Traditional Change Read Free Page B

little," he instructed, "and rest your face on your hands."
    She complied quickly and quietly.
    Sawyer carefully laid the page over her back, lining up the image cautiously before pressing the sheet against her skin. His hands were warm, and his movements were quick and practiced, which Rebecca found comforting since she was trusting him with half of her torso.
    When his hands slid down her back and pressed against the top of her buttocks, she flinched a little. It was at that moment that she realized her understanding of how much the artist would have to touch her was academic only. She had been comfortable with her wrist tattoo, that being relatively small and isolated, but when Sawyer's hands pressed over her lower back, she closed her eyes and breathed steadily, trying not to panic.
    "Relax," he said, in a surprisingly easy tone. "You've done this before. It's just as bad as the inside wrist work you've got," he continued, misunderstanding her anxiety. "It'll hurt, but you'll be fine. We'll line everything out and then just go piece by piece in each session. Okay?"
    Rebecca nodded, willing to agree with whatever he said at that point, just so long as they got started. She felt as though she was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting her turn to jump into the water below. The longer he made her wait, the worse the butterflies got. As the page was peeled from her back, she tingled all over with the sensation.
    Standing up from his seat behind her, Sawyer dug a phone from his pocket and pointed it at her. Rebecca turned just in time to see him snap a picture of her back. She had only a moment to be self-conscious before he spun the phone around and showed her the image. "What do you think?" he asked.
    She stared at the image sprawling over her frame and felt a thrill rise within her chest. She looked exotic. She looked sensual. She looked exciting.
    A smile spread across her face and the words came calmly and with certainty. "Do it." Sawyer nodded, and Rebecca rested her face on her hands.
    There was no ceremony.
    There was no last-minute option to back out.
    There was no one stepping in and asking her if this was what she really wanted.
    In a mad blur that was part thrill-seeking and part impulsive madness, she took a deep breath through her nose and slowly let the air seep out between her tightly clenched teeth. She heard the whir of the tattoo machine, the gentle change in tone as he adjusted the speed, and then his hand was against her back. In a flash of anxiety, Rebecca listened as the voice in her head screamed for her to run, and she had just enough time to debate it before Sawyer quietly gave instructions.
    "Breathe," he said, "and don't move."
    How do you breathe and not move? Before she could ask the question, the needle was cutting into her skin.
    People without tattoos always seem to ask the same stupid thing; "Did that hurt?" Rebecca couldn't count the number of times she had been packaging an order of supplies for a department, only to have the rep lean over the counter and make the same mindless comment so many others had already made. Men and women alike would ask with wide and interested eyes about what it felt like to get a tattoo. Rebecca knew that what they really wanted to know was if it was as bad as everyone thought, and whether they could endure it if they wanted one.
    "It's like being scratched," she would tell them, "by a cat… over a sunburn." If the person didn't completely freak her out, sometimes she would go on to explain how there were places that hurt more than others. She was no expert, but getting a tattoo never felt good.
    Today was no exception.

Chapter Three
     
    Sawyer dug a shallow line down her back, gently carving her skin and pumping it full of ink. The needle hummed and bounced so fast it was nothing more than a blur, leaving behind it a thin slug trail of black ooze and blood. He used one hand to keep the skin taut under the machine, while he lightly ran over the