This story is entirely fictional and is in no way connected with the subject. This story contains adult material and is only suitable for people over the age of 18. If you are under 18 please stop reading now. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, or undead, is purely coincidental. All characters portrayed in this story are over 18. Do not use this without my permission. (c) Copyright Viper_Noj 2002 onwards. Now, on with the story!
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Standing outside on the wet pavement, cigarette in one hand and phone in the other, he put his head back and gave a deep sigh, looking up at the clouded night sky. It'd stopped raining now and some of the stars were visible through the now white clouds, catching his eye as he blew out a lungful of smoke and tried to find some inner calm. It was getting late and people were out for the night, groups of girls giggling and tottering down the street in their heels, people moving bar to bar and enjoying themselves; time with their partners, fun with their friends, or just looking for a hook-up. It was the typical night out for so many, but not him, standing outside his shop and battling inner turmoil as he argued with his ex-girlfriend via text message.
Raising the cigarette to his mouth, he took a long drag, leaving it in his mouth as he paused to use two hands to type another reply, blowing out the smoke casually around the Marlborough at the side of his lips. Neon lights illuminated the street around him, the glow from the signs in his window; he ran a tattoo parlour, a joint venture with another artist he knew, and was building a good reputation for doing excellent work. It was exactly as he wanted and allowed his creativity and lust for skills and knowledge to thrive, learning something new all the time. He wasn't above turning away work when he felt he wasn't skilled enough to do it justice either, telling people he'd rather they went elsewhere and got the tattoo they really wanted rather than put a few pounds in his pocket. It also had the effect of bringing people back, choosing to come to him for smaller tattoos or future work, liking his attitude and attention to detail and quality. He was generally pleased with things, especially his growing business and the way it allowed such an easy and intimate way to get to know people, letting him work on his social life while at work. Unfortunately right now that had kind of backfired, as it was through his skilful hands that he'd managed to meet the girl at the other end of the text messages he was sending, who had brought him so much happiness and then in a swift turn so much pain, and she was still playing with his head now as he struggled to move on with his life.
Sometimes you just can't move on from people easily, and this was one of those situations, especially as she'd ended things when he'd been happy, thinking they were going somewhere. She'd wanted space and needed to find herself, work out what she wanted, only she was still in his life, playing with his emotions. She'd go from missing him and hinting at getting back together, to telling him she wanted no contact and had to move on, praising how he was as a person to telling him every little thing she'd disliked in his character. It was a tough emotional ride, and he knew he should just tell her to leave him alone and move on, but he just couldn't and it was really starting to trouble him that she had such hold on him. He barely even noticed the long-haired, blonde-highlighted brunette behind him looking in the window at his designs as he smoked the cigarette to the butt and flicked it into the puddles in the gutter. Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he blew smoke out through gritted teeth in an almost growl of frustration, pushing a hand through his hair as he turned back from people-watching to his shop to be confronted by a petite, pretty girl, silhouetted against the neon lights as she looked over her shoulder at him curiously.
"Hey," he said, a little taken aback to suddenly discover her there, wondering momentarily what she thought as he imagined how he looked, smoking and huffing to himself at the side of the road.
"Hey," she replied, turning to him from the window, her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. To go with her long hair she wore smoky eye make up, a black hooded top, a short, pleated tartan skirt, knee-high black and red striped socks and doc martins. He immediately recognised her as singer Avril Lavigne, feeling his heart jump in excitement and nerves at the moment, but not letting it show, letting the relaxing effect of his cigarette keep its slender hold. They just eyed each other a moment, waiting for the slightest tension to break.
"Something up?" she asked, clearly referring to his evident frustrations.
"Yeah it's this...don't worry about it," he said, realising she didn't want to talk about his issues and he didn't really want to share them, flattered that she asked though.
"Sure?" she enquired, clearly at least somewhat compassionate for his problems.
"Yeah. So thinking of getting another tattoo?" he asked, pointing up at the window and his plethora of designs on show.
"Thinking about it," she said, "and anyway, what do you mean another? How do you know I've got any?" she asked, looking back to the window as she considered what she might like.
"You're Avril Lavigne, everyone knows you have tattoos," he said casually, relaxed by how laid back she was and just chatting to her like any other customer, and after all why shouldn't he.
"So you recognise me then," she said with a smile, not looking away from the window.
"Of course, I don't live under a rock. Surprised to see you here of course," he said, since he was genuinely shocked to find Avril at his shop, pondering a tattoo on a chilly, wet evening.
"Well like you say, I have tattoos," she murmured, giving a slightly foxy little glance sideways to him with a tilt of her head.
"So you wanting another one? This a spur-of-the-moment thing?" he asked, since he always discouraged people from getting them done without thinking it over properly, and he really didn't want any backlash from giving Avril Lavigne a tattoo she wasn't impressed with.
"No I've been thinking it over for a while, just been hankering to get another one for a bit now," she said.
"Miss the sting of the needle huh?" he said, knowing how people so often got hooked on getting tattoos, and he was sure it wasn't just for their aesthetics, but the feeling of getting it.
"I miss so many things at the moment," she said wistfully, pausing before turning to glance at him again. There was a pause as tension built for a moment, his mind churning over quite what she meant before he snapped back to reality and continued.
"Have you decided where you want it?" he asked, fleetingly hoping it wasn't just on her ankle.
"I think I know where I want it, just not quite decided exactly what," she said, looking over the designs still, evidently having a specific effect in mind for her new tattoo.
"I have lots more designs inside in my books if you want to check them out, and I can modify any you like, give it a unique edge for you," he offered, genuinely offering her his standard, excellent service rather than trying to find an excuse to get her into the shop.
"Really? Do you offer to do that for all the girls who come here on a quiet night?" she said teasingly, giving a sly smile and eyeing him up as she stepped towards the door.
"I'd love to pretend I'm just charming you, but the truth is you could be a hairy, six-foot biker in the middle of my busiest day and I'd offer you the same," he said with a smile. Avril gave a laugh and stepped into his shop with him a few steps behind, dropping down into a chair just inside where people could wait for others, or while discussing their wants. He stepped behind his small counter and found his thick books of tattoo designs, all carefully ordered by their styles to help people who were after a specific type of design.
"What is it you were looking for?" he asked, putting them down on the counter.
"A sort of Celtic design, not too generic but something like that," she said, leaning forward on her knees as he flicked into the second of his two thick books.
"Something like these?" he said, stepping round the counter and offering her the heavy book, which she hefted onto her lap, looking over the sharp black designs.
