line of clients steaming into the shop, she saw good tattoos, bad tattoos, and really bad tattoos. She saw piercings that were tasteful, and those that were good for nothing but shock value. She couldn't understand why the size of a piercing would be something to brag about, but Colby let her watch while they adjusted a plug, helping the client stretch the holes in his ears one more size.
When he dropped her off Sunday night, she felt like she'd been living a dream for the last three days. Ryan kept the coffee on all night, and both guys had taken to bringing her a cup, each of them trying to be the first. She'd learned which tattoos were easier than others, and did her best to make sure that one of them didn't get all the tough jobs while the other got all the easy ones. By the time things started to slow down that night, they were working like a well oiled team. Mack just felt like she fit in.
But as soon as she walked in her apartment, the reminder on the fridge brought it all back. Stage IIB cervical cancer. Sixty percent survival rate. Chemo.
Through the front window, she watched Colby drive away. At least she had something to look forward to. She actually liked her job. She loved her art, and working at Sterling Ink gave her the excuse to use it. Now all she had to do, was figure out how to explain why she was going to lose her hair.
The doctors said it would probably start falling out about ten days after her first treatment. Mack could accept being bald. It wasn't like she was vain. Hell, it wasn't like she was pretty enough for it to even matter. The only thing she was terrified of was losing the one thing that had finally gone right for her in the last year: her damned job.
So, with a new determination, she found her way into her bed, planning to sleep the night away and start the next stage of her life, but her body had other ideas. All night she tossed and turned. Every time she was close to sleep, some thought would creep in her head, making her mind whirl, and pull her back awake. When the sky began to grow light, she just gave up.
Her appointment was at eight. She'd been warned to eat something and drink plenty, so made herself a lavish breakfast: sausage, eggs, and orange juice. Sitting at the tiny bar, the closest thing she had to a dining room, she scarfed back the food before taking a long hot shower and finding comfortable clothes. A short sleeve shirt, to make accessing the veins in her arm easy, and a comfortable pair of baggy jeans would work for both her treatment and for work.
Mack grabbed a zip up hoodie and headed through the door, refusing to pay attention to the sinking feeling of fear in her chest. Chemo was pretty standard now. She already had cancer, and this would help. Survival for her stage of cervical cancer was pretty high, so long as she treated it, so that was the plan. That's what she was doing. She wasn't a victim, she was going to kick the shit out of this fucking cancer and show it that Mackenzie Lawrence was one mean damned bitch. She worked in a tattoo shop after all.
The session was much easier than she'd expected. Granted, the first attempt to start the IV hadn't gone well, but except for the bruise, it didn't hurt. She'd been given anti-nausea medication and loaded up with two different types of drugs. While the poison dripped into her veins, Mack finally managed to get a bit of sleep.
Things seemed to be going well. The nurse woke her, removed the catheter, gave her a handful of brochures and phone numbers, and she was done. Thirty minutes early even! She felt great as she walked out of the clinic - a bit tired, but overall not as bad as she'd feared. She found a bus stop, and made the nearly forty-five minute trip home.
She kept telling herself that it was the lack of sleep making her feel so tired. She couldn't think of anything except how comfortable a bed would be. That's how she ended