Chapter Text
The tattoo parlor was dingy and nondescript, a faded neon sign blinking forlornly in its windows. Normally people walked by it without a second thought, simply letting it blend into the scenery of King’s Row. Lena Oxton however, had known about the place for years, being old friends with the owner. Reinhardt Wilhelm may have been intimidating, what with his enormous height and build, but Lena knew he was just a big old softy at heart. Besides, if there was anywhere to get a good tat in London, Dragonslayer’s Tattoo’s was it.
Which was why she was here now, her chest being given a quick once over with baby wipes before her chosen design was placed on her skin, the needle being prepared inches away. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed her eyes. This was bloody terrifying. Her hands tightened on the armrests of the chair as she began to panic, very nearly bolting from her seat and out into the cool darkness of her hometown.
A warm hand slipped into hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and she began to relax. She opened her eyes and and met the amber gaze of her girlfriend, standing beside the chair, ready to give support if she needed it.
Which she did.
She took another slow, deep breath and eased herself back into the chair, never releasing her hold on Amélie.
“Are you ready Lena?” asked Reinhardt, needle at the ready. When the two women had entered his shop and explained their intentions he wouldn’t allow anyone else to mark their skin. After all, it was his shop and these were his friends.
The girl in question took another moment to collect herself, pausing to glance up at her girlfriend once again, who nodded slightly in a reassuring fashion. She turned towards the burly German man.
“Let’s do this Rein!”
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She was always running. Running from her mother, from the venomous hate that she spouted whenever they were in the same room, running from the glares and angry looks of her mother’s church, running from who she was and who they didn’t want her to be. She ran long and hard and far, until her lungs burned and her feet slipped out from under her, and she couldn’t move from wherever she was, so she simply stayed there and slipped into unconsciousness.
Eventually, after hours or days, she always ended up home once again. Her mother’s screams echoing in her ears, how no dyke was a child of hers, how she would burn in hell for who she was, how she couldn’t understand why she was cursed with a broken daughter. She didn’t let it show, didn’t give the bitch the satisfaction of knowing how much she hurt her with her poisonous sermons, instead letting it all out when she ran.
And when running wasn’t enough, there was always the knife.
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She tightened her grip on the armrests, hissing under her breath. This shit hurt. A hand ghosted against her arm, and her fingers relaxed slightly. Knowing she was there made her feel safe. Amélie would never let anyone hurt her.
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She tried. She tried oh so hard to be what they wanted. She wore dresses and grew her hair long, and pinched herself whenever she caught herself staring at another girl. She tried to carve her heart out of her chest, to find the problem and fix it.
Maybe then her mother would love her.
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Back and forth and back and forth. It was mesmerizing.
And horrifying.
Lena forced herself to look away, trying to stay calm.
Her hand never relinquished its hold on the woman next to her.
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When her mother found out about the cutting, she was even more furious if that was possible, railing on and on about how suicide was a sin, and desecrating your body was worse. She would have been more hurt by those words if she hadn’t already been mostly enfolded by soft, comfortable blackness, drawing her in deeper and deeper. She had cut herself more than ever before. She thought she was dying.
The next time she remembered being conscious she was in a hospital, bandages covering her chest, an IV in her arm. With the amount of drugs they were pumping into her it was several minutes before she realized where she was.
It was a few minutes after that when she realized she wasn’t alone.
Next to her in a matching bed sat another girl, her arms swathed in white gauze, an IV curving away from her arm like a glistening silken thread. She was staring at Lena with an intense amber gaze that made Lena a little frightened, or it would’ve if she wasn’t on enough painkillers to make her limbs numb and her brain foggy.
“Whooryu?” she said, or tried to, the words coming out slurred and unrecognizable. But apparently it was close enough, because the other girl responded coherently.
“Amélie Lacroix. And you?”
She struggled for a moment trying to figure out what her name was, then working even harder to make her numb lips form actual words.
“Leeeee...na Ox-ton,” she said haltingly. She slumped back against the mound of pillows behind her, suddenly very tired from the effort required to force recognizable words from her mouth. As she slipped into empty dreams she saw the strange girl give her a small smile. “It is good to meet you.” she said, and Lena was gone once again.
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