Tattoo artists, what dark secret did a client reveal when you weren’t listening

The Request for Silence

My friend’s violent cop boyfriend kidnapped her and nearly killed me for trying to help her. So, I made sure he lost his badge and freedom. Two years later, he’s begging me to help him and understand his side.

I’m a tattoo artist and I swear 50% of my customers are complete angels. They are the sweetest people you’ll ever meet. One time, I sort of went above and beyond for one of them.

Nothing crazy. Just spent an extra hour or two helping them figure out how to cover a tattoo connected to a toxic ex completely free of charge.

In a normal workplace, they would just count their blessings and leave. But not this guy. Number.

He showed up the next day with an entire crew of motorbikers and told me they were my new clientele. Another time, this chick came in asking for a tree on her arm.

I was obviously happy to do it because it was simple and easy.

But when she rolled up her sleeve, what I saw was effing disgusting. There was a huge bruise in the middle, one that couldn’t have been a cause of anything other than the hands of another man.

I didn’t say anything, just tilted my head slightly upward to make eye contact with her. Her eyes were filled with shame, like she was pleading with me not to say anything.

I just nodded and asked where she would like the tattoo.

Usually, while I draw me and the client talk about whatever, gossip, their kids, the news, literally anything. But this lady was responding to everything I said with just one word. So, I gave up fast.

After I was done, she thanked me profusely in a way that was more than just for the tattoo. It was for my silence.

I reassured her that it was no problem and gave her a smile to say, “Come again when you’re ready to sort this out”.

Because if there’s one thing I learned from my younger sister and her abusive boyfriend, it was that people can only be helped when they want to be. And there’s no point going to court if both the victim and the abuser denies it ever happened.

It wasn’t even 10 days later when she showed up again, asking for a semicolon tattoo on her left ankle.

“Oh, what is it for?” I asked, playing dumb.

“Just a reminder to keep going”. Her voice was sheepish, like she didn’t want to give away too much.

I saw her face contort as she placed her foot on the mat, like even just moving was enough to cause her pain.

It took everything in me to fight the instinct of shaking her shoulders and forcing the confession out. That day, she didn’t even tip me, but took a business card and told me she’d be back.

I never saw her again until 2 months later, that is. It was a Friday night, and she had a completely black eye.

Looked like she hadn’t slept in days. This time, she asked for just a straight line on her upper thigh.

It was obvious that she only came as an excuse to be away from whatever was going on at home.

“Hey, I had some spare food and water I never ate. You’re the last customer of the day. Do you want some? otherwise I’m going to have to throw it out”.

I could literally see her heart beating at two times the speed before agreeing.

And as soon as I handed her the sandwich, she barely ripped the plastic off before shoveling it down her throat as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

Her tattoo would only take 10 minutes, but I dragged it out to 2 hours. We were at the 1 hour 45 minutes mark when she finally broke the silence. Well, kind of.

She pulled out her phone and pretended to text someone. I could see in the reflection of her glasses that she was just on her settings app.

“Hey, my friend just told me she won’t be home to let me in the front door tonight”.

“Um, is it cool if I Actually, you know what?”. “Don’t worry about it”. “Never mind”.

“Of course, you can stay here. I was actually planning on pulling an allnighter to work on some stuff”.

I was lying through my teeth, but she bought it or pretended to. Anyway, I could see her trying to hide her excitement, but the corners of her lips were turned up all the way.

That night, she slept on the tattoo bed while I pretended to work on my computer. I had just finished another game of League of Legends when I heard her laughing in her sleep.

I turned around smiling, but that’s when I saw tears streaming down her face. I sat down beside her.

“Please don’t make me go back there. Keep me safe, please”.

I held her hand and nodded. And suddenly, she shot straight up and finally explained what was going on.

Her boyfriend was a police officer and a wellrespected one at that.

Except when he went home every day, instead of watching TV or drinking a few beers, he’d spend the night wailing on her. He called it their little game.

She had nowhere to turn except for now. I opened my mouth to ask more, but she shook her head.

“Not tonight,” she said quietly before turning her back and going back to sleep.

The next morning, there was a knock at the door. “It was the police”.

My heart nearly stopped. I quickly told her to hide in the back room and stay quiet.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, trying to look casual in my wrinkled t-shirt from yesterday.

Two cops stood there. One of them, I recognized immediately from her phone background, the boyfriend.

He was tall, cleancut, with this smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

The other guy was shorter, older, just standing there looking bored. They both had their hands resting on their belts, too close to their GN’s for my comfort.

“Morning,” the boyfriend said, all friendly like. “I’m Officer Mark Reynolds”.

“We’re looking for a Jane Wilson, about 5′ 4 in, brown hair. Probably came in for a tattoo recently”.

I didn’t flinch. “Nope, don’t know her. I get a lot of clients, though. You got a picture?”.

He pulled out his phone and showed me her face. I shook my head. “Sorry, man. Doesn’t ring a bell”.

I kept my face neutral, though my mouth had gone completely dry. Officer Reynolds looked past me, scanning the shop.

His eyes lingered on the door to the back room. “Mind if we take a look around? Just routine”.

“Actually, I do mind. I’ve got client privacy to think about, and I don’t see a warrant”.

I tried to sound casual, but my heart was pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it. I crossed my arms, blocking the doorway as best I could.

The older cop sighed. “Come on, Mark. We’ve checked three places already. Let’s go”.

Reynolds kept staring at me. This little smirk on his face like he knew, like he was just playing along.

“Sure thing. Sorry to bother you. If you do see her, give us a call. Yeah, she’s not well. families worried”.

There was something in the way he emphasized family that made my skin crawl. I nodded and closed the door as they left.

I watched through the blinds as they got in their car. Reynolds looked back at the shop one more time before they drove away, his eyes meeting mine through the glass.

When I went to the back room, I found her curled up in the corner, shaking.

“He knows I’m here,” she whispered. “He always knows”.

“You’re safe,” I told her, not entirely believing it myself.

“But we need a plan. You can’t stay here forever”. She nodded, wiping her eyes.

“I’m Melissa, by the way. I never even told you my name”.

“Tony,” I said, “and I think we need to be smarter than just hiding you here. That guy’s going to come back”.

And that’s exactly what happened, but not in the way I expected.

I spent the rest of that day in a state of constant paranoia. Every time the bell above the door jingled. I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Melissa stayed in the back room, only coming out when I gave her the all clear.

I canceled my appointments for the day, telling clients there was a family emergency. Not entirely a lie, I guess.

“We need to get you somewhere safer,” I told Melissa as I locked up that evening. “This is the first place he’ll check again”.

She nodded, staring at her hands. “I don’t have anywhere to go. My parents live in Florida and all my friends here are his friends, too”.

I thought about it for a minute. My buddy Victor owns a cabin about an hour north of here.

Uses it for hunting season, but it’s empty most of the year. I bet he’d let us use it.

I called Victor, making up some story about needing space to work on a big tattoo project. He was cool about it, told me where to find the spare key.

I packed some supplies while Melissa gathered her few belongings.

We waited until after midnight before sneaking out the back door to my hitup Honda Civic.

The drive was tense. Melissa kept checking the rear view mirror, flinching whenever headlights appeared behind us.

I took a bunch of random turns, doubling back a few times to make sure we weren’t being followed. Probably overkill, but better safe than sorry.

The cabin was pretty basic. One bedroom, a small kitchen, living area, and a bathroom with a shower that barely worked.

But it had electricity and running water. And most importantly, it was hidden down a dirt road with no neighbors for miles.

“You take the bedroom,” I told her. “I’ll crash on the couch”.

She looked around nervously. “What if he finds us?”.

“He won’t,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Get some sleep. We’ll figure out next steps tomorrow”.

I barely slept that night, listening for cars on the gravel road.