Fifteen minutes later, Big Man turned off the tattoo machine. Matt’s ears continued to ring, as if the noise itself had been tattooed into his brain. With another squirt of the antibacterial liquid, Big Man cleaned Vic’s latest tattoo with a paper towel. Matt watched the colored skin distend, the image moving as Big Man rubbed over it with short, brusque motions. When Big Man turned away, Matt got a clear view of the red heart, the white banner a vivid contrast, the tiny black letters inside, his initials, a part of him forever emblazoned on his lover’s body.
As he watched, beads of blood bubbled up through the ink like stigmata. Matt felt an uneasy pressure rise in him at the sight, a sickness like the tide threatening to drag him under. His face burned; when he touched his cheeks, his
