Page 28 of Drawn Together

Sebastian nodded. “Understood. Now get in the elevator.”

I got in the elevator, not because he told me to, but because I needed to get some fresh air.

When we stepped outside, a light drizzle was falling onto the streets of Manhattan. I looked up at the immense skyscrapers surrounding us, lit up with different colors. The cool rain felt refreshing on my feverish skin.

After a few seconds, I opened my eyes and found his fixed on me, observing me without the slightest attempt to hide it.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and this time it sounded more like a request than an order.

Home… That ordinary word falling from his lips produced a sensation of warmth that I’d never felt when thinking about the apartment I lived in.

“I want to walk,” I answered, spinning on my heels and heading down the street. The buildings in that area were beautiful, majestic, with elegant entryways. It was horrible to think that just up the street people were dying of hunger.

I kept walking until a lighted storefront pulled me toward it like a magnet. I had always wanted to get a tattoo, but I’d never had the nerve.

I pushed open the door, and Sebastian followed me in with a sigh. The place was painted entirely black, even the furniture was of the same color, and there were hundreds of different pictures displayed—some grotesque, others small and cute. Before I could get a good look, a tattooed man with huge plugs in his stretched earlobes appeared behind the counter.

“Let me guess, you want matching tattoos?” the man asked.

“No one’s getting a tattoo. Marfil, can we go?” Sebastian said.

“He wishes,” I said, looking at the tattoo artist. “But nope, it’s just me.”

The man gave me a crooked smile, picked up a rag off the counter, and wiped his hands as he looked at me with an amused expression. “A body like that doesn’t need any art.” Then he looked to Sebastian. “Get her out of here—she’s drunk; she’ll regret it tomorrow and blame you.”

Sebastian tried to take my arm, but I pulled out of his grip.

“Actually, I’m not drunk, and I know exactly what I’m doing. I want a tattoo, okay? I’m tired of people telling me what to do. It’s my body. I’ll tattoo my entire face if I want.”

“That would be a shame,” the man answered, looking at me with lust, “but do whatever you want. What’ll it be?”

I moved to look at the catalog he had open on the counter, but Sebastian gripped my wrist and held my gaze, searching for some kind of inkling that this was a joke. “Marfil… a tattoo is for the rest of your life. Don’t do it just to prove something.”

I blinked several times, dazzled by how handsome he was due to the concern I could read in his eyes.

“You have your whole arm covered in them,” I said, challenging him with my gaze, “and I’m sure you have even more in other places, don’t you?”

Sebastian looked away and released me. His silence was enough of a response.

“Show them to me. I want to see them.”

“No,” he said, cursing between his teeth and running a hand through his hair.

What other tattoos did he have? And more importantly, where?

“So you can get tattooed, but I can’t?”

“A tattoo should mean something.”

He was right about that. But I did have something very important in my life, something that never ceased to amaze me.

I flipped the pages until I found what I was looking for. “This. I want this tattoo.”

Sebastian looked at me with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t do it,” he said in a kinder tone. “This man is right—your body doesn’t need any ink to make it prettier.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment?

“I’m just like you and him. I want a mark that will serve as a reminder of something I feel truly passionate about.”