The moment I got the tattoo I was scared. Scared my parents would see it and know what had really happened when I left for college. I had a fairly normal upbringing with sports, art and social activities, but my parents had always been against any kind of piercings or tattoos. The piercings I could get away with when I turned eighteen because I could always take them out when my parents were visiting.
But as long as I could remember, I had always been desperate to get a tattoo. But I knew I needed to get it done in a place where I could easily hide it, but where I could still see it. My biggest problem was figuring out what I wanted to get a tattoo of. I had spent years doodling ideas in my journal (the only place my parents wouldn’t look. At least I hoped) and still hadn’t been able to decide which one to choose.
The moment I made my tattoo was finished, I was already regretting my decision. I had been excited while the tattoo artist was working, but now I wasn’t so sure. Whatever possessed me to get a butterfly with skulls doubling as its wing was no longer what I wanted. But it was there and now I had to make sure my parents would never understand what it meant. Because I had wanted to run away since they told me I had to go to Seminary school and that they had already paid the tuition. Or maybe I should let them see my tattoo and it would change their mind. Maybe my tattoo was exactly what I needed.