AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That’s true.
I wasn’t the only one branded. Salvatore had suffered the same fate—as ‘property’ of Lucius Mancino, he too had been subjected to the sizzling-hot iron.
The half hour passes quickly. The tattoo artist finishes up on the woman and pencils her in for her next session. She walks out with the bell above the door dinging.
“You ready?” the artist asks, wiping down the table with disinfectant.
I take in a deep breath and then nod, rising from my chair. I’m not even sure what I want as I approach with Salvatore behind me in a show of moral support. I’m half a second away from blurting out something about the sun and moon I saw in his design book when the artist gestures to the rose necklace around my neck.
“That’s a cool necklace,” he says. “I like the roses.”
My hand finds my throat, fiddling with the rose pendant I’ve worn every moment of the day since Salvatore gifted it to me months ago. “I never take it off.”
“Those your thing? Roses?”
The question elicits a slow, epiphanic smile out of me. “Yes, they are. I love them.”
“I could probably sketch you something similar. Gimme a sec.” The artist grabs a sketchpad and sits down in his chair, crossing a leg over his knee as he drafts something up.
I watch on nervously, still fiddling with my rose necklace, then the ring around my finger.
Salvatore’s hands find my shoulders from behind. His touch soothes me, warm and familiar, his palms sliding along the curve of my shoulders and then down my arms. I shoot him a private smile and then lean back into him.
“A roses tattoo,” he says into my ear, low enough only I hear. “Very sexy. Very you.”
“And you?”
I’m uncertain asking, tilting my head back to glance at him again. His eyes gleam, waiting for me, already on me as my gaze meets his. He squeezes my shoulders and says, “And me. It’ll be like having a part of you on me.”
The tattoo artist shows me what he’s come up with, and I gasp. It’s beautiful, a sketch of roses in bloom among a leafy backdrop. I glance at Salvatore for his input, and he nods along.
“Let’s do it,” he says.
I go first. I sit in his client chair and pull off the coat and sweater I’m wearing. Salvatore swathes both over his arm and holds my hand with his free one. I lower the strap to my tank top, revealing the full extent of my mark.
The tattoo artist studies it for a moment, stroking his goatee. “Should be able to completely cover it. You’ll never be able to tell. You can even come back at a future date if you want me to add color.”
The buzzing starts up again, but this time I’m the one on the other end of the needle.
The first time the needles prick me, I almost flinch before reminding myself I’ll have to sit completely still. Salvatore’s hand helps. I hold onto it and smile at him in gratitude.
After a while, I stop noticing the prickling pain at all. I adjust, used to the feel of the needles poking at my skin.
Because it’s not the biggest tattoo and tonight I’m only doing black ink, the artist finishes in about forty minutes. Salvatore and I swap places when it’s his turn.
For him, the artist alters the design with a few different touches. The design of the roses changes to something less delicate, more masculine with extra shading and added thorns on the leafy vines.
Though he doesn’t need it, I hold Salvatore’s hand anyway. Something that seems to touch him, even if he doesn’t show it—I know him well enough to tell what the look in his eyes says. Our fingers intertwine, and I run the pads of mine over his scarred knuckles with thoughts of how special tonight has turned out to be.
A night where I said I didn’t want to do anything. Where I wanted to avoid celebrating New Years and bury myself in self-help books and sleep under the covers. Where Salvatore wanted to stew in his rage and self-blame for the recent events in our lives.
But, like with everything between us, we’ve found a way to overcome it. We’ve used the earlier argument as a means to reconnect. Though our issues are far from solved, the anxiety that clenched in my chest only an hour ago has receded.
For now, I’m present in the moment, not haunted by the past.
I’m holding the hand of the man I love and enjoying yet another memorable night that we’ll treasure for the rest of our lives.
I know this as we finally emerge from the tattoo parlor at well past 2 a.m.
