Bond Breaker by Lynn Forba

“I want it gone.” The woman says as she lays down on the table. She has a split lip and a big, blue bruise marring half her face. “I don’t care what you have to do. I want it gone.”

Ada pauses. “Do you need help?” she asks, “I know some—”

“I don’t need help.” The woman says. Her eyes are steely as she looks straight up, though tears trace down her cheeks. “I need it gone.”

“Let’s see what we’re working with.”

The woman wiggles on the table like a beached fish until she’s able to take off her jacket. She hiccups around a sob as she does it, but Ada finds it’s best not to mention such things.

The woman’s arms are covered in colors, blues and pinks and purples. Ada runs a hand over the shapes, marveling at their intricacies. Whoever put this Bond here, it took time and dedication. It almost feels like a crime to destroy it.

“What happened?” Ada asks before her brain can catch up.

“I, I don’t.” The woman hissed through clenched teeth. “He lied to me. I don’t want to be Bound to him anymore.” Her voice quavers, and more tears find their way down the sides of her face and into her hair.

“It will take a while,” Ada tells her, “This is more intricate than most. And it will hurt. A lot.” She speaks kindly but frankly, it’s best not to sugar coat.

“I don’t care. I need it gone.”

Ada runs her hand down the intricate design one last time before grabbing the ink gun.

The woman doesn’t last ten minutes before she taps out, tears falling for an entirely different reason. Only a few inches of her left arm are clear, the splotches of pink and purple hidden underneath skin-toned ink.

She holds her right arm over her eyes and pants as if she’s been running a marathon. By all accounts Ada’s heard, running a marathon would be preferable to what she’s going through right now. Ada hands the woman a tissue, and acts busy to give her privacy as she pulls herself back together.

Giving someone a Bond, painting their skin with love and devotion and commitment, is effortless. The ink flows like water, and sinks into the skin as if it was always there, the Bondsmith’s hand merely revealing what was already there.

Removing a Bond is like pulling teeth without anesthesia. It’s more than just the physical pain, but also the mental pain of having a part of you ripped away. The Bondbreaker has to work carefully, to extract parts of one partner’s soul from the other. 

Breaking a Bond is always a measure of last resort.

The woman’s lip is bleeding when Ada turns back to her; the woman has reopened the wound in her struggle. She’s back to laying down and staring at the ceiling, but her chest still heaves with barely concealed sobs.

Ada grabs a juice box from her mini-fridge and sticks the straw in. She places it in the woman’s hand and begins to talk.

“Samantha, right? Can I call you that?”

“I, I go by Mandy.”

“Do you have any plans for the weekend, Mandy?” Ada doesn’t stare at Mandy as she asks, she just rummages around the room and grabs what she needs for the next steps in breaking the bond.

“I, just, I’m taking a break.” Mandy takes a deep breath. Her words aren’t shaking as much anymore, so Ada wipes down the next few inches of arm with an alcohol pad.

“That’s a good idea,” Ada keeps up a calm, slow chatter to keep her client from panicking more. “I always recommend you get a treat after each appointment. Do you have anything in particular you’re looking forward to?”

“Alcohol and ice cream.”

“Classic.” Ada hovers the ink gun over Mandy’s skin. “Are you ready for round two?”

Mandy drinks the entire juice box in one pull. “Hit me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Mandy screams for another respite.

“You, you must think,” Mandy sips on her third juice box, “You must think I’m so pathetic. Can barely take it for five minutes.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Ada drinks from her own water bottle. “I think you’re incredibly brave.”

“I keep needing breaks.” Mandy says, “And I’m halfway to just running out of here.”

“Everyone takes breaks. And if you need to spread this across multiple appointments, we’ll spread it across multiple appointments.”

Mandy doesn’t look convinced by this argument, playing with her empty juices boxes.

“It’s really brave, what you’re doing.” Ada says. Mandy freezes but doesn’t say anything, so Ada continues. “It takes a lot of strength to walk away from everything you’ve known, and go for a clean break like this. I have nothing but respect for you.”

“I chose wrong. And now I’ll never Bond again.”

“So you made a mistake. Everyone does.” Ada shrugs. “And it’s true, once you’ve had a Bond removed another one won’t take. But you don’t need a Bond to be happy.”

Mandy huffs, and violently stabs the straw into her fourth juice. “Yeah, right. Like there are so many Bondless out there.”

Ada doesn’t say anything, she just rolls up her sleeves to show her bare, empty arms. All that is left of her Bond is a faint outline, barely visible to the untrained eye.

Mandy’s eyes go wide. She traces the vague outline with a shaking hand. “Does it ever stop hurting?”

She’s not talking about the Break. “It’s less that the pain goes away, and more that you get used to it. Breaking the Bond gives you the room you need to grow, and the bigger you grow, the smaller the pain feels.”

Mandy nods, then presses herself back into the seat. She’s stopped crying, and her eyes burn with a new fire. “Again.” She says. “I want it gone.”