Flea Bite

The sky is gray and the city has a weird feeling to it -- like everything is fuzzy, as if the city hasn't woken up yet. My hands feel clammy in my pockets, balled up into futile fists.

My destination is right ahead, neon sign flickering in the eight am haze. With bleary eyes I push open the door, blinded by bright lights and a singular perky face of a girl who doesn't even look like she's old enough to get a piercing, let alone work at a shop.

"Good morning," I murmur. She smiles at me, welcoming me over. She tells me to wait and someone will be out shortly, some bum sounding band playing from the speakers. My stomach drops when a man with multiple piercings and tattoos comes out, glasses high on his forehead and hair pushed from his eyes in a messy way.

"Come on back," he welcomes me. I nod, gripping my wallet tightly. I sit on a white bed, like something you'd find in a doctor's office. I see the piercing gun and my hands get sweaty.

"My name is Ralph," he murmurs, "how can I help you today?" I offer him a weak smile, regretting my decision to come here. Regretting my decision to actually listen and allow Him to get me to show up -- alone, of course. He can't risk being seen with me.

"I want my nipples pierced," I manage to choke out. "Please."

The man laughs a little, getting me to lay down. Within twenty achy minutes, the procedure is completed I'm the owner of silver barred nipples. I pay the woman at the front desk fifty dollars, leaving quickly after into the chilly October air.

My eyes, once again, get bleary and I keep asking myself why, for the first time in leaving the house in eight days, I decided to listen to Frank and get pierced.

"It'll be fun, Rowan. I like it. Plus, you'll look sexy. Don't you want to look sexy, baby girl?"

I do not feel sexy. If I'm feeling anything, it's pain and the desperate desire to crawl back under my blankets and forget the last hour of my life has ever happened.