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Afterwards, Star wraps my hand in plastic wrap, creating an ink sac that will help the tattoo heal over the next few days. After going through the care instructions, they clean their hands then pull out a needle and get to piercing my nose.
It’s over quickly.
They hand me a mirror. It’s a simple sterling silver knob on my right nostril.
It’s cute. Makes me look like a badass. I love it.
Tara and Nya finish around the same time. Tara was actually being honest—she did get the tattoo on her lower back. Not in the middle of it, but on her hip. Nya limps slightly from the pain in her ankle. Despite this, we’re a happy group of girls.
When we try to pay for our tattoos, we’re told that Vance has already covered it.
“If I had known, I would have gotten a couple more,” Tara quips.
Vance says something snarky back to her, but I don’t hear it because the buzzing of my phone in my pocket distracts me. I pull it out quickly, expecting to see Alexander’s name on the caller ID.
It’s not him. The call is from an unlisted number.
My heart thumps in my chest. Is it Uncle Laurent? I step away from everyone, to a quiet corner in the waiting room and take the call. I swallow around the lump in my throat.
“Lizou?”
My world screeches to a halt. That voice.That nickname.
“Lizou? It’s me.”
My father.
TWENTY-FIVE
ALIZE
My mind grinds to a halt.
A few paces away from me, my friends are deep in conversation with each other. Everything is slipping past me in slow motion—the distance between us feels like a mile, and the air around me has solidified in a sinking sense of dread that chokes the breath out of my lungs.
Myfatheris on the phone.
After abandoning me in this hell hole for months, he’s finally called—and I don’t even have the privacy to process my emotions. I’m not even sure what I’m feeling. All I know is that it takes me a while to compose myself.
Long enough for him to get annoyed.
“Lizou? Speak, girl.” There’s a dismissive edge to his voice.
If I was in front of him, his charcoal eyes would be burning a hole into my own. There would be tightness by his eyes, his brows would be drawn together and anger would twist his lips into a scowl. Just imagining it has my stomach clenching with anxiety.
Thank god we’re not in the same room.
“Papa,” my voice floats away like a feather. “Is it really you?”
There’s a slight chuckle on the other end. “Have you already forgotten my voice?”
No, how could I forget? I longed to hear it for weeks after the attack.“It has been so long, papa,” I say simply, moving further into the corner of the tattoo shop. There’s a quiet enclave sheltered by a few potted plants.
Only Tara’s eyes track me, but she looks away once I give her a reassuring smile. My insides are in a knot, pulsing to the rapid-fire beat of my heart. It was just a couple weeks ago that I was so desperate to speak to anyone, that I even wanted to speak to my father.
Now that he’s on the other end of the line, my throat feels like sandpaper.
“It’s been longer than I hoped, mon trésor.”
