The Tattoo Guy (MCR FIC)

Chapter 15 (filler)

A.N: Sort of a filler chapter I thought I'd write to bring back to the story again because I felt there needed to be sort of an explanation before all hell is let loose... so thanks for reading, Comment, Vote, Enjoy- MFK.

*Edited after first post

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Chapter 15

A few weeks later I had decided to focus on work in the tattoo parlour I’d been doing freelance in- called ‘Purple Pumpkin’ set up on the main street along with other parlours who overtime had their own breed of clientele and the regulars… there was no competition it was more like a family that if one place couldn’t do it another could which was good I guess especially as no stores where allowed in the mall it was like their own clique in the business world, my friend Ray who worked there as an artist asked me if I would like to become co-owner he had taken over from Bert that high school jock when the guy wanted to expand into piercing and even branding… ouch, the shop wasn’t doing so well financially and he had just had a baby which meant he couldn’t afford to run the parlour on his own. I had always been interested in the profession and knew if I got over my fear I would have been a ‘body moder’ (as Ray likes to call them) from day one. But I was a chicken shit, my skin clean and the only poison I have is for hair dye- like a customer expresses themselves with art moulded into their skin I took my own self-expression in the form of haircuts and colours whilst I could because let’s face it I’m not getting any younger and no 40 year old looks good with bright blue hair. I mean at 26 I still get asked for I.D. but the downside is I still look like a 14 year old girl. Some people ask me how I’ve stayed young- well let’s just say I did all the bad stuff in one go before I reached 19 years old meaning by the time I got to 20 it was all out of my system. If it was your choice Gerard you wouldn’t be here at all. No aging past 18 just how you always wanted it. My inner voice has been depressive and viscous since the day we saw Frank again; the inner me was still shouting ‘NO!’ every time my mind slipped over the name or thought of my ex; it made me believe I was turning back into my old self.

I enjoyed working in the tattoo place; I mostly sat behind the counter and watched or drew up a few designs. Most of the things I drew were uninteresting and mainly kids looking for something stupid to brand themselves with on their 18th birthday which I guess they’ll soon regret when they get older and realise a strawberry on their belly will stretch and disport or how ‘YOLO’ is more of a Y0-NO. I lived for the meaning in tattoos for example when a man comes in and gets something completely girly because it’s to remember his daughter or his wife or mother. When a tiny footprint is captured on the skin or a chubby cheeked baby is portrayed on their arm to wear boldly even when they are older and that little baby is a grown man or woman with their own children… how fathers show their teenage daughters boyfriend that she is his baby girl and if they touch a hair on her head the father will castrate the boy with a pair of rusty garden shears. Okay so maybe I’m getting carried away. But that is my overall one time favourite threat- of course I’d never do it myself but I planned to say it ever since I found out I was having a baby girl myself. I’d always wanted to be one of those fathers who was big tough guy but also sweet when he needed to be- of course I was the opposite- I was the shy guy who never liked to shout or even looked tough enough to hurt a fly. I always thought if I ever got a tattoo I wouldn’t know what to have- when I used to trace Franks tattoo’s I always thought I’d have the same because his were awesome and I would never have thought of them myself. I had an idea when I was younger to have my parents tattooed on my shoulder blade so they were always looking over me- there was a picture from when they were first dating where they stood under this big bush or tree with beautiful peachy coloured flowers overflowing from it, my mother holding one in her hands and my father cuddled close to her so their cheeks touched. They were so happy then. I thought of that till I was thrown out. Then I had the idea of getting Ivy’s picture tattooed on me but I wouldn’t know which age to do it and a name just feels stupid. When Ivy was a baby I had the idea of having her hand wrapped around my wrist tattooed to cover up some of the scars acquired over the years. What’s the point of thinking about tattoos Gerard you’re never gonna grow some balls and get one. Just like you don’t have the balls to kill yourself the first time. There goes that voice again, the second me that spoke the truth. The voice was like the picture we had in the living room of my mother’s house growing up it showed the real me for who I was and highlighted every flaw- my own eyes would stare at me for hours on end cutting into my soul till I couldn’t take it anymore.

Anyway back to the tattoo parlour, I liked working with old friends, Ray hadn’t really spoken to me after I had Ivy and only really caught up on the rare occasions I went to my mother’s house when he was there to see Mikey. The last time I actually saw my mother was when I was 23, the day before I ran late and met Frank again- the day before that day I had gone to my mother’s for art supplies I had left in my old room and needed for the big gallery piece I was doing back then, she was caught off guard with Ivy being in my arms and wanted a day to bond with her granddaughter- when I picked her up she was the one who insisted she would call for more days like that which never happened. Ray was originally one of my best friends and helped me out the most when I needed it in high school, his hair was still in a gravity defying afro of curls which was trimmed on occasion; he had wanted to take up music but let his amazing talent go to waste after college to settle to produce music rather than make it. I understood his pain- I wanted to be a comic artist which in some ways I was but I wanted to be one of the top one of the best up there with Batman and Doom Patrol- I wanted to have people appreciate my work and my passion- I settled for something like it that I enjoyed but didn’t love. I guess that’s just where life leads us- to where we are meant to be.

Over time some of the work I did back in high school came back, some of them were joined with other tattoos but others had a single one and came back so I could personally draw them another. I was ‘the tattoo guy’ again- which was ironic with my virgin skin although being around all the needles still didn’t shake my phobia.

I guess I didn’t realise my real fears until I was smacked in the face with a reality we all knew would happen…