Adrenaline [xavier moriarty]

[Clover]

The screaming started to grate on her nerves. Crescendo after crescendo only to fade into a beautiful, broken whisper. The voice sounded more masculine than feminine, especially with the rasp and the undertone of a growl. If the tattoo parlor weren’t filled with the buzzing of equipment or conversation, Clover might have heard every lyric of her favorite song. She loved In This Moment. All of her friends preferred country music or the newest pop group--she didn’t even want to think about her sister’s obsession with Justin Bieber.

Taking off her ex-boyfriend’s leather jacket, she moved further into the shop. She tossed her jacket over the back of one of the plush couches and then moved toward the wall of tattoo outlines. When she was fifteen, she wanted some kanji or a bellybutton piercing, but she moved through that phase. Her first tattoo was a dagger with wings on the handle; the dagger was on her abdomen and the very tip pointed downward.

This time, she wanted a clover. She wanted something to give her the luck she lacked. The tattoo had been her friend Karla’s idea, just something to remind her to focus on herself instead of on others. Maybe it was supposed to ground her. Tracing her left thumb over her opposing wrist, she pressed on a section of her exposed skin. She could already see the four leaves and the curl of a stem.

When one of the chairs opened up, Clover grabbed her jacket from atop the back of the couch and claimed an abandoned seat for herself. There were two others in front of her. Just two. She took the only leather chair to the right of the entrance, looking right at the table of magazines and the wall of drawings. It wasn’t that she hated the couches--she appreciated her space.

She crossed her right leg over her left. She shifted around. She crossed her left leg over her right. Something about the shop made her uneasy, something other than the sound of the machines powering the needles or the sterilizing stations. A few of the customers were gritting their teeth and digging their fingers into the armrests of the chairs.

Clover tucked her messy locks behind her ears and bent over in her seat, resting her forearms atop her thighs. Her white t-shirt wrinkled up along her stomach, a little too big for her but so very comfortable. Leather pants stretched over a rectangular pack in her right pocket. She’d recently given up smoking cigarettes for electronic cigarettes and she had to carry five at a time to try and curb her addiction. With a drum solo and the chorus of screaming coming from the speakers, she began to chew on her thumbnail.