Stuffed: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

The summer nights at the mall were long, quiet, and uneventful—except for the occasional crackhead or drunk stumbling in, demanding tattoos from the girls, or free drinks from Toni’s Bar and Grill. But even those incidents were rare. Most nights, it was just me, the hum of the fluorescent lights, and the faint smell of disinfectant from the cleaning crew that came through around midnight. And, of course, the tattoo shop girls.

They were always there. I would call them ‘nocturnal’, but they were there during the daytime too. It almost seemed like they never slept, like they had endless energy… 

The blonde one—I still didn’t know her name—would skateboard around the empty parking lot during her breaks, her board clattering against the asphalt. The dark-haired one would sit on the curb, chain-smoking cigarettes and scrolling through her phone, her heavy eyeliner catching the glow of the screen. Sometimes they’d bring in a portable speaker and blast music that sounded like it was from another decade—grungy, distorted guitars and lyrics I couldn’t quite make out—and sometimes the music got so violently heavy, with guitars tuned so low and dudes screaming like monsters. They’d laugh and dance around their shop, their boots clomping against the tile floor—sometimes wearing next to nothing and totally ignoring the mall rules. 

I tried asking the mall manager about them. “They, uh, break a lot of rules,” I said, half-worried that I was going to get them in trouble and they would find out that I was the one ratting them out—so I was surprised when the manager’s face turned pale and he said, “Just don’t mind them, okay? They’re harmless.” 

At first, I tried to ignore them. I had my rounds to do, after all. I’d pace the mall, checking doors, making sure everything was locked up tight. I’d sit in the security office for a while, scrolling through my phone or trying to study for my summer classes. But no matter where I went, I could feel their presence. It was like they had this weird energy that filled the entire mall, even when they were just sitting in their shop, tattooing each other or flipping through magazines.

And then, one night, I noticed something strange.

I was walking past their shop, doing my usual rounds, when I caught them staring at me. Not just glancing—staring. The blonde one was leaning against the counter, her chin resting on her hand, a sly smile playing on her lips. The dark-haired one was sitting on a stool, her legs crossed, her eyes locked on me like I was something more interesting than I was. When I met their gaze, they both burst out laughing, like I’d just walked into the punchline of a joke I didn’t understand.

I quickened my pace, feeling my face heat up. What the hell was that about? I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was nothing. Maybe they were just bored. Maybe they were high. Probably both. But the next night, it happened again.

This time, I was sitting in the food court, trying to get through a chapter of my engineering textbook. The mall was dead silent, except for the occasional clatter of a skateboard or the faint murmur of music coming from the tattoo shop. I was so focused on my book that I didn’t notice them at first. But then I felt it—that prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like someone was watching me.

I looked up, and there they were, standing at the entrance to the food court. The blonde one was holding her skateboard under one arm, her bleached hair falling into her face. The dark-haired one was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. They were both staring at me, their eyes gleaming with amusement.

“What’s up, security boy?” the blonde one called out, her voice carrying a tone of mockery.

I froze, unsure how to respond. “Uh… nothing. Just… studying.”

They exchanged a look, and then the dark-haired one said, “Studying? At night? In a mall? That’s, like, the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The blonde one giggled, and they both turned and walked away, their big army-style boots echoing through the empty food court. I sat there, my face burning, my textbook suddenly feeling like the most pathetic thing in the world.

After that, it became a regular thing. Every night, without fail, they’d find some way to mess with me. Sometimes they’d just stare at me from across the mall, whispering to each other and laughing. Other times, they’d come up with ridiculous questions or comments, like asking if I’d ever been in a fight or if I knew how to skateboard. Once, the blonde one even offered to teach me how to “live a little,” whatever that meant.

I always tried to ignore them. 

It was unsettling, to say the least. I wasn’t used to being the center of attention—especially not from girls like them. They were so… different. They didn’t care about rules or boundaries or what anyone thought of them. They lived in their own little world, and for some reason, they seemed to find me endlessly entertaining.

One night, I just couldn’t take their little glances and giggles any longer. I decided to confront them. 

I was tired of feeling like some sort of sideshow attraction, and I wanted to know what their deal was. I waited until they were both in their shop, the blonde one tattooing something on the dark-haired one’s arm. I stood in the doorway, clearing my throat to get their attention.

“Can we help you, security boy?” the blonde one asked, not looking up from her work.

“Yeah, actually,” I said, trying to sound confident. Then, I paused. I suddenly found it difficult to muster up the words I wanted to say. I thought I had my whole little speech planned out—but now I couldn’t remember any of it. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever started a confrontation before. I’d never been in a fight—physical or verbal. I’d never been part of any drama, and I liked it that way—but I felt like I had to stand up for myself to these girls. “Why do you keep staring at me? And why do you keep calling me ‘security boy’? My name’s Eric.”

They both looked up at me, their expressions unreadable. For a moment, there was silence. Then the dark-haired one smirked and said, “We know your name We just think ‘security boy’ is cuter.”

Cuter? There’s something very emasculating about being called ‘cute’, especially when they clearly meant ‘cute’ the way a little hamster is cute. They definitely didn’t mean ‘cute’ the way that Ryan Gosling is cute. 

The blonde one giggled, and I felt my confidence waver even more. 

“Okay, but… why? What’s so funny about me?”

They exchanged another look, and then the blonde one set down her tattoo gun and leaned back in her chair. “You’re just… adorable, you know that? Like, you’re so serious all the time. Always walking around with your little security badge, doing your little rounds. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” I repeated, my voice cracking slightly.

“Yeah, cute,” the dark-haired one said, lighting another cigarette—knowingly breaking the rules in front of the person meant to enforce them. And maybe that was my cue to assert some authority. Maybe that was my cue to tell her to put the cigarette out. “Like a lost puppy or something,” she went on. “You ever think about, I don’t know, loosening up a little? Having some fun?”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Fun? What did that even mean to them? Smoking in the mall? Skateboarding in the parking lot? Selling lewd calendars? That wasn’t my idea of fun.

“I’m just here to do my job,” I said finally, my voice stiff.

The blonde one rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we know. That’s what makes it so funny.”

I left their shop feeling more confused and belittled than ever. Were they making fun of me? Or were they genuinely trying to… what? Be friends? Flirt with me? I had no idea. All I knew was that their attention was making me uneasy, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could take it.

But as the nights went on, I started to notice something else. Despite their teasing, there was something almost… comforting about their presence. The mall was so empty and quiet at night, and having them around—even if they were weird and unpredictable—made it feel a little less lonely. 

One night, I was doing my rounds, walking past their shop, when I heard the blonde one call out, “Come here for a sec.” It was a moment before I realized she was calling out to me. 

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to get involved in whatever they were up to. But curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over to their shop.

The blonde one was sitting on the counter, her legs swinging back and forth. She was wearing a dangerously short skirt, so I could easily see her panties; of course she didn’t care. The dark-haired one was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“We’ve got a proposition for you,” the blonde one said, grinning.

“A… proposition?” I repeated, my stomach sinking.

“Yeah,” the dark-haired one said. “We want to give you a tattoo.”

I stared at them, my mind racing. A tattoo? Me? That was the last thing I expected.

“Uh… no thanks,” I said quickly. “I’m not really into tattoos.”

The blonde one pouted. “Come on, security boy. Live a little. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” the dark-haired one added. “We’ll even give you a discount. How about… free?”

I shook my head, backing away. “No way. I’m good.”

They both burst out laughing, and the blonde one said, “Relax, security boy.”

But as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t entirely joking. And for the first time, I found myself wondering what it would be like to say yes—to let go, just once, and see where it took me.

The girls really had me feeling like I was some sort of square, like I was some sort of lame, boring loser. Maybe I was letting my prime years slip away from me. Would I regret being so serious all the time? 

No, I didn’t have any tattoos. I didn’t dye my hair weird colours. I’d never broken anything while riding around on a skateboard. I didn’t smoke cigarettes or do drugs. Did that make me boring? 

I wasn’t boring. I was interesting. I…

I had some interesting stories, didn’t I? 

Later that night, I was standing near their shop. They were finishing up a tattoo on a client: a big floral leg piece that had taken them almost eight straight hours. I heard them talking about some tattoo convention they had gone to a few months earlier, in Paris. Apparently, they took a client to the Eiffel Tower, along with a wireless tattoo gun, and they tattooed her at the Eiffel Tower. I mean—that’s a neat story, right? And did I have any stories that were that interesting? 

I heard the blonde telling the client about another client of hers. “He’s the pilot for the Rolling Stones. Sometimes he offers to take me to their shows. In January, he took me to Brazil for a weekend on the Stones’ private jet for the show.”

“That’s cool,” the client said.

“Yeah. I mean—he wants to fuck me. I sucked his dick as a thank you, but that’s as far as it went.” They all laughed and I turned red. “It was cool, though. I got to meet Mick Jagger.” 

“No way!” 

I sauntered away, not wanting to seem too interested. Though I really did have to admit that their lives were a whole lot more interesting than mine. 

But my life would surely become more interesting once I had my degree, and a well-paying job… right? I would get to have cool life experiences too… wouldn’t I?