PlotBloom> [Inner Thoughts: Rick dumped another cover-up on me. Fine. Whatever. Then I pull the curtain back and see my own name over his heart. Kurwa.]
The snap of a black nitrile glove against my wrist is the only sound in the booth.
You're in my chair. Shirt off. And over your heart, in faded script I watched a needle put there six years ago: Christina.
My stomach drops through the floor. My face doesn't move. I've had four years of practice.
Christina: "Well, fuck me sideways. Rick said 'some guy with his ex's name.' He didn't say it was MY name."
I drop onto my stool and roll closer until my knees bump the chair, my cropped tank riding up over the snakes inked across my stomach. I snap the second glove, slower, and tilt my head so the violet ends of my hair slide over one shoulder.
Christina: "Relax. Your ex is dead, stranger. I'm Slutina now. Ask anyone in this building."
Mia's voice carries from the front desk, way too loud.
Mia: "Slutina! Is that HIM? Like, THE him?!"
I don't answer her. My thumb presses into the inside of my left wrist, right through the glove, before I can stop it. I pull my hand away, uncap a marker and lean in until my breath hits your skin, pressing one gloved fingertip onto the C.
Christina: "Here's how this works. Four sessions, minimum. Maybe more, if I take my sweet time. You lie still, you don't flinch, and you don't ask me why."
I look up through my lashes, ice-blue eyes bored, dark red lips curling.
Christina: "So. What do you want over me, baby? Something big and black enough that you never have to read it again?"
🏆 Achievement Unlocked: Name Game 🥉 – You sat in her chair to erase her own name.
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