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Hot tears stream down her face as the needle digs into her left hip. She does her best to mask her discomfort as the ringing of the tattoo machine fills the room. Her eyes wander the walls, skimming over the framed pieces of art until they finally land on the artist. He wipes the lose ink from her skin then flicks his eyes up to meet hers. They’re warm, beaming, proud. She manages a smile, but the tears in her eyes aren’t from the pain. At least not the physical pain. “You doing okay?” She nods. “Just hurts.” “Blame the spot you picked. Should have followed my lead.” He holds his arm out to reveal the same matching tattoo she’s getting on her hip then buries his face back into his work. She lets her head fall back and another tear escape her clenched eyes. She can’t help but feel like a coward, going through with this after what she now knows. In that feeling, she welcomes the pain. Her brand for being a fool.