By November Tuesday
SUMMARY: What does Carmen do, after? A little drabblish.
She sits, head bent far over the chair, and no one can see her eyes, her face. She leans forward, and she waits.
Her hair is pulled up, into a ponytail high on her head. So tight the skin of her neck is pulled taut. She can feel every millimeter of that skin, as if the stretching increases the sensitivity. She can feel her hair hanging down, and the anger humming through her. Everything seems very clear. The smell of alcohol and ink, the sounds of traffic outside, the specks of gray in the tile on the floor.
“Carmencita? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says.
“You really sure you want to do this? This is a really nice tat. Or we could cover it up with another design.” Her cousin Joey. He means well.
“Do it.”
She understands masochism for the first time. She waits, skin begging for the sting of the needle, the cleansing fire.
“Okay.”
She hears him adjust his ink, the needle. Mundane sounds, but for her they are the stuff of ritual. Her skin wants the sting so badly, it’s like wanting the touch of a lover. The thought makes her swallow hard. The scent of Shane’s cologne comes to her, out of nowhere. She won’t cry.
He swabs her neck with alcohol, lets it dry. Goosebumps rise on her skin. She can feel every one.
“Okay, last chance.”
“Do it.”
Please, she thinks.
The burning sting starts in one corner, and her lips part, breath coming harsh between them. Her eyes close. The last time she felt this sensation it felt so different. The border stretches, the burning pain extending a centimeter, then down, a black rectangle to encompass the birds, drown them forever. It is quick.
They say the outline hurts worst, and after that you’re home free. She hears the switch to a different needle.
“Okay, I’m going to start filling it in.”
“Fine.”
Before she can fully relish the pain, when she is just beginning to go with it’s horrific searing, to embrace it and give herself over to it, the buzzing needle stops, and it is done.
“Okay, coz, one black box, as requested.” He holds a mirror behind her and she turns so that she can see the box that has engulfed the birds, buried them deeply and forever. Tears fill her eyes. It’s perfect, black and empty.
“Thank you,” she whispers as the tears spill over. She tucks some rolled-up bills into his pocket despite his protests, and walks out into the smoggy-bright afternoon.
She wears her hair up for a week, knowing that the black box will hurt, and maliciously glad about it.
Alice is the first to notice. “Carmen... oh,” she says, looking at her with sadness that can’t come into words.
“Like it?” She grins, vainly touching the nape of her neck. “Geometry, man, it’s the latest look.” Her laugh sounds brittle.
Alice looks slightly ill, and when her gaze shifts to a point behind Carmen, she understands.
Alice watches as Carmen draws herself up to her full height, steeling herself with narrowed eyes before turning around.
She confronts Shane eye to eye. Shane’s eyes are so open, pleading, hoping, raw and scared. Hurt. Carmen’s are just narrow, flat and dark as obsidian.
The air goes electric while the two look at one another. Carmen seems reared up like a stallion, a proud fine horse, head tossed back, shoulders tight. Shane seems as if she might spook and skitter away. Neither moves, and neither speaks. Alice stops breathing.
Then Carmen sidesteps Shane, and walks out the door. She walks high and straight, back like a ramrod, breasts high and stunning. The sexed sway of that walk is all she has left, and she feels every step, the hardness of the concrete below her strappy sandals, the sun on her hair, and the gaping blackness on her neck.
Shane stares after her, until she is out of sight, and she too feels the sting.
CHARACTERS: Carmen, Shane
SPOILERS: Through 312, the third season finale. Do NOT read if you don't wish to be spoiled.
RATING: G
FEEDBACK: I live for it!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own TLW. If I did... oh god, where do I begin...
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to my darling buddy S. for beta.