[She nods at that, liking the explanation. It's eerily close to the reasons she whittled down the design, to the things she feels when she sees it, when she's aware of it branded into her skin.
Unconsciously, she mirrors his gesture, rubbing her own arm and letting her thumb trace the narrow band in the design.]
I get that. It's weird, but...I kinda got it for similar reasons. It was my first, I mean--I was seventeen, and Dad said no when I told him I wanted one. It was, like, six months after my accident, y'know? So what'd I do? I went out and did it anyway. I had this tribal design I wanted...just 'cause it looked cool...but it felt weird, wrong. I spent days whittling it down and whittling it down until this was all that was left.
[She looks down at her arm, fingers running over and over the ink armband.]
I wanted it so I could...kind of stake a claim on my own body. Make it mine, something that no one could take away from me--so I could belong to myself. Funny thing was, after I did it? I never felt that way. I felt...connected to something I couldn't put into words.
This tattoo meant I belonged to someone--something else. Still does, and whenever that feeling comes over me? It's...I feel invincible. Because I feel protected.