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“Come on, we’ve got somewhere to be.” She unwraps her legs and drops down to her feet.
“We do? Where?” I fix my shirt and put the invite on the fridge using aBuc-eesmagnet.
“We’re getting matching tattoos.” Hollis grabs my hands and pulls me toward her and the look of shock painting my facial expression doesn’t even phase her as she chuckles at me.
I’ve never really done anything so out of the blue spontaneously. Other than bombard family night with my drunken rambles. Which reminds me that I still need to settle that issue.
But I look at Hollis who is pleading with her big, round eyes and her bottom lip puffed out in a sexy notion of begging and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I would want to do anything else other than say yes to this girl. So I lean down, kiss her lips gently and say, “Let’s go get matching tattoos.”
But before I follow her out to my bike, I take out my phone to send a text message to Callan.
Wouldn’t miss it for the world.
thirty-eight
Hollis
Ilied.
We don’tactuallyhave an appointment to be at. I was just hoping we could walk into my favorite tattoo shop because my decision for us to get matching tattoos was a bit spontaneous and very much an in the moment thought. But Jax doesn’t need to know that and to my surprise, he really didn’t fight me much on the subject either which is how I know that these plans are perfect for us.
The ding of the bell as we walk in mixed with the needles buzzing in echoes throughout the air brings a smile to my face and a flutter in my belly.
Jax and I have both gotten tattoos—clearly—for whatever reasons we had to do so. My obsession with getting ink, at first, started with needing a coverup to my scars and then, led to me wanting to tell stories that I didn’t know how to tell in words. That was expressed through various butterflies, flowers, and phrases. Jax is a part of that story. Always has been. And after our time on the roof the other night, I feel like I know exactly what I’d like to say to convey our story through ink, embedded in our skin. And I know exactly where I’m going to put it as well.
Over my scars is a vintage clock-face with the hands of time pointing to the exact moment I woke up from the hospital, which was 11:11. Behind the clock is an hourglass that is half full, half empty. Next to that is a butterfly where one of her wings disintegrates into the petals of a dahlia. And then on the opposite side of the butterfly is an open book with flowers blooming behind it. Everything meshes together beautifully in all of its black and white glory, fine lines, and magnificent shading.
I love all of my tattoos, but I love this combination the most. It does exactly what I wanted it to do; to retell the story of my life and how I became the girl I am today. There’s a small empty space—enough to have a phrase scripted in tiny lettering—right next to the clock face and between the wings of the butterfly running up and down perpendicular to my thumb.
“So, what are we getting?” Jax asks as he looks around at the shop in front of us.
“The real question is, where are you getting yours?” I say to him with a feral grin on my face.
Jax furrows his brows at me because he knows I’m a handful of trouble.
“You’re not going to tell me what the tattoo is, are you?” he asks, and I just give him a little shrug of my shoulders and smile.
He looks down at his body and finds a spot where he might be able to put a new tattoo.
“It won’t be too big, and it’s only a small phrase.” I hint to him.
“Where are you putting yours?” he asks me.
I hold up my arm and point to the spot I want it. He gives me a knowing look while analyzing the other ink I have there. He looks back at my eyes and stares into them with so much empathy that I think I might explode. Jax and I have always had this kind of connection where we just get each other with a simple look. I’d forgotten about it for a while but it hits me full force and I almost buckle with how safe it makes me feel.
“I want mine in the same exact spot,” he tells me, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing along the hidden lines of my scars.
One of the artists comes over and greets us, asks us what we’re looking for and starts mocking up the design.
After a few minutes of sitting in the waiting lobby, I’m called over to start my tattoo first. It’s been a while since I've had new ink, but I welcome the slight buzz and prick of the needles as they work their magic branding this new chapter of my story onto my skin.
It doesn’t take more than twenty minutes, and then it’s Jax’s turn. I make sure he isn’t peaking during the tattooing, and I make him promise to keep the wrap on for a little longer before it’s time to reveal it. I made the artist put on the white wrap and not the clear one so that Jax couldn’t see either of ours.
After walking out of the shop, he just gives me a shake of his head and says, “You’re something else, you know that?” I smirk because I love that he trusted me enough to let me make this plan for us.
I know not everything is going to feel as risky and dangerously fun like this was, but I’ll gladly welcome every part of our journey as long as we’re together.
I giggle as we walk side by side back to his bike. Happiness just hits differently when I’m around him. I know we’ve had a bit of a toxic start, always fighting and me pushing him away and us hiding things from each other. But I’ve spent too much time trying to control the finer details of every situation and to find my voice in a room full of dark passages, that I let it prevent me from feeling or seeing what really matters in life. And that’slove. Love brings happiness, and light blue skies, and dreamy rainstorms.
