Under His Skin by Sidney Bristol

over the ship. The newly healed skin was still softer to the touch. The tattoo had hurt like a bitch, and when the scab started sloughing off, the itching had nearly driven him insane, but he didn’t regret it.
    Her hand brushed his. He turned his face toward her and was sucked deep into her gray gaze. The gesture spoke volumes, filling in all those meaningful pauses in conversation they’d shared over the weeks since he’d last seen her. Her quiet acceptance of his grief, her willingness to let him wade through the tough times in his own way and still support him meant a lot.
    Squeezing his hand, she let go of him and turned back to select inks and get her things set up. He cleared his throat and glanced around. The other girls were conspicuously busy.
    “Um, excuse me?” a nasal female voice called out.
    Pandora glanced over her shoulder. “Can I help you with something?”
    “No, not you. Him. Hey.”
    The skin between his shoulder blades prickled. Lead weights might as well have been attached to his feet for how slowly he turned to face the young woman. Her clothing said she tried too hard to look rock and roll, from the triple-studded belts overlaying her hips to her artfully worn jeans and stud-encrusted tank top.
    “Do I know you?” He always asked that, on the off chance someone had a valid reason for forgetting his name.
    “Are you…?” She paused and tilted her head to the side. “Are you Brian Adler?”
    Dread soured his stomach but he mustered a smile as he was expected to for the fans. Wiping his hand on his pants, he crossed to the display case and held it out. “That’s me. And you are?”
    “Oh. My. God. But, what happened to your hair?” She ignored his hand and lowered her gaze to his pants. “And where’s your kilt?” Her exuberant display drew the attention of her friends, who wandered over.
    “Kilt was mostly for the stage. Nowhere to put your wallet.” He let his arm drop. His attempt at levity fell on deaf ears, not a soul chuckled. Couldn’t he be normal?
    A guy with hair that slashed across his face draped an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Wait, who are you?”
    She elbowed her companion and glared at him. “He’s Brian Adler, from Sucker Punch Sunday.”
    “That’s the band that died, isn’t it?” He glanced at Brian. “What happened to you?”
    The girl squealed. “Oh, can we see your scars?”
    Brian’s vision narrowed to the people in front of him and his hands clenched. Did people have no sense of propriety? His scars burned in remembered pain and his chest felt hollow, as if part of him was gone. In a way, he had died that day. “No, sorry,” he managed to get out.
    “Ike was my favorite. I had posters of him in my locker in high school. Sucks that he splattered on the side of a mountain. Did you, like, see them die?”
    “That’s brutal,” her friend chimed in.
    “Hey.” Pandora gripped his arm and stepped in front of him. Her touch anchored him, brought him back into the moment. Her skin was flushed and her eyes flashed. “Where do you get off asking him shit like that?”
    “Pandy, it’s okay.” He grabbed her hand but it was she who clutched him tightly.
    “Um, excuse me, tattooed tramp, but he’s the one that left the band. If it wasn’t for him, there was going to be a tribute tour. It’s all his fault I didn’t get to see Dropkick Murphys and Flogging Molly on the same stage.”
    Autumn hurried to Pandora’s side, her smile firmly in place. “Hey, guys, did you pick anything out?”
    The guy jostled his girlfriend. “No, we were going to look around a little more.”
    Pandora’s words were clipped. “If you’re going to get something, you’ll have to come back another time. We’re booked up for the rest of the night and you’re eating up my time.”
    The girl leaned over the counter, her finger pointing at him.
    “Think real hard about what you’re about to say,” Pandora warned.
    The guy tugged on her arm. “I think