Page 15 of Sing For Me

Will doesn’t let the awkward silence fester. Instead he talks to me in a steady, conversational tone while he works, explaining each step of the process. What he’s doing with the transfer stencil. How the shop ensures the highest sterile guidelines are met with their needles and ink.

I wish I could melt into the calm he’s exuding. That I could just sit here like a normal person, nervous about nothing more than the pain of a tattoo.

Instead, I’m slowly falling apart.

“Will,” I suddenly blurt out, my voice sounding strangled. “Will, I… Am I going to need to sit like this the whole time?”

“It’s easiest,” he says, sounding concerned. And more than a little confused. And who could blame him? This position should be perfectly natural, my butt on the table, leaning back on my palms, knees bent in front of me, heels planted firmly so that my ankle is level for him to work.

No big deal, right? Except my hip is already screaming, and I know there’s no way I’m going to get through the appointment like this.

“Eva?”

“I don’t…I don’t know if…” Fuck. I’m about to totally lose it.

“Hang on,” he says, voice gentle. “I’ll be right back.”

It takes too much effort to keep myself from disappearing into that dark place to answer. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying hard to keep the images at bay.

Only a few minutes have passed when I feel a familiar, comforting hand on my shoulder. I snap my eyes open and see Marisa standing right next to me, her expression neutral and calm, the worry in her eyes only visible to someone who knows her as well as I do.

“What’s up, girl?” she asks softly. Behind her, Will is standing there with his arms crossed, an expression I can’t read on his face.

He probably thinks I’m the biggest freak in the world.

I try to push that thought out of my head so I can concentrate on Marissa. “I need to have my legs bent,” I explain. “So my feet can be flat. But it puts pressure—”

Her eyes widen in understanding. “Your hip hurts sitting like this?”

I nod, looking anywhere but at Will.

“This is fine,” Marissa says firmly. “We can figure something out. No biggie.”

Yeah, easy for her to say. She isn’t the one currently burning up with mortification.

“Absolutely,” Will says behind her. “Just tell me what works for you.”

“Maybe…if we do it on the other ankle? Then I wouldn’t have to keep this leg bent. That’s what’s causing the, uh, pressure on my hip.”

Marissa frowns. “You want it onthisside.”

She’s right. I had figured it would be symbolic, to have that reminder of calm and peace at the base of my injured leg.

Then Will approaches the table and I wish I could melt into the floor. “If the problem is the bent knee, we can keep your leg flat. I’ll just need to give you something to rest the bottom of your foot against, so you don’t accidentally flex or move it at all when the needle starts.”

I feel miserable. Why can’t I just be normal?

“Give me one second.”

I’m relieved when he disappears again. Marissa leans in closer. “See? There are easy fixes to most of our problems.”

I want to snap at her. To remind her that they’re notourproblems, they’re mine. To rant that there are plenty of things I deal with on a daily basis that have no fix, easy or otherwise.

“Will you breathe with me?” she asks.

“It’s fine.”

“Eva—”