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Anthony forced himself to breathe as he stood in his small bathroom, trying to ignore the nerves that were beginning to take root in his mind.
He didn't have to do this...
As he forced himself to look at himself in the bathroom mirror, his form bare above the waist - an unusual sight for even himself, his naked and pale skin a sharp contrast to the dark robes he normally adorned, his breaths grew shaky.
Nobody would ever know, if he didn't...
And there, on his upper chest between his shoulder and his nipple, was the tattoo.
A symbol, a celebration of his faith, a reminder of when he had found it.
How very vain.
Nobody would ever know, but he would. He would always know that it was hidden out of sight, a darkness tainting him that he hid beneath robes and under shirts...
He hid it, he kept it tucked away, he knew that it was wrong.
"I have to do this..."
Anthony tried to convince himself, his stomach churning with nausea as anxiety raced through his blood. The laser removal was far too expensive. Covering it with makeup both unrealistic in the long-term and not the complete removal that he was looking for. The only option was...
God...
Lying on the counter beside the sink was the tattoo removal kit he had bought online, pointedly ignoring all of the websites that had directly told him that buying one was not a good idea. There was simply a syringe full of liquid, some chemical that Anthony didn't want to research for fear of knowing what it was about to do, and a sheet of instructions that he had already read and reread plenty.
It was his only option.
His fingers gripped the edge of the porcelain sink hard enough that he spared a moment to force them to relax, fearing it would break. Entangled between his fingers was his rosary, the beads and cross clattering against the porcelain surface as his hand shook.
"I can do this..." his fingers shook as they lifted the rosary, his other hand lifting the syringe, his thumb rising to rest on the plunger, "I... I need to do this."
He couldn't live with the tattoo tainting his body any longer.
With a short breath in, giving himself no more time to delay, Anthony pressed down the plunger, moving his hand around to cover his tattoo in the liquid before tossing the syringe into the sink and waiting to see what happened.
And it burned.
"Fuck!" Father Anthony Bridge wasn't one to swear, not anymore that was (his previous parish wouldn't bat an eye at the occasional use of vulgar language, hell they weren't strangers to using it themselves, although Mrs. Clark and his current congregation - old school Catholics, what he should be - would probably oust him on the spot if they heard the filth escaping his mouth at the current moment), but he couldn't help the string of words that escaped his lips as his body convulsed, his arms jerking and seizing as he forced himself to keep his hands from wiping the mixture off.
He could feel the chemicals burning the mark of when he found his faith away - and burning his skin away alongside it.
"Shit..." he cursed, hissing the word out between his clenched teeth, his teeth creaking as his jaw clenched, "shit..."
The hand towel that was neatly settled beside the sink was so tempting, it would be so easy to just wipe it off, to hide the tattoo away again and pretend he had never done this...
"No..." Anthony gasped out through gritted teeth, "no, not yet."
He had to finish this.
He looked down at the tattoo site, and Anthony felt his stomach rebel.
The site was ugly, burnt and red and bloody. It was a horrific reminder that he knew would always be with him, a terrible reminder of what he had done.
But...
The tattoo was gone, replaced by pink and bloody skin, some pieces blackening as they curled up and dried.
With trembling fingers he plucked the already opened and prepared bandage from the first aid kit settled beside the sink, carefully pressing it to his chest and hissing as it rubbed and brushed against raw and irritated skin. As he pressed the bandage to his damaged skin, Anthony's vision whited out for a moment, the uneven sound of his heartbeat the only thing he could hear.
"God," he gasped, his spine curling as he tilted forward to hunch over the sink, "God, why..."
God didn't answer.
Blood was smeared across his chest and his fingers, crimson streaks marred the pristine white of the sink. Tears trailed down his face, and he couldn't stop shaking. As he looked in the mirror, he didn't see the confident and knowledgeable priest that would have normally been reflected back at him. Instead he saw a faux priest, a man who instructed others to not do what he had done, a man who was a hypocrite.
But it was done.
Now it was gone.
Anthony barely held back a frown as Mrs. Clark approached him, the older woman clearly unimpressed at his slightly disheveled appearance.
"Are you alright, Father?" Mrs. Clark observed him with a critical (and judgmental, but Anthony felt that was always the case when it came to Mrs. Clark) eye, her eyebrow raised, "you're looking rather... peaky."
"Just fine, I'm fine," the lie rolled easily off his tounge, a feat that Anthony knew he should have felt guilt for, but he didn't, "thank you Mrs. Clark." Anthony managed a grin, but he felt it come off as more of a grimace (and Mrs. Clark looked like she noticed as well), "You know as well as I that colds spread like wildfire around here, perhaps I've finally fallen victim to one."
Mrs. Clark narrowed her eyes, peering at Anthony inquisitively for a moment, before turning her nose up.
"Well that won't do," she said, "we need you for your sermons. Rest up and recover quickly."
"Yes, Mrs. Clark," Anthony nodded, and turned to leave, grimacing as his clothes rubbed and irritated the site where his tattoo had been. Throughout the day he had felt his robe slowly get damp with blood and pus, and he was praying desperately that it wasn't noticable. There was an ever-constant ache, a burn that throbbed painfully as he tried his best to ignore it.
Perhaps, he thought, the pain was a reminder - a punishment.
He had defiled his body with the ink of a tattoo, foolishly, and the agony of removal was the price he had to pay.
He had earned the pain.