Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked my forehead as I stared at the reflection in the tattoo parlor's grimy window. The shop buzzed with the low thrum of needles, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and something metallic, like blood. Inside, a woman I didn’t recognize was having my 'Serpent's Kiss' design etched onto her shoulder blade. I had to stop this.

My legs felt like lead as I pushed open the door. My throat constricted. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. It was like I was running a race, the finish line forever moving away from me. I was shaking.

"Hey!" I croaked, my voice cracking. The tattooist, a burly man with a bored expression, glanced up. The woman, eyes closed, seemed blissfully unaware of my turmoil. I couldn’t help but think about how my entire financial future was about to be obliterated.