A/N: So, if anyone but me has read Rose of No Man's Land and enjoys fanfiction- hi!
Disclaimer: RoNML and its characters belong solely to Michelle Tea.
I watched Trisha storm out of the tattoo parlor, knowing I'd never see her again.
"Aren't ya gonna go after your lil' girlfriend?" Amber asked. While my attention was elsewhere, she'd pulled out some gum and was snapping it furiously. I held out my hand and she gave me a stick. I wished it was a cigarette.
"Not my girlfriend," I said, my voice dead. The night was over now, Amber was doing nothing for me. I would just clean up and jet.
This was, I admit, the best night I'd had in a long time- maybe ever. Trisha wasn't like the rest, not exactly. Never before had I done quite so much in a single day. It almost seemed that Trisha was a friend, someone I'd known a long time ago. Like meeting her at Ohmigod! had happened years ago, like that trashy outfit was once her style and I had changed her.
I had changed her, and it made me smirk. I liked noobs, innocents like her who'd never stared down the throat of sex, drugs, or adventure for themselves before. They were perfect for my game- a nightlong connection with someone and then an abrupt split. I didn't hold on to people for longer than 24 hours.
They always fell in love with me though. Always. It fed my ego, but I wasn't proud of breaking all those hearts. I could understand where they came from- I was new, I was bold, I had no shame. Guys or girls, it didn't matter- they came to me like flies to honey and I killed them just as quickly.
Never had someone gotten a tattoo of me before, though. I loved it. The sick, twisted reason I did this was, of course, to mark people's lives, to make a difference in the world, positive or negative. What better way than a tattoo?
Trisha wouldn't forget me. She would think of me when she peeled the bandage of the healed swirl of ink that was my face. She would think of me whenever friends, family, or lovers asked about the girl on her arm. She would think of me whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror- forever embedded on her skin and in her heart, owning her body in so many ways.
Maybe it wasn't good for me, what I was doing. But I couldn't help it- I needed the adventure, the attention, but I couldn't allow myself to embrace things like love or commitment. Instead, I lived as a black ballerina pirouetting her way into people's worlds then leaping out into the darkness, never to be seen again.
I was like one of those quarters we had plucked from the river, a really shiny one. I was pretty and you wanted me, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't keep me for very long.