Falling In Love With You

Chapter1

The needle was the only thing that didn't lie to her. It was consistent. It did exactly what Kayla Joseph told it to do, vibrating at a frequency that settled deep into her bones and silenced the rest of the world.

Kay sat on her low stool, her legs spread wide, leaning over a client’s calf. Her focus was absolute. A lock of dark hair fell over her eyes, but she didn't brush it away; she didn't want to break the rhythm. Her hands, large and steady, were encased in black nitrile gloves that made the "Inked by K" lettering on her knuckles stand out in sharp, white contrast. She was lean, her muscles shifting subtly under the skin of her shoulders as she worked the shading.

"Almost there," Kay murmured. Her voice was a low, honey-thick rasp that she rarely used unless she had to.

The shop was her sanctuary. Located in a basement unit with exposed brick and industrial lighting, it smelled of green soap, rubbing alcohol, and the faint, metallic scent of blood. It was a place where people came to change themselves, and Kay was the architect of that change. She liked the power of it, but mostly, she liked the honesty of it. Pain for beauty. A fair trade.

As she finished the final line, she straightened her back, a series of satisfying cracks echoing through her spine. She looked at the clock: 8:42 PM.

"You're good to go," she said to the guy in the chair, her expression neutral. She didn't do the bubbly, "Oh my god, you look so good!" routine that other artists did. She just handed him the mirror. The work spoke for itself.

Once he was gone, the silence of the shop rushed back in, and with it, the thoughts she’d been dodging all day. She walked over to the small fridge in the back, grabbing a bottle of water and pressing the cold plastic against her forehead.

Her eyes drifted to a polaroid pinned to the corner of her workstation. It was a photo of her and Diana from a year ago. In the photo, Kay was laughing—really laughing—while Diana draped herself over Kay’s back like she owned her. Diana was a hurricane of a woman: beautiful, sharp, and utterly exhausting. She had a way of making Kay feel like the only person in the world one minute, and then a total stranger the next.

It had been months since Diana vanished, leaving a trail of broken promises and a hollowed-out feeling in Kay’s chest. The toxic cycle had finally snapped, but the debris was still there. Kay reached out, her gloved thumb hovering over Diana’s face in the photo, before she caught herself.

She pulled the glove off with a snap and tossed the polaroid facedown on the desk.

"Get it together, Joseph," she whispered to the empty room.

She wasn't a girl who pined. She was the one who moved on. She was the "stud" everyone in this neighborhood knew as the untouchable, cool-headed artist who didn't need anyone. She had her bike, her shop, and her friend Sam. That was enough.

But as she looked at her reflection in the dark storefront window—the inked skin, the guarded eyes, the sharp jawline—she felt the heavy, quiet weight of the city pressing in. She needed a drink. She needed to get out of her own head before the walls started talking back.

Kay grabbed her leather jacket from the hook, the heavy hide feeling like armor as she shrugged it on. She stepped out into the humid city night, locking the gate of the shop with a loud, metallic clank that signaled the end of her day and the beginning of the long, lonely night.