I woke up and she was tattooing me. My boyfriend's childhood friend—art student, steady hand—bent over my bare arm with a needle, completely absorbed, like I was a sketch pad she'd found lying around.
Curtis smiled. "She said your skin's nice and smooth, perfect for practice. What do you think—cute, right?"
I nearly lost it. The police academy physical was two days away.
That tattoo destroyed everything. I would never pass the medical screening now.
Gretchen Winfield pouted and ducked behind Curtis Harding. "Your girlfriend is so scary. I spent three whole hours on that, and she doesn't even appreciate it."
He frowned at me too—like I was the one being cruel.
My vision blurred with heat. "My dad gave his whole life to the force and died before he could make peace with it—and because of you two, I'll never carry his badge number!"
Curtis reached over and patted my head like he was soothing a child. "Look, I just didn't want you grinding yourself down like that, okay? All that pressure, for your whole life? Now we can go to the same school. Isn't that better?"
He'd promised we'd take the academy entrance exam together—but Gretchen could only get into a vocational college, and he'd rather tank his own future than let her feel left behind. He even dragged me down with him.
What he didn't know was that my family, terrified I'd walk the same road as my father, had already quietly arranged a university overseas for me.
The future I'd fought so hard against had become my only way out.
I called my mother.
"Mom, I'll go. Yes, next month."
——
Gretchen hadn't used any anesthetic. My reddened arm still throbbed with a low, constant sting, and the slightest movement sent cold sweat down my back.
I looked at the glass of milk on the table, the one Curtis had brought me himself:
"You're always saying you can't sleep. Warm milk should help."
I've always been wary by nature. That milk was probably not just milk.
I'd had nightmare after nightmare while I was out, but none of them were as horrifying as what I saw when I opened my eyes.
The lines on my arm were crooked, wobbly, childish as a toddler's crayon scrawl—and this pathetic little doodle was enough to erase years of everything I'd worked for.
"Immy, do you think I have talent? I only learned from my instructor for one week, and you got my very first piece! Curtis wanted one, but I couldn't bear to waste it on him!"
Gretchen shot Curtis a coy look, flirting with him right in front of me.
"Curtis, doesn't this design look familiar?"
He thought about it, but couldn't seem to place it.
Gretchen sighed.
"God, boys are so clueless. Imogen, let me tell you. He designed this pattern for me when we were kids."
"Said when we grew up and got married, he'd put it on our marriage certificate. Such a shame—I don't think that's ever going to happen now."
Her face was full of wistful regret. I was shaking with rage.
"If it's your memory together, why didn't you tattoo it on yourself? Why put it on me?"
Gretchen stuck out her tongue, playful as ever.
"Oh come on, I'm scared of pain! Curtis said your dream is to be a police officer, right? This little sting is nothing. Stop being so dramatic."
My fists clenched so tight my knuckles ached, and my gaze cut into her like a blade.
Curtis stepped in front of Gretchen, shielding her. "Imogen, you don't like it, fine, drop it. Why do you have to be so petty about everything? She's our friend. Can't you just support her?"
I laughed—short, hollow. Looked at him with something close to pity.
"Sure. Then go be her friend."
After that day, I didn't say a single word to Curtis.
I hadn't recovered from watching my dream get ripped apart, and he was too proud to come to me first.
He caved before I did. Stood below my building calling my name, over and over and over.
I wouldn't come down. So he kept going.
He kept going until the neighbors started knocking on our door, asking if anyone was even home.
