RUN

MARIA

The buzzing sound of the tattoo guns and the smell of ink and disinfectant welcomed me when I entered the shop in the afternoon. I was always on time, but I guess I drank a bit too much the previous night and couldn’t even wake up at a decent time.

Perk of being not a regular: no one really cared when I came into work.

Though I shouldn’t complain; this tattoo shop was the most welcoming one. They even gave me my own station; I could have my own clients. I sure needed them.

“Hey, Maria,” said Jenny, who was the senior tattoo artist and the owner of the parlor.

She took pity on me when I knocked on her door on a rainy day. I told her that I was running away from my abusive father and I needed a job. She bought it. They all did. That was my cover story. She was skeptical at first, but like I said, she took pity on me.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound apologetic. “I’m sorry, I overslept.”

She rolled her eyes at me while tying her rainbow-colored hair in a ponytail and said, “You’re wasting your youth away, girl. You should just stick to the weekends when it comes to partying.”

Well, she was probably right, but since I didn’t know how much time I had left, I wanted to get the most out of it.

Was I wasting my youth? Yes. Was I being reckless? Definitely. Was it worth it? Absolutely!

“Do you have any customers coming in today?” she asked while cleaning her tools.

I shook my head. “No, I’ll probably deal with the walk-ins,” I said, sighing.

I never liked the walk-ins. The college town we lived in was full of frat boys and sorority girls who would get drunk to the point of not remembering who they were, then come in late at night – sometimes during the day – and ask for the stupidest tattoos. Yes, we wanted them to sign a paper declaring that they were not under the influence of any alcohol or other substance, but if we were to stick to that, we would never make money.

Friday night… Meaning college brats. Great! And I still had to get over my hangover.

Mimicking Jenny’s routine, I started arranging my tools. We were four people in the shop when the first customer stepped in. We were supposed to be five on the weekends, and I wondered where the other girl besides me and Jenny was.

“Hey, Jenny, where is Kerry?” I asked, and she jumped over to my station.

“She’s recovering. I think her abusive asshole boyfriend did a number on her again,” she told me, whispering.

I opened my eyes wide.

It was the second time in the last two weeks. If he kept this up, she was going to end up dead. I couldn’t remember how many times Jenny had told her to ditch his ass, but apparently, there were other things involved, which they never told me.

The day started unusually slow, mainly full of customers who had reservations; I even managed to take a nap. Then came the walk-ins. I had to endure three spoiled rich girls who all wanted the exact same butterfly tattoo. It wasn’t that original; it wasn’t even challenging, and it definitely wasn’t fun. But it was money, so I did what they asked me to.

It was almost midnight, and Jenny, Justin, Gary and I were taking a break when six gang-looking boys came in with the loudest, most obnoxious voices. They didn’t look drunk or high; they probably just looked like that all the time. Like that was their natural state.

“Oi! Jenny!” yelled one of them, who looked like he could be in high school, for God’s sake!

Jenny frowned and stood up, walking slowly to the door. “What are you guys doing here in the middle of the night?” she asked.

Apparently, she knew them.

The one with a two-sizes-too-big black T-shirt put his arm around her shoulder and snickered.

“Come on, where’s your hospitality? Didn’t you miss us? It’s been a long time.”

Jenny pushed his arm off her shoulder and turned to the tallest guy in the group. He was not as bulky as the others, but he too had the same dark aura around him. He did not look as cheerful as the others, though.

“Do you know what happened to Kerry?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

Well, that was unexpected. They must’ve known Kerry's boyfriend.

The tall guy frowned. “No, should I?”

Jenny started shaking her head slowly.

“You assholes,” she whispered, and all the guys suddenly flanked Jenny, which made Justin and Gary stand up and walk slowly toward them, gesturing for me to stay back.

The atmosphere changed drastically into something eerie.

I thought about my own exit plans, the ones I made on my very first day, if I ever needed them. All of my stuff was upstairs; I had only one backpack that was ready all the time in case I had to run. Again.

“That motherfucker that you call compa fucked up Kerry again so bad, she can’t even work.”

I could not believe that Jenny was talking in such manner to these guys, who looked like they could kill her with their bare hands. I stood up and started walking backward slowly, toward the stairs that led to my room.

The tall guy intertwined his hands in his front and threw his head slightly back, looking down at Jenny. It was intimidating.

“He’s not my compa, but Kerry is a friend. I’ll see to it,” he said, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

In two seconds, he went from broody to lethal. He gave me the chills. And not just me either, because Jenny finally took a step back and looked at the others.

With one movement of his head, the others relaxed and started talking with each other as if nothing had happened, but not as loud as before.

And right then, three college students came in all giggly. Two girls, one guy.

The five were checking out the girls like predators; it was sick. Not the tall one, though. He was looking directly at me. Even though I could not see his face that well because of the distance, I knew his gaze was on me.

Somehow, I knew it.

He gestured for Jenny to get closer before he whispered in her ear, making her nervous. She shook her head at him and started walking toward me while Justin and Gary were busy with the newcomers.

Jenny stood right in front of me.

“Can you take him?” she asked with worry in her eyes.

I would be stupid to say no, because I had seen many like him during my runaway years; the kind who didn’t take no for an answer. At least I was not alone; there were other customers in the shop.

I looked back at him. He was still staring at me. I nodded and stepped into my station to get ready.

Although he had looked intimidating a few minutes ago, when he sat on the tattoo bed, he was emanating calmness.

But I was not calm at all. I could see from his knuckles that he’d been in a fight recently. That alone was enough to make me nervous. I was breathing slowly to shake off the storm these guys had brewed inside me.

“I’m Marc,” he said.

He had the silkiest black hair I’d seen on a guy. He had slightly almond-shaped eyes, but otherwise he didn’t look Asian at all. At least I didn’t think so.

I nodded, and said, “Maria,” at which he looked surprised.

“Are you Italian?”

“No,” I said, chuckling and shaking my head.

He was studying my every move, but I could not figure out if it was because of my looks or something else. I turned and looked him directly in the eyes.

“So, anything specific in mind?” I asked, and this time he chuckled.

“Yeah, a lot,” he said, licking his lips.

O-kay… This was getting weird.

His black eyes and black hair made him look more like a character from a manga than a human being. The mysterious, hard on the outside, troubled and soft-hearted on the inside kind.

“But to answer your question, I want a number 5.”

I blinked a few times. Just the number 5? That was odd and so simple.

“Like the number 5?” I asked, unable to hide my confusion.

“Yeah. Is that okay?” he asked, tilting his head to the right.

Oh, the way his hair fell down from his forehead… It’d been a long time since I had met someone who made my heart skip a beat.

No, no, this was not good.

After showing him a few examples of the number 5, he decided on one, and took his T-shirt off, catching me off guard with his nakedness. I should’ve been used to seeing naked bodies by now, but something about him was alarming. I was becoming more aware of his presence by the second. I cursed myself for coming to work that day. I could’ve easily faked an illness and stayed in bed all day long.

He showed me a spot above his heart where I saw the numbers 1,2,3,4. So he had all the numbers before 5.

Interesting.

“What does it mean?” I asked, but he just looked intensely into my eyes without answering my question.

Right…

I finished the tattoo in ten minutes. It was small, it had no color, and it was maybe the simplest tattoo I’d done up to that day. All of his gang friends were so loud and obnoxious that he had to tell them to behave a few times, but he never talked to me.

The whole time I was working on him, I couldn’t help but get distracted by the vein pulsing in his neck. I swear, it was so intoxicating that I thought I was a vampire for a second, mesmerized by his blood pumping.

He, however, looked indifferent.

When I finished and covered the tattoo, he got up and put on his T-shirt. His goons were finally silent for some reason. He touched my shoulder to make me look at him, only to take my hand and kiss it tenderly, just like a British gentleman. I yanked my hand back quickly, but the damage was done. My heart was beating so loudly that for a second, I thought he would hear it.

“You have beautiful eyes,” he said, making me panic instantly.

I couldn’t even thank him; I just nodded. He frowned. Obviously, he did not like my response.

One of his buddies tried to voice his excitement at Marc kissing a girl’s hand, but Marc’s deadly glare was enough to shut him up, making him bow his head.

What was up with these people? Who were they?

They left without paying, which was odd. Jenny would never let something like money go.

Again, who were they?

Remembering his words about my eyes, I stormed off to my room upstairs after I finished cleaning my station. I locked my door and went into the bathroom to look in the mirror.

Thank God!

My eyes were still brown.

I took out my contacts and looked at my reflection in the mirror one more time.

One blue, one brown eye.

Heterochromia iridum. That was the scientific term.

Originally sandy-blond haired, but I’d dyed it black long time ago.

Marc thought my eyes were beautiful, nothing more.

My secret was still safe with me.