• The Next Day (Cary’s House)

“I can’t believe you’re going to rub my ex in my face.”
Mikey laughs. “You are so dramatic. One, I’m not forcing you. And two, it’s a house. Get your life together.”

“So,” I pout, “you’re still a meanie.”

He places a hand on my thigh, rubbing it gently. “A meanie that is very grateful for your assistance. WHICH wasn’t mandatory, I might add.”

“God forbid a woman is dramatic.”

He rolls his eyes, laughing. “Must you always laugh at me?”

“Must you always be humorous?”

“Good point.”

He squeezes my leg as we pull up to the house, just as beautiful as I remember.

Michael hops out, jogging around the front of the car to open my door. Outwardly extending his arm, he bows his head.
“My Lady.”

I step out, tipping my head.
“Why, thank you, sir.”

He shuts the door behind me as I grab the camera and tripod from the back seat. I approach him in the front.
“Thank you again, Ny. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Fifteen minutes into my amazingly skillful picture-taking, a car pulls into the driveway. We waited a couple of minutes for someone to come out of the car, but nothing… weird.

Michael walks over to me, feeling a bit uneasy about the mysterious car.

Suddenly, the house door swings open, startling both of us.

A soft-skinned beauty, almost as tall as Yannie, emerges from the house, basically charging our way.

“Oh shit, Michael,” she approaches us, visibly relieved.

“Carys. You almost made me shit my pants,” he sighs.

They greet each other as they laugh it off.

“My bad, man. I was scared myself. My girl pulled up and told me there was a man in my yard taking pictures. If she had mentioned that the man was wearing a suit, I would’ve known it was you.”

My girl? This is Carys? She already has a girlfriend??? I mean, she did grow up here, so I guess it’s not entirely surprising.

He shakes his head. “I was beginning to think this was some kind of setup.”

She looks down at her phone, texting her girlfriend, I assume, who was still held up in her car.

“Boy.” her lips pursed playfully

“Listen, you scared us. Speaking of us.”

Michael extends his hand out to me as the girl hops out of her car walking towards us.

“This is Zaniyah, my little boo thang.”

I smile, waving at her.
“Hi, Carys, was it? I’m Zaniyah.”

I pretend not to know her name or her, for that matter — which, in retrospect, is not exactly far from the truth.

“Wassup, Zaniyah. It’s nice to meet you.”

She smiles back.
“You too.”

The girl saunters over to Carys, not even acknowledging our presence. She gives Carys a peck.

“Michael, Zaniyah, this is your kidnapper Selah. Selah, these are your traffickers.”

We exchange greetings. Selah grabs the strap of her bag.
“You ready?” she asks, slightly raising it.

Carys nods, turning to Michael.
“Selah’s into photography, so I asked her to come over and help us with the shots.”

I pretend not to notice this Selah girl eyeing me up and down.

“Well, they do say great minds think alike. That’s exactly why I brought Ny with me.”

“Have you ever taken pictures over at the old water trail?”

“No…” I answer, a bit confused. Does she know me? I mean, she did look familiar.

“I work at the bookstore on Olmen St.”

“Ohhhhh, I knew you sorta looked familiar. I haven’t been in a while but I used to live in that bookstore.”

“Lucky you. I’m there way too much. I’m basically a human bookmark.”

We all chuckle.

“So, are we going to battle to the death for photographic rights or?” Selah questions jokingly… I think.

Michael turns to me.
“Do you mind?”

I raise my hands, face level.
“Oh, not at all. Selah, you be my guest. You would’ve won anyway.”

I dramatically place my hand on my forehead.
“I’m far too dainty for combat. I’ll be in the car.”

I walk towards the car but not before noticing the weird look plastered on Carys’s face.

I take my phone out but pause before I could even finish typing my sentence…

Should I tell her? Is it necessary? She just might—no, she will definitely obsess over this. Neither her nor Yannie deserve that. I’ll just keep it to myself.

I switch to the group chat thread and send a lil’ flick:
‘Passenger princess in the flesh’

Aurora and Anycia heart my picture, sending back their own pics.

Aurora sends a picture of her at the tattoo shop: ‘Artist extraordinaire in the flesh’

And here comes Anycia: ‘Giving couch potato realness.’

I peek out the window, watching Selah photograph Michael. She definitely knows what she’s doing, and it saves me the trouble of pretending like I did.

Taking in the beauty of the house, my eyes land on Carys…

I get it. She’s gorgeous — tall, nice shape, smooth soft-looking skin, pretty smile, and a voice you’d melt for. It’s like she walked straight out of a lesbian’s perfect wet dream.

Selah is a looker too, and her body??? Baby.

Yeah, I’m DEFINITELY not telling Roro about this. She will absolutely lose her shit. Man, I’d lose my shit.

I don’t like keeping things from her though. I barely know or even socialize with them, and I still feel like I’m going behind her back.

I sigh. Please finish soon.

Meanwhile At Under The Needle

 Aurora’s POV

“Don’t forget to clean it twice a day, moisturizing after. You can use just about anything, but aquaphor is my go-to.”

I say, holding the door open for my last customer.

Amina rolls her eyes as she gathers her things.
“Yes, I remember. We don’t want a repeat of my first tattoo.”

“Exactly. The last thing I need is you crying over my equipment at your next appointment.”

I purse my lips playfully. She pushes me lightly, feigning hurt.

“Heeeyyyyy. I was young and lit. God forbid a girl has a nightlife. Anyways, I have your number now. I’ll just blow your phone up if anything.”

“Hey Siri, block Amina.”

I tease as she walks through the door.
“Like you’d block your favorite customer. At least wait till after you finish my sleeve.”

I chuckle as I wave goodbye, shutting the door behind me.

I walk over to my station, discarding any garbage before throwing my equipment in the autoclave.

The door jingles as I wipe down my tattoo chair. I look up to see Ese walk in with a bag of food, sunglasses, and a smile.

“How was your break? What’d you eat?” I ask without looking up.

“Tried the new buffet place a block over. It was good, even better ‘cause I didn’t have to pay for it. Brought you something in case you didn’t eat.”

I pause my cleaning sesh to follow her to the back. She throws the bag on the little coffee table before plopping down on the couch.

I plop down next to her, grabbing the bag excited to see what she brought me.

“Which one is mine?” I ask, noticing three styrofoam containers in the bag.

“All of them. I didn’t want to mix anything. Don’t know if you’re one of those picky eaters or not.”

I drool a little after opening all three.
“Esmerelda, have I ever told you how much I love you?”

She chuckles a little before stealing one of my cookies.
“No, not enough.”

I stare at the plates, not knowing where to start.

I have one full of crab legs, shrimp, fried crab sticks, and fries. Another with chicken alfredo, what smells like broccoli in garlic sauce, and some garlic bread. The last one was filled with cookies — chocolate chip and oatmeal, cake, and a couple brownies.

At this point, all I’m missing is some ice cream and a drink, preferably an alcoholic one.

Before I could grab a crab leg, I hear the front door bell jingle.

I throw my head back and sigh.

Ese puts her hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
“I’ll get it, you eat. If they’re one of yours, I’ll tell them to give you 10 minutes? That should be enough time for you to stuff your face, right?”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

I say before stuffing another shrimp in my mouth. Oh yeah, that’s good.

I snap a picture of my plates and another live one of me with my mouth full, sending both to the group chat captioned:
“I just might replace you guys.”

I walk to the front, rubbing my belly as I think about the leftovers I’m going to eat when I get home.

Footsteps and laughter fill the air before a faint ‘Take care, babe’ floats from the front.

“Thanks again. You were amazing — seriously.”

The client says flirtatiously.

“What can I say, I was born with it. Don’t forget the aftercare.”

Ese says with a faint smirk.

“Don’t forget to call me.”

The client replies before walking out.

Apron hanging loosely around her waist with a slight shimmer of gloss on her lips that wasn’t there earlier, Ese strolls back in like she owns the place.

“What’s that? Like your third number this week?”

I tease as I set my station up.

“Second. The first one was Tuesday. She cried after I changed her nose ring. Apparently, I healed her spiritual blockage.”

“Among other things, I bet.”

Ese leans on my desk.

“Hmmm. You sound jealous.”

I chuckle, shaking my head.

“You sound delusional.”

Ese fake pouts before getting up.
“Anyways, my next client should be here soon. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Trust, it won’t be hard.”

I sit at my desk, grabbing my sketchpad.

Ese emerges from the back, an all too familiar aroma follows behind her. “Look at you, all focused. Don’t you get tired of being good at shit?”

“Don’t you get tired of watching me?”

I say, not looking up from my sketch.

“Maybe I like the view. Or maybe I came to grab my client. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Rolling my eyes, I bite a smile.

As if planned, the doorbell jingles.
“Well, that’s my cue.”

“Yes, please go do your job.”

I joke as she runs over to the door.
“This one’s for you, madam.”

I look up to see Ese along with one of my newer clients waving at me.

“Oh shit. I wasn’t expecting you so early. I was just drawing up some sketches for you.”

I lean over a fresh stencil, dabbing a small patch with practiced care.

The front door jingles as I hand Jayce a mirror . If I wasn’t so used to it, I’d probably be annoyed.

In walks Ese’s client.

“ESMERELDAAAA!”

I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly who that was without having to look up.

“Penelope. You’re late.”

I quickly glance at her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her upset before. Especially while high.

“Ese, I’m sorry, don’t be mad.”

The girl approaches her, raising her hand to caress her face.

She grabs her wrist before she could make contact.
“One, it’s Esmerelda to you. Two, don’t touch my face. You don’t know me like that, and you’re 19. Know your place and go sit down.”

Completely — or maybe even deliberately — oblivious to the boundary set by Ese, lil miss 19 flirtatiously responds with a
“Yes ma’am,” before sashing over to her piercing station.

Thirty minutes pass before they finally emerge again.
“Thank you so much. Best piercer in the city. I swear I won’t be late next time.”
“Mhmm. Just make sure you take care of your piercings. You’ve had plenty — you know how to maintain them.”

It takes me a second to realize Lil Miss 19 has left, and now Esmerelda is hovering around my station again.
“Trying to watch real talent at work?” I tease.
“Yeahhh, yeah, yeah.” She laughs, already turning away. “I gotta clean up. I’ll be back.”

I picture her waving me off as she saunters back to her work area.