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I push open the doors and smile at the tall, burly looking man behind the counter. “Good morning, how can I help you?” His voice is husky, almost mean sounding, only making me all the more nervous. “I-I want to get a tattoo.” “You’re in the right place for it then… ID, please.” I feel the butterflies go wild in my stomach. My best friend got me a fake ID a week ago and promised me it would pass. I dig in my purse and hand him it. I feel pale, and faint. He stares at it for what seems like forever, than nods. “You know what you want?” “I do, yes.” “Good, he’ll do it in a short bit.” I look to where the burly man points and see a young man working on someone else. I nod again, and sit down. I pick up one of the many tattoo books, flicking through it. I’m not even looking at the work, but want something to distract myself with. Another twenty minutes pass before I hear my name. “Um, Missy?” I look up, and see the tallest man I have ever seen in my life, tower over me. He. That will never happen, she said. No one will ever control who I spend time with, she had said. But then he had said it, and she had told Mickey that she was leaving, but that she needed time. She needed time away so that she could try to fix herself. She needed time so that when she came back to Mickey, and she promised so many times that she was going to come back, that she would be a stronger person again, more like the person she had been before. She had promised that it wasn’t the end, that they would be back together again, but that was before. The note didn’t say that she couldn’t ever see Mickey again, but that was the dark fear that kept creeping into Mickey, chilling her so that no matter how many sox she put on, how many sweaters, how many blankets, Mickey just couldn’t seem to get warm. They were going to try to work things out, the note said. But no, that would mean that she had made concessions. That would mean that there had been give and take, that a negotiation had.
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