A Girlfriend's Dare: Ch. 11

The morning after, Steph woke in a tangle of sheets, skin sticky and over-sensitive, mouth still haunted by the memory of salt. Her first thought was to roll over and find Annie, maybe pull her close, feel the tremor in her chest and apologize for whatever was left to be sorry for. But Annie wasn't there. The only sound in the apartment was the air conditioner's distant wheeze, and Steph's own pulse, sharp as a metronome.

She padded to the kitchen, stomach still fluttering from her dream. Annie sat at the island, knees pulled to her chest, staring into a mug of coffee. She wore one of Steph's old hoodies, the sleeves chewed to nubs, and nothing else. Her thighs were a pale, splotched map of everything they'd done to her the night before.

"You slept in," Steph said, voice hoarse with disuse.

Annie shrugged, not looking up. The skin beneath her eyes was a sickly bruise, and there was a fresh scab on her lower lip.

Steph reached for the coffeepot, poured herself a cup, and leaned on the counter.

"You okay?"

Annie shrugged again, then said, "Jamal texted."

The bottom fell out of Steph's stomach. "Already?"

"Yeah. He wants us to meet him."

Steph sipped the coffee and winced. "You have to go in today?"

Annie shook her head. "He said we should be ready by noon. Something about a 'victory lap.'" She finally looked at Steph. Her eyes were vacant, the way a burned-out house sometimes retains its windows. "Is it okay if I shower first?"

Steph nodded. "Take your time."

* * *

She spent the next hour in a haze, reapplying makeup, cycling through three different outfit ideas before settling on black jeans and a sweater she hoped looked both authoritative and nonchalant. Annie emerged from the shower, hair still damp, and stood in the doorway in nothing but a towel and the collar Jamal had made her wear the night before.

Steph tried to ignore it, but the effect was--fuck. Even ruined, Annie was pretty.

The rawness in her face made her look almost expensive, like a runway model after a particularly bad afterparty.

"Do you want to get breakfast?" Steph asked, even though it was almost noon.

Annie shook her head. "Not hungry."

They sat in silence until Steph's phone buzzed. A Lyft notification: a car arriving in four minutes. Sender: Jamal.

Steph felt her palms go cold. "He's not even going to come up," she said. "He just wants us to wait outside like fucking packages."

Annie shrugged. "Maybe he's scared of you."

Steph snorted. "No one's ever been scared of me."

* * *

The car was already idling at the curb when they emerged, Steph's hand on Annie's wrist as if the world might snatch her away. The driver, a college kid with a puffy jacket and Beats headphones, didn't look at them twice. Annie slid into the back seat, tugging at the hem of her borrowed skirt, while Steph slid in behind her.

Jamal sat shotgun, legs spread wide, his phone held up to his face. He didn't turn around. "Next stop, Inkstation," he told the driver. Then, to Steph: "Morning, ladies.

Missed you."

Steph tensed. She considered pulling Annie out of the car, but the locks thunked down, childproof and absolute.

She leaned forward, voice low. "What the fuck are you planning?"

Jamal grinned at the windshield. "Just keeping my promises, babe. You wanted to see how far she'd go." He turned, met Steph's eyes with a shark's patience. "Now you get to."

Steph's hands balled to fists in her lap. The car ride lasted eight minutes, but her nails bit deep enough to last the afternoon.

* * *

Inkstation looked like every tattoo parlor on the east side: glass door, blackout curtain, a sandwich board promising "$25 PIERCINGS" and "NO JUDGMENT." The smell inside was antiseptic and burnt plastic, with a background note of stale weed.

Behind the counter, a girl with inked forearms and a nose ring looked up, sized Steph and Annie with a glance, then Jamal with a practiced sneer.

He made the introductions. "We're here for an appointment," he said, voice syrupy. "I called ahead. Two for one special."

The girl checked her tablet. "Sissy package?"

Jamal smirked. "Yeah. That's us."

Steph's blood pressure tripled. "What the fuck is a sissy package?"

The counter girl didn't bother to answer. She motioned to the chairs, then called into the back: "Ava, your two o'clock are here."

Ava emerged, bleach blonde, tattoos to the knuckles. She wore a tee that read "I Did Your Mom" and a pair of black leggings that may as well have been painted on.

She clocked Annie immediately.

"Cute," she said, approaching. "Name and pronouns?"

Annie licked her lips. "Annie," she managed. "She, her."

Ava nodded, took her gently by the elbow, and led her into the back. "It's a quick consult, don't stress," she called to Steph. "You can come too, if you want."

Steph followed, eyes darting between Jamal (who now lounged, arms crossed, in the waiting area) and Annie, who looked like she might shatter if anyone raised their voice.

Ava's station was clean, all glass and metal. She perched on a stool, spun it to face her subject, and pulled on latex gloves.

"So, what are we doing today?" she asked Annie, voice soft.

Annie looked at Steph, then down. "Just an earring," she whispered. "Like, one on each side."

Ava nodded, writing on a clipboard. "Standard lobe, both ears. Got it. Is that it?"

Steph stepped in, hissing: "That's it."

Ava looked her up and down, then smiled, showing canines. "Okay, mama bear. That's what we'll do." She leaned to Annie. "You want studs, hoops, or something shiny?"

Annie looked lost. "Studs, I guess?"

"Perfect." Ava prepped a tray: alcohol, a piercing gun, two steel studs. "Shouldn't take more than five minutes."

Steph relaxed, just enough to let her guard down. Which is when Jamal walked in, hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face that had the same effect as an alarm bell.

"Hey, Ava?" he said. "She's too shy to say it, but she's hoping for the sissy special. Whatever that means."

Ava's eyes didn't blink. "Copy that."

Steph turned, blocking his view. "She's not. You said earring only."

Jamal's hand closed on her arm--just above the elbow, just tight enough. "It's not about what you say," he whispered, voice low and private. "You wanted to see her break. You wanted her to remember it every time she looks in the mirror." His grip tightened. "This is how we finish what you started."

Steph tried to pull away, but his fingers bit into the muscle. Something electric, chemical, ran from his hand to her core. She hated it. She hated herself for how much she loved it.

Ava turned to Annie, who had shrunk into the chair, eyes wide. "How about we start with the ears, then see how you feel?" she said, as if she hadn't heard a thing.

Steph caught Annie's gaze. "You okay?"

Annie nodded, quick and small.

Ava cleaned the lobes, drew a dot with a Sharpie, then loaded the piercing gun.

"Deep breath," she said, and squeezed the trigger. The sound was louder than the pain; Annie barely flinched.

"One more," Ava said, and did the other side.

Steph found herself holding Annie's hand, thumb tracing the inside of her wrist.

Ava leaned back, appraised her work, then said, "That was easy. You want to see?"

She held up a mirror. Annie stared at her reflection, fingered the new studs, and tried a smile.

"Pretty," she said, voice barely audible.

Ava grinned. "You'd look even better with something up top," she said, then gestured to a catalog on the wall: rows of faces, each more feminine and more pierced than the last. "You ever think about a septum? Maybe a cute little ring right here?" She touched the tip of Annie's nose.

Steph opened her mouth to protest, but Jamal's hand slid to her lower back, his thumb stroking in circles. The pressure was paralyzing.

Ava flipped the page, pointed to a girl with a high arch and twin silver hoops through her nose. "You could pull that off," she said.

Annie shrugged.

Steph whispered: "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Jamal leaned in, breath hot on Steph's ear. "Let her decide."

Annie's gaze flicked from Ava to Steph to the mirror. In the mirror she saw Jamal with his phone out and pointing to it as if to say "remember the videos that I have..."

"Okay," Annie said sadly. "Let's try it."

Ava beamed. "You're a trooper. Promise this one doesn't hurt as bad."

She prepped a new tray: a curved needle, a horseshoe ring, a spray of disinfectant.

She cupped Annie's chin, tilted her head up, and lined the needle with a surgeon's precision.

"On three," she said. "One--"

She pierced on two. Annie's eyes watered, but she didn't make a sound.

Ava worked the ring through, wiped away the single tear, and clicked the ball in place.

"Done," she said. "You look amazing."

Annie stared in the mirror, face blooming with shock and wonder. She touched the ring, then looked to Steph, a question in her eyes.

Steph nodded, numb.

Ava cleaned up, then pulled off her gloves. "Most girls go for the set," she said, voice casual. "Nipples next?"

Steph stepped forward. "That's enough--"

But Annie interrupted while looking at Jamal again in the mirror. "Yeah. Let's do it."

Steph's head spun. "You don't have to--"

Jamal met her gaze, eyes fierce. "The fucking whore wants the sissy special, let her get the sissy special."

Ava nodded, matter-of-fact. "Shirt off, please. You can keep the bra on if you want."

Annie slipped out of the hoodie, arms goosebumped. The sports bra was thin, damp with nervous sweat. She shivered, but didn't protest as Ava marked each nipple with a pen.

Steph hovered, hands twisting. Jamal loomed just inside the doorway, his smile the only color in the gray room.

Ava worked quickly: clamp, needle, jewelry, repeat. Annie hissed at the first, gasped at the second, but didn't cry. When it was done, her chest heaved, the twin bars of silver making her look--fuck. There was no other word. Owned.

Ava covered her with a gauze pad, taped it down, and patted her arm. "You're a champion," she said. "Most girls tap out after two."

Jamal clapped, slow and mocking. "I knew she had it in her."

Steph stared at Annie, waiting for a breakdown. But Annie was radiant, face flushed, eyes wide with something like pride.

Ava handed her a mirror. Annie studied her new reflection, fingers trailing over each ring, each bar. She smiled, for real this time.

"Thank you," she said, voice ragged.

Ava shrugged. "Anytime."

Jamal stepped forward, produced a small envelope from his pocket, and handed it to Ava. "For the extras," he said. "And if you could do the tattoo next, that'd be great."

Ava grinned, then flicked her gaze to Annie. "What do you think, babe? Something cute? Or do you want to go full whore?"

Annie looked at Steph. "What do you want?"

Steph's mouth was dry. "It's your choice," she said, but even to herself, it sounded false.

Ava set up the tattoo machine, inked in black. "Lots of girls get the tramp stamp," she said, "but you'd look hot with a little butterfly here." She tapped the inside of Annie's thigh.

Jamal said, "Make it a heart. And put my initials inside."

Ava laughed. "Classic."

Steph's head spun. "Wait--"

But Jamal interrupted. "I am paying. Make it happen,"

Ava printed the stencil, pressed it to the inside of Annie's upper thigh, and positioned her on the table, legs open. She started the machine, the buzz slicing the silence.

Steph watched as Ava inked a perfect, humiliating heart on the softest part of Annie's body. Inside, in black block letters: J. K.

When it was over, Annie lay back, eyes closed. Ava wiped away the blood, pressed a bandage to the tattoo, and said, "All done, princess."

Jamal stepped forward, traced the tattoo with his thumb, then cupped Annie's cheek. "You look beautiful," he said, and kissed her, slow and deep.

Steph stood there, frozen. Every instinct screamed to pull Annie away, to erase what had happened. But she couldn't. All she could do was watch.

When Jamal was done, he turned to Steph. "Your turn," he said.

Steph blinked. "No fucking way."

He gripped her jaw, not hard, but enough. "You're in this, too. That's the deal."

Steph wrenched free. "You can't make me."

Jamal shrugged. "I can tell her the truth. About what you said about her. About how you planned this whole thing."

Steph felt the blood leave her face. "You wouldn't."

Jamal's smile was a blade. "Try me."

Ava looked at Steph, then at Jamal, then back. "You want to match?" she asked, as if this were a regular Tuesday.

Steph hesitated. Then, quietly: "Fine."

Ava prepped a new stencil, this one a black star, and inked it just above Steph's hipbone. The pain was sharp, but the humiliation was worse.

When it was done, Jamal inspected it, then kissed her, tongue rough, hands on her waist. "You're perfect," he said.

Steph wanted to hit him. She wanted to bite him, to claw his eyes out. Instead, she kissed back, desperate and hungry.

When they left the shop, Annie limped, every step a reminder. Jamal walked between them, an arm around each waist. The sun was high and blinding.