Let’s Get A Tattoo

“Let’s get a tattoo!” Was what she said with a spontaneous fire. That kind of spontaneous fire that ignited the night with a lack of control. What started as two co-workers having a drink and bitching about the clueless manager and the needy customers had turned into an alcohol fueled inferno of confessed lust and loud sordid car sex. Wade was not that kind of guy. Wade was a stay at home bottled in frustrated with the stupidity of the world kind of guy. The liquor certainly let leak enough gasoline for Carrey, the wild loud mouthed unashamed crass Carrey, to light the fucking match. It was an unexpected coupling as the two had only crossed business words and occasional rolled eyes and huffs of frustration about the constant discombobulation that was work. What started as “fuck Thomas” and “what the hell!?” and agreements about “how it should be” bloomed into laughs, long gazes, and bodily contact that lingered long enough to spark. For Wade, letting out the pressure with the firebrand Carrey was impossible to resist. Their clothes ripped off in a fury, revealing a tattoo of a bloodied knife jabbed into a heart right over where it would be. Wade could do nothing but suck on it. After an explosion of “never fucked like that before” Carrey remained mounted, pinning him down to the car seat, nails dug into his shoulders and breathed in a hot excited exhale “let’s get a tattoo!” A trivial decision as rebelliously written all over her steaming body, but for reclusive Wade this was unimaginable. She grinned a wicked “fuck it” smile, and in the wild moment of hormones and the thrill of new things and letting go, Wade agreed. “Fuck it.” She new a guy who does great work. He works after hours under the table. He peers into your soul and free hands a symbol reflective of your fate. They walked into the closed tattoo shop and in the dark room lit only by a red light stood a silhouette of a sickly skinny man. Wade had a brief moment of hesitant clarity, quickly defused by a wet kiss that seared on his cheek as Carrey encouraged him. That is when the alcohol darkens the experience leaving only bright moments of needle digging, maniacal laughter, and the dark eyes of the artist looking at something within Wade’s being. After the reveal of the tattoo the mood chilled quickly. Confusion. No more smiles. Carrey was no longer spritely, and she could barely hold any eye contact with Wade. Wade looked down and wondered “what the fuck is that?” The tattoo artist whispered, “It is your destiny…” “What the goddamned fuck is that?” “A seal. It can’t be explained, it can only transpire…” Carrey muttered “we should go” as Wade’s confusion began to turn to rage. The ride home was fraught with protest and blame. Carrey could only mutter “it’s nothing it’s just a tattoo. It doesn’t mean anything.” Her fright and uncertainty only escalated Wade’s anger. At her apartment Wade burst through the door and flicked on a piercing light only to reveal a tattoo of a plague symbol on a grave stone. Carrey, with a tear in her eye, whispered “…im sorry…” Carrey had passed on his death sentence. The explanation exploded a violent rage within Wade. Wade grabbed a kitchen knife and shoved Carrey to the ground. Wade raised the knife and plunged it. Carey’s fire went out as her waxy blood seeped out of her. Wade stood up and reality sobered him to what he had done. From out of Carey’s body the knife stood straight up, halfway plunged into her heart… right where it would be…