Tonic by Staci Hart

tattoo gun, the vibrating of it in my hand comforting, hypnotizing. The motions were automatic, as easy as remembering to blink or breathe. But she was on my mind all day.
    To see her soft, almost silly. To hear her laugh. The feel of her against me, leaning into me. The vision of her lying in bed with her hair around her like a veil.  
    I’d figured I wouldn’t see her Sunday, but every time the bell over the door rang, I whipped my head toward the sound, ripped from the trance like a that bell was a bucket of ice water. I worried about her, too, hoped she was all right. But I knew I’d see her today, and even though I tried to play it cool, I’d found myself counting down to it, even waking an hour earlier than usual, which left me early enough to have nothing to do. I felt like a kid waiting on my front porch, fully dressed and ready to go.
    So, I’d spent the early morning reading Persuasion, which I found myself enjoying more than I thought I would. Getting into the way they speak was the hardest part, but once I got past that, it was easy.It was a story of two people finding their way back to each other, of finding the way to themselves after being lost. I found I could relate to the sentiment.
    I’d killed time waiting for the hour when we’d all file upstairs and into the green room for one-on-ones with Annika. We only had a few hours, and then we’d resume our regularly scheduled clients, with more to film tonight after we closed the shop. Days were going to be long, and we’d need to be ‘on’ for all of it, which wasn’t something we were used to. I just hoped everyone held up without cracking.
    Believe it or not, most tattoo parlors are pretty boring, day to day. We sit in a chair with flesh and ink under our hands, mostly in silence, other than the music that plays and the buzz of the gun in our hand.
    I heard her voice again, closer this time, and forced myself to sit still. I’d see her when I saw her, I told myself. But my nerves buzzed just like a tattoo gun with nothing but a rubber band to hold everything in place. Because something had shifted between us, and I wanted to find out if she felt it too.  
    But she never came back to us. My makeup artist dabbed a little more goop on my nose and leaned back to look at me. Her eyes darted over to one side, and she froze like she was listening to something. She smiled at me.  
    “They’re ready for you in the shop,” she said, and at my confused face, she pointed to her ear where a monitor sat nestled.
    “Thanks …” I started, searching for her name as a PA appeared at my elbow to mic me.
    “Kyla.”
    I smiled. “Thanks, Kyla.”
    “You’re very welcome,” she said with a smile as she slipped the brush into her apron.
    I climbed out of my chair and headed out and upstairs to the interview room. A chair stood in the middle of the room with lights and reflectors all pointed at it, and a cameraman and boom operator fiddled with their equipment, but I barely noticed them.  
    Annika sat on a stool next to them, smiling up at me. She looked fresh and recharged, though still cool and collected. The animosity seemed to be mostly gone, if I wasn’t making up the notion.  
    “Hey,” she said as I approached, standing to greet me.  
    “Hey,” I smiled back at her.  
    She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “Can I have a word while we finish getting set up?”
    “Of course,” I answered, feeling a little nervous, playing it off completely as I followed her out and into the hallway.
    She reached for my hip, and I froze, too caught off guard to react. But her fingers closed over my mic battery and clicked it off with a snick. She popped her own monitor out of her ear, leaving it dangling over her shoulder.
    Her face was calm, masked, cast from marble, but she smiled, which gave me the tiniest modicum of hope. “I just wanted to thank you again for taking care of me the other day. It was really great of you, and I appreciated it a