"Sis, I'm going!"
"Be careful on the way, and don't come back too late!"
"Okay, sis!"
I close the entrance door behind me, pull my zipper up halfway to my chest, and put my hands in the pockets of the jacket. It has been a few weeks since the incident, one week since we have returned home, and just a few hours to the restart of classes after the winter holidays.
I look back, then look around. The surroundings don't feel surreal, but the decorations that have not all been taken down do. They make the new year that has passed and the time that has preceded it the most irreal I have ever experienced, whether in this clearer and more real life, or in the echoes that don't bother me anymore.
I exhale and turn to walk away with no more limp in my steps. After three weeks of healing, my wound has not disappeared, but it has closed enough that I can take a complete shower and enjoy myself. I just can't take a bath or linger with water on it for too long.
Anyway, one week ago, we have returned home. We have left the hotel where we have been staying, and where Liz has been enjoying food too expensive to be delicious, and returned to the renovated house. Everything has been revamped, the whole ground floor having gone through a remake as Liz and I asked for. Even the second floor has seen some changes, leaving only dad and mom's room untouched.
The wind blows against my exposed legs below my shorts, and ruffles my hair, its temperature less cold than a while ago. I raise one hand to smoothen the bangs I have combed obliquely in front and brush them back the way they were with my fingers.
Looking around, the traffic is still as smelly as always. But I don't want to take a taxi to my destination either. I turn into a corner, and use smaller paths. It takes a while, but walking without having to think about much is relaxing. Even the background noise of the ocean of thoughts floating in the air cannot bother me too much. I can't say whether it is humans' adaptation ability that has worked over the past three weeks, or it is me who is special.
Maybe that is my cheat as a reincarnator of sorts?
I let my lips curve into a humorless smile, then make a turn to return to the main road, walk some more, and raise my head to look at the neon sign of the tattoo salon before me.
I have never gotten one, never, throughout all the memories I carry. But now I want to get one.
I ignore the passers-by coming and going. I watch a woman walk out of the salon, and watch the few others of the same gender inside through the glass window. As can be easily guessed, my faded interest in members of the opposite sex has faded, then come back to transform into aversion, so, I chose the salon before me with care.
Fortunately, it has not come to turn into hatred. I don't think I can hate like that, with everything generalized and thrown in the same basket. Nevertheless, even if I were to lose my ability to read minds right here and now, I would only raise the wall between me, and those I love and care about, and men.
Anyway, I have rambled enough. Compared to the pain that will come and the color that will seep in my previously untouched skin, the meaning of that tattoo I'm going to get is more important, both as a reminder and as an anchor.
I take a deep breath, and walk a few more steps to open the door of 'Cece Tattoos' with a jingling sound from the bell above the door. I nod in greeting to the two women, and girl present, and look at the one who looks like a matron. Or maybe a mature but loud big sister?
Her faded hair with light pink tips is gathered in two bun at the top of her head, her face is made up with deep colors like smokey dark, brilliant blue, light red, and shining dark. The last one is the color of her lips. Her arms are similar to my thighs in size, and she looks like she will tower over most women I know, scratch that, over most men I am acquainted with.
Her dark t-shirt strains with her wide shoulder and her unapologetic chest, maybe only thankful for the lack of a big belly below. She wears tight pants that firmly hug her thighs, giving her an overall appearance that looks strong, but sexy in its own way. I bet she must not lack pursuers, though I would be unsurprised if she herself is more interested in pursuing women. No discrimination intended there. That is just the impression she gives, at least to me. Though I might be biased because of my newly set orientation.
"Hello? Are you Cece?"
She raises her eyebrows, then look down at her arms before retorting with a smile:
"What gives me away? The tattoos?"
I think I didn't mention it, but her arms that are as big as my thighs are covered in tattoos. It is like a total opposite of my thighs that look fair, clean and soft. Her arms look strong, fully decorated, and with a totally camouflaged skin tone now impossible to determine, to uncover even. That is why she looks to me like the type that can pin down a smaller, weaker and fairer body and ravage its owner, consensually, of course. At least, I hope.
"Hello?"
Cece waves her hand before my eyes that have remained on her strongly tattooed strong arms. I blink, and smile slightly:
"Actually, it is just because you don't sit on the guest seat like the others, so I made a guess."
Cece laughs generously like a female gang brother, and again, that is just my impression.
"Hahaha, good guess. You must be Max, right? The one who called for an appointment yesterday. So, girl, where do you want that tattoo placed on your beautiful body? Everyone has a story, and not everyone decides to share it by leaving it exposed. Have you thought it through?"