this time | ft. luke hemmings

one;

The rain fell like a curtain of silk from the sky, painting the buildings in hues darker than their ordinary colours. There were millions upon millions of droplets hammering down into the earth like a chorus of chaotic tears escaping the heavens and all I could think was, 'my god, my slate is clean'. Everything was damp; the grass, the pavement, my hair. The world was being noisily washed sanitary like God was trying to get rid of all the dirt that lined the people and the places. Like God was trying to fix the filthy with his tears in a bid to promise purity.

Rain poetry aside, I was late for work and Stone liked punctuality.

The two weren't supposed to coincide and my pace was now a fast-walk. I held my black leather jacket above my equally as black hair while I hauled ass down the empty street towards Solid Tattoos. My black Vans were drenched through to my socks and every time I stood in a puddle, the cuffs of my blue skinny jeans soaked to the point of itching just that tiny bit more.

I was cold and my body was shivering but the beauty of the dark clouds still wasn't wasted on me. I lingered in the brilliance of nature, the gorgeousness of the sound the droplets made when they hit the ground in pitter-patters randomly choreographed. I lingered in the emptiness of this life and the possibilities I was yet to unlock like this whole thing was some kind of game.

"You're late," Stone sneered at me when I finally pushed through the creaky glass doors of the studio, my thoughts some kind of maze that I often got lost in.

I hung my jacket on the coat stand by the door, wringing the water from my damp hair onto the black tiled floor without care. Stone valued strength and to demonstrate weakness in front of him scared me. I didn't want him to get the impression that I was easily manipulated, easily moved – an easy target.

So I stared him right in the eye and walked to the counter. "Sorry, blame the weather."

He stared at me for second, eyes an ice blue that made me cringe; they were soulless and cruel. "I blame you. Leave earlier next time."

I nodded nonchalantly and logged into the computer that sat on the main desk while he thankfully kept busy, preparing his equipment for his first client; a guy named Henry that had been coming in every week for the past eight months since I'd been working there. Stone was in the long process of working on Henry's sleeve - a mashup of abstract animal designs and curse words. I didn't like the guy. His hair was always slicked back and oily, his smile was always an attempt at seduction and he'd groped my ass more times than I'd wanted. And trust me, I didn't want that from him ever.

Worst of all, he spoke to me like I was some object that existed for him to stare at. Like prey.

"I need you to act the part today, baby," Stone told me, breaking the comfortable silence that I'd fallen in love with.

I hated when he used pet names on me. I hated when he spoke to me in general.

"I don't know what that means, Stone," I replied, because flat-out refusing him something would not end well for me.

The studio smelt like methylated spirits and bleach and the walls were painted matte black to match the equipment, chairs and clothing we were supposed to wear; I always wore blue jeans because black everything seemed sad. I didn't want to be sad anymore.

"It means that this is Henry's last session and I want him to come back for more ink – he's spent a shitload of money here and it would be nice if that continued," he replied, sitting back in his chair, legs parted too far for me to feel comfortable while in collaboration with that stupid creepy smile naturally spread across his face. "I need you to do a little convincing."