and raped? Would pain be the last thing I experienced while my heart still had a beat?
Please, God, no.
The smell of gasoline mixed with burnt rubber was pungent, singeing my nostrils before settling in the pit of my stomach. Nausea was starting to fight its way up my throat as I lay completely still, too scared to move.
The sound of footsteps on the outside of the car made me hold my breath. Dried leaves and tree branches cracked in the distance.