The Tattoo

College student loses her grip on reality.

The Tattoo

 

     Rose had had sex too many times to count. She was naked in bed next to Johnny South, the editor of the school’s newspaper. He had a strong, handsome face with hard, green eyes. His body was fit and slim. His dorm smelled of hard liquor and weed, and his dirty clothes were spread all across the floor. She watched Johnny’s naked, tan body get out of bed, and thought, Maybe it’s been around sixty times. She put the bed’s cover over her breasts and sighed. She was still sweating. Her cheeks were cherry red. Her eyes were half closed. Her butt hurt from Johnny’s brutal smacking. Her dark hair was muffled. Johnny walked over to the room’s mini-fridge and took out a beer. He then sat upright on the bed, next to Rose.

    “Why is it so hot in here?” Rose said, Johnny popping open the beer bottle and taking a chug.

    “The air condition is broke for the whole building. Didn’t I say that?” Johnny said, pouring some more beer in his mouth, some of it spilling on his hairy chest.

     “No.”

     “So are you staying over?”

     “Have you fucked me before?”

      Rose squinted. Johnny took a chug of his beer and slid his hand through the top of her disheveled hair.

     “Yes. We...” He looked at the ceiling. “We fucked after that Sigma Chi party last month. I think we did, but why does it matter?”

     Rose sighed and rolled her eyes. The pain in her butt was maddening. She reached one hand down to rub it. It stung. She cringed.

     “Why’d you hit me so hard?”

     Johnny took a chug of his beer, belched, and snatched the cover off of Rose, revealing her breasts.

     “What’s this attitude I’m getting, huh?” He fondled her left breast and squeezed it.

     He gently slapped her across the cheek. She turned and socked him in the stomach. He yelled and dropped the beer on the floor. Rose got up and started looking for her clothes on the trash-ridden floor.

     “F*****g s**t!” said Johnny. “Get out!” He pointed to the door, his other hand clutching his aching stomach.

     Rose found her clothes in a pathetic pile next to the mini-fridge. She slid her dark, blue jeans on and then put on her pink tank top (a large, wet beer stain on the front).

     “Get the f**k out of here!” said Johnny, still pointing to the door.

     Rose turned in all directions, but she didn’t see her shoes. Johnny yelled again. She flinched and then stumbled to the door. She opened it, threw up her middle-finger, went in the hall (barefooted), and slammed the door behind her.

     The hall’s ceiling lights were dim, barely illuminating the darkness. The brown paint on the walls wearing. She went forward towards the stairwell, her bare feet hitting the worn down carpet. The hot air was heavy on her head. She stumbled to the stairwell door, went in, stopped, and held her throbbing forehead. It was hotter in there than it was in the hall. The stairs and floor were rusted cement, painfully spiky against Rose’s feet.

     Oh God, she thought. Oh God.

     She went down the first flight of stairs, taking it one incredibly slow step at a time. Then the next. Then the next. Then the next.

     Rose stumbled into the lobby, her feet scarred and aching. Tommy Down was sitting in one of the armchairs, scratching his neck, his eyes red, high off weed. His face was overtaken with acne. His dirty, blonde hair covered his eyes. He laughed when he spotted the pathetic, tortured Rose.

     “What’s up, Baby? Wanna give me another B.J.?”

     Rose ducked, shook her head, and continued on to the glass door.

     “Don’t ignore me, Baby!”

     He laughed and smacked his thighs. Rose opened the door and went outside. The warm, Southern California air brushed against her skin. The night sky was starless, filled with grey clouds. The only sound she heard was the distant, mocking cricking of crickets.

     Shut up, she thought. Please, shut up!

     She fell to her knees and cried. Her black eyeliner leaked down her face. She lifted up her right arm and looked at her tattoo. It was a black snake, beautifully and intricately detailed, that reached from the top of her elbow to the top of her shoulder, the head of the snake turned and grinning near the middle of her upper-arm. She’d got it the weekend before. She looked at the snake’s smiling face. She stopped crying and wiped her eyes.

     It’s like it’s staring at me.

     She put her hand over the snake’s head and stood up. She started for her dormitory on the other side of campus, her left hand still covering the snake.

 

…

  Rose opened the door to her dorm’s hall and left the cold stairwell. The ceiling lights flickered on and off. She walked against the cream-painted wall, her hand still covering the menacing snake.

     So tired, she thought, sighing and trudging along, her feet burning with pain, her face stained with eyeliner. I’m so tired.

     She stopped at room 676. Loud music shouted from inside. She heard several voices. She knocked on the door, waited, and it opened. Lydia Wall said hello. She only had on a bra and panties. She was wearing far too much eyeliner, and her hair was frizzy. She frowned at Rose and then laughed.

     “What happened to you?”

     She looked at Rose’s purple, scarred, dusty feet. She grabbed her arm and pulled her in the dorm. She closed the door and pulled Rose over to the couch where Bobby and Sheryl were sitting. Yellow-haired Bobby was in a black nightgown and bun-wearing Sheryl was in a white T-shirt and red shorts. The dorm smelled of weed and was extremely chilly. Pillows and clothes were scattered across the floor. The bed wasn’t made and the mattress was crooked. Rose sat on the couch in between Bobby and Sheryl. They smiled. Bobby tried to hold her hand, but quickly remembering, Rose snatched her hand back and covered the snake.

     “What’s going on, Rosy?” said Bobby. “Party too hard?”

     Lydia stood in front of them all, her hands on her hips. She started smiling.

     “Oh, I know,” Lydia said. “She went to that Lambda party. Didn’t you, Rose?”

     Rose ducked her head and shook it, still covering the snake. She began a soft cry. Sheryl patted her back.

     “They kicked you out?”

     Rose shook her head.

     “Who’d you f**k? Did you f**k anybody there?”

     Rose got up and ran out of the room and into the hall, her feet exploding with pain, her butt aching. She went two rooms down, reached in her pocket for her keys, pulled them out, unlocked the door, went in her dorm, closed the door behind her, sprinted into the bathroom, and threw up.

 

…

     She couldn’t take her eyes off of the snake’s head. She held her arm closer to the bathroom mirror and examined its smile. It seemed to be becoming more sinister as the seconds rolled by. The air in the room was freezing. She’d covered the vent, but she was still cold. Rose frowned at the snake. It didn’t frown. Only smiled.

     It’s looking me in the eyes, she thought, her eyes getting big and her heart thudding against her chest. It’s looking me in the eyes.

     “A long, scary snake up my arm,” is what she told the tattoo artist. While she sat in the chair, the pen scraping her skin, she remembered how vehement her parents had felt about the evil of tattoo art. “The Bible forbids it,” is what her mother said. She hadn’t cared, though. She wanted it badly. She’d been in love with the dark appeal snakes had, and it would be the final thing to wipe away her stupid, girly innocence that had held her back so long. “You are such a little p***y,” is what Vanessa Rodgers used to say to her in high school in front of all the cute boys. “Do you even know what a dick is?” is what Brett Valhalla, the captain of the school’s soccer team, said when she asked him for a pencil. “You lock that p***y up, huh?” is what Tucker Price would scream at her in the halls in front of everyone. She’d go home and tell her mother how mean everyone was being to her. Her mother shook her head (she always shook her head) and said:

     “Ignore them, Rose. They’re just jealous of you.”

     “But,” Rose would interject, “it’s embarrassing. Nobody wants to be my friend.”

     “I thought you would be used to this by now,” said her mother. “You’re a senior. You won’t have to take much more. Now please, gather yourself.”

     “But I WANT friends!”

     “Friends? Be friends with those little idiots?”

     “I’m sick of everybody making fun of�"”

     “I send you out as sheep amongst wolves. I send you out as sheep amongst wolves. I send you out as sheep amongst wolves. I send�"”

     “I know, but�"”

     “But nothing. Go to your room.”

     Rose made amends for the lost high school years when she went to college. She’d escaped the fortress in Oklahoma and found freedom in the University of Nietzsche, just minutes away from Los Angeles. Her parents warned her to avoid the vices of the big city, and pleaded that she find a more rural college, but she’d played her cards too well, for the only schools she’d applied to were in urban areas. Her mother prayed with her before she left.

     The first week, she went shopping with money she’d been saving for over two years. She purchased anything she thought would appeal to a boy and avoided anything she thought her mother would approve of. She partied hard every weekend, eventually learning how to drink so much as to get loose but not pathetically drunk. She lost her virginity the first weekend. A boy at a party had been eyeing her, and she introduced herself. He kissed her right then, and she let him touch every part of her body. When he asked her if she wanted to go to his dorm, she nodded and grabbed his crotch. He took her to his dorm and did rough, wild things to her. It hurt, but she was happy she’d finally done it. Now what would Vanessa say, she thought to herself. And she made sure to get pounded as often as she could. At first she let boys in only on weekends, but as the year went on, she took to calling people up and offering them a fun night (she was rarely rejected). She got the reputation of being a s**t, but no one said it to her face because she was such a nice and generous person. She had several friends that were also viewed as w****s (one being her roommate who’d taken to sleeping in the Lambda Chi house every weekend), and they enjoyed each other’s company, refusing to judge no matter how many boy’s they’d heard one of them got fucked by at once or who’s dick they’d chugged down at a fraternity party in front of everyone.

     Now here she was, staring at the evil snake in the mirror. Its smile was unrelenting. He wouldn’t dare take his eyes off of her. He wanted her to suffer. He wanted her to face her sins. She wouldn’t give in, though.

     F**k, she thought. I’ll just save up and have you removed.

     He smiled at her.

     It’ll take a while, but I’ll just save up. I can get a summer job or something.

     He smiled at her, his face full of malice.

     “Can you count all of the boy’s you’ve let f**k you?”

     “Stop it,” she said, looking at the snake.

     “Doesn’t your p***y hurt? Doesn’t it sting?” the snake said.

     “Shut up.”

     “How many c***s have you had run and up down through it? How many big, hairy c***s have you chugged down? How much cum have you swallowed, Little Rosy? Tell me, I’m curious. How does sperm taste?”

     She shook her head and bit her lip. She breathed out. It was so cold that the air from her nostrils formed a cloud. Her cheeks were red. Her butt still hurt, and her feet stung with ache.

     “Do you like boy’s butts, Little Rosy? Huh, Little Rosy, I can’t hear you.”

     She shook her head.

     “You like riding c**k? You like getting wasted and letting two guys f**k the s**t out of you. You like getting fucked at the same time?”

     She shook her head. Her eyes watered and turned red. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

     “You want your mommy to watch you get fucked? Do you want her to get fucked with you? You want her to watch you suck hairy c**k?”

     “NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

     “You’re going to be alone. You’re going to be ALL ALONE, Little Rosy. Accept me.”

     Rose slammed the snake against the sink’s counter. She slammed it and slammed it. When she felt like it was dead, she lifted her arm up to the window. It was still there, smiling. She clutched her arm and screamed�"she’d broken it. She walked out of the bathroom crying, holding her arm.

     I’m such a s**t. I’m going to hell, she thought, tears drowning her face. Somebody help. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She attempted to dial 911, but it died as soon as it turned on. She left the dorm, and walked down the hall to 676. She knocked on the door. Lydia smiled and told her to come in. The music was still shouting ridiculously loud.

     “Sit down,” said Lydia.

     Rose sat on the couch in between Bobby and Sheryl, still holding her arm. They laughed and laughed. Rose cried.

     “It’s okay. Whoever it is will hook up with you again,” said Sheryl, straightening her bun. “They always do. Right, Lydia?”

     Lydia stood in front of the three of them and nodded.

     “I�"I hurt my arm,” Rose said, her voice broken.

     “What were you doing?” said Bobby.

     Everyone laughed. Rose sank her head and cried harder. She wanted her mother.

     “Does it really hurt?” said Lydia.

     Rose slightly nodded.

     “Huh?”

     “YES! I BROKE IT! CALL SOMEBODY!” Rose said.

     Lydia threw her hands in the air, pulled her cell phone, dialed 911, and rushed into the bathroom. Rose stopped crying, but tears still streamed.

     “I’m a horrible person,” said Rose.

     “Just because he kicked you out? Come on,” said Sheryl.

     “No. I’m just a bad, dirty person. I want to go home,” Rose said, looking at the ground, her tears sliding off her cheeks. “I want my Mom…I want my Mom…I want�"”

     “There are way too many guys around for you to be so down on yourself,” said Bobby. “I’ll get you a new hookup tomorrow. Okay?”

     “I don’t want one,” Rose said, her words barely audible, the coldness of the room pricking her skin.

     “What?” said Sheryl.

     Lydia came out of the bathroom.

     “They’re on their way,” Lydia said.

     “What did you say, Rose?” repeated Sheryl.

     “He’s right,” Rose said, barely able to hear herself.

     “Talk louder!” said Bobby.

     “All she needs is a new hookup,” said Lydia, smiling.

     “I’m trash,” said Rose, no one paying attention.

     “I’ll call up Michael Washington tomorrow. He’s unbelievable in bed,” said Sheryl.

     “And I’ll call up Zack McKenna just in case,” said Bobby, smiling, moving up and down, her eyes filled with excitement.

     “Zack McKenna?” said Lydia. “Who’s that?”

     “He’s the wide receiver on the football team,” said Bobby. “He has sexy abs.”

     “That reminds me,” said Sheryl. “I need to start working out in the gym. I’m startin to get a gut.” She looked down at her stomach. “I’ll die before I get fat, right Rose?”

     “He’s right,” said Rose, pathetically.

     “What about the mall tomorrow?” said Lydia.

     “How about next week?” said Bobby. “I promised Max I’d spend the day with him.”

    Rose lifted her arm up, carefully. She looked at the snake. It smiled. She frowned and cried.

     “Now what’s wrong?” said Bobby.

     “She wants to go to the mall. So are we or not?” said Lydia.

     “No, b***h. I’m f*****g Max tomorrow.”

     The snake spoke again. No one but Rose heard it. It said:

     “See what I mean, Little Rosy?”

     Rose nodded and cried harder. Her friends didn’t mind and kept on with their conversation.

     “See what I mean?”

     Rose made a heavy sigh and passed out on the floor face up. Her cheeks stained with eyeliner. Her feet throbbing. Her butt aching. Her skin cold. Her eyes red. Her skin pale.

     Lydia, Bobby, and Sheryl continued on with their conversation. The music shouted.