These Words Are My Heart and Soul

“I want a tattoo.”

Frank looked up at me and widened his eyes. I guess I seemed too much of a pussy to ever even think about getting something painful like that. But I wanted to prove everyone wrong.

“Frank, I want a tattoo. Let me get a tattoo.”

“O-Okay, babe, whatever you say,” he smiled.

I grinned and we got in the car. He drove, obviously, and we drove into the plaza, where he took me to the place he got all his done. He was buddy’s with the tattooist, and got me in easily.

The guy took one look at me, pulled a face and whispered unsurely into Frank’s ear. Frank impatiently whispered back and the guy sighed, his handlebar moustache fluttering slightly. I giggled lightly and jumped into the chair, rolling onto my side and instantly describing what I wanted.

I wanted lyrics, from Green Day. It was to be a symbol of everything I’d ever lost and everything I had to lose. It was from a song Billie Joe had written a small while back, for the album Nimrod. It was a short song, just guitar and vocals and a hint of strings in some places as the accompaniment. It was beautiful, to say the least - Good Riddance.

It was to be in a heart shape, in black letters. Just one line.

“For what it’s worth, it was worth all the while,” I said to handlebar-moustache-guy.

The needle started up and I closed my eyes tightly, awaiting the pain. It wasn’t as bad as I thought, not like cutting yourself bad. A little worse than a navel piercing pain, though. The needle buzzed and I gripped the arm of the chair, the ink being injected under my skin. Handlebar-moustache-guy, whose name turned out to be Paul, wiped the tat with disinfectant.

I looked to my side where the tattoo was. It was perfect. My eyes welled up, from the hormones whizzing round my body, and I thanked Paul. A lovely little heart shape with the lyrics from my favorite song.

“Come on, honey. I’m starving,” I beamed to Frank.

Paul had put a band aid thing on my tattoo and told me to keep it clean and everything, and I’d nodded, buzzing with happiness. As soon as we got out the store, I pulled off the band aid, rolled up my shirt slightly and flashed my tattoo.

I was so proud of myself for plucking up the courage to get something like that. Humming the song I’d suddenly acquired as my theme tune, I bounced into the car, ready for whatever the day was going to throw at me.

***
“Addie?”

“Yesum?” she replied, turning off the hairdryer.

“Do you wanna go out tonight? Coz I feel like shit and need some cheering up.”

“You always have the most perfect ideas at the most perfect times,” she smiled, turning the hairdryer back on.

I grinned and dived into my closet. Everything in there was either a mini skirt or a boob tube, apart from one outfit. It was skinny, tight fitting jeans, and a nice pretty white tee-shirt that clung in all the right places. I was proud of myself for having at least one item of clothing that wasn’t whore-y. Looking in my drawers, I found another nice tee-shirt and some more pleasant jeans.

“Wanna where these, Addie?”

She poked her head round the door and smiled, nodding. Like me, she had a closet full of slut clothes for the job. She came out in her underwear and pulled them on. They fit her like a glove.

The top was black, and had a silver and gold swirling floral graphic on the front, and the pants were really dark gray, almost black, denim, with fake diamond studs lining the pockets.

I pulled on my white top, that had a matching graphic on the front (only it was pink and silver), and pulled the dark gray-blue matching pants on. We matched, and we looked great! I found some nice pink converse sneakers tucked away in the back of my closet. They must have been three years old; mom must have bought me them.

Holding back my tears, I pulled them on and tied the laces. Luckily, Cariad had some matching black ones. They matched her outfit amazingly.

We put on some heavy-ish eyeliner, and she wore gray eye-shadow and I wore pink. We each shared a clear tube of gloss.

Searching again in my closet, I found two handbags. They were practically the same, apart from one was silver and the other was black. The bags had long silver chains for the strap, and looked really glamorous. I handed Cariad the black one and put my make-up, wallet and cigarettes in my own. She filled hers with her wallet and make-up.

We fixed each others hair. She straightened my hair; it was still rather short at this point, seeing as I’d only been away from Gerard a month. Cariad straightened mine really fine, and used some hairspray to fix my fringe at a bit of an angle and to fix my hair in place, which was to the side slightly.

When she’d finished, I did hers. I tidied the curls slightly, fixing up the stray hairs and making sure it hung delicately over her shoulders. Fixing it with hairspray, I clipped her fringe back with some hairpins, and brushed the ends of it so it ran smoothly into the rest of her hair.

“You look great,” she smirked.

“Yeah, well, you look greater,” I grinned.

She laughed and linked my arm, and we set off out the door towards the pavement. I phoned for a taxi on my cell phone, and it was outside my door within minutes. We both got in the back and started giggling, and discussing what we were to do.

It was going to be a great night, with my best friend, just hanging out and drinking. No getting laid or any business. Just plain old, God-I’ve missed-this fun.
***