A neon sign hums above her. Low buzz of conversation, metallic clinks, the faint scent of antiseptic. Neve sits on the worn leather bench, rolling the tiny silver hoop between her fingers.
She shouldn’t be here. Not again.
The piercer - young, tattooed, effortless - finishes up with another customer. Some guy getting a piercing in a place Neve doesn’t want to think about. She watches the piercer’s hands, steady and sure, as they work.
"You look like you just killed someone," he says without looking up.
Neve snorts. "Not yet."
He smirks, tossing his gloves. "You ready?"
She hesitates. Then nods.
She tilts her head, exposing the side of her nose. This is going to be the fourth one on this side. The piercer preps his tools, but she’s already somewhere else.
An empty mall. Echoing footsteps. Then - crash. A sickening, heavy sound.
She turned. Saw the old man sprawled at the bottom of the escalator. Blood. His hand twitching. People running. Her date moving fast, dropping his bag, kneeling beside him.
And her?
Neve gripped her backpack and walked away. No - ran.
Her heart hammers now, just like it did then. The piercer clamps her skin, bringing her back. "Deep breath," he says.
She inhales. Holds it.
Exhales.
The needle slides through. A sharp sting - quick, clean, nothing unbearable. She’s used to this.
But this time, it feels different.
Does she want it to hurt? Just a little. A reminder that she’s here, that she didn’t disappear down that escalator with the old man.
The piercer fastens the jewelry. A tiny silver hoop, cool against her skin. "All done," he says.
Neve nods, swallowing.
Then her phone buzzes.
She knows before she looks.
Hey. Hope you’re okay. Want to meet up?
Her stomach twists.
Neve stares at the message. Her thumb hovers over the screen.
The piercer watches her through the mirror. “Ex?”
She shakes her head. “Date.”
“Already ghosting him?” He snaps off his gloves, tossing them in the bin.
Neve exhales, rubbing the new piercing. “He abandoned me first.”
The piercer raises a brow. “Oh?”
She hesitates. The words feel childish in her mouth, but they come anyway. “There was this - thing. An old guy fell. It was bad. And he just… ran to help.”
The piercer folds his arms, waiting.
Neve swallows. “I mean, he left me standing there. So I left too.”
A beat of silence.
Then, the piercer lets out a low whistle. “That’s fucked up, girl.”
She scowls. “Thanks.”
“No, I mean you. That’s fucked up.” He leans against the counter. “You’re mad at him for not making you his priority while an old man was bleeding out?”
Neve grips her phone. “I - I don’t know. Maybe.”
The piercer tilts his head, studying her. His voice is softer now. “Or maybe you ran because you saw someone else collapse, and it scared the shit out of you.”
Neve blinks. Her throat tightens.
She doesn’t answer.
She doesn’t have to.