Under Summer Sky • Zarry

17. Sweat

"Ahhh," I gritted out hoarsely, flinching as I laid back in the chair at Nero Cuore Tattoo Factory.

For the third time that week.

I tried to focus on something else to distract me from the pain. "So what does Nero Cuore even mean?"

"Black heart," Bruno, the tattoo artist, answered as he finished the last wing of my new butterfly tattoo.

My skin was hating me by now, but I didn't care. So I had used a chunk of the money that I earned from working on the vineyard towards getting several tattoos done in downtown Florence before I left, which was part of my initial summer plan.

I became inspired, especially lately. I wanted to mark up my body permanently in ink, to cover myself in symbolic representations. Meaningful, like Zayn suggested. My tattoos were going to remind me of who I really was, what some of my summer thoughts and feelings were, and the memories I had made that felt so alive, now a part of me forever.

The first tattoo I got that week was a ship on my bicep. The ship represented many things for me, most obviously my love for the sea. But while it drifted on the waves of the bluest ocean, it also symbolized new adventures, an unseen journey yet to come, just sailing away to find out where life would take me.

And after me and Zayn's random and riveting conversation about flying, I chose to get two swallows tattooed on my chest as well. Not only did I want to remember that significant night up on the roof with Zayn, but I also wanted to carry around with me the idea of hope.

I had a feeling that I might need it.

But the butterfly tattoo that I was currently getting inked into my skin at that moment was purely because of Zayn.

I felt them all the time; every time I got lost in Zayn's eyes, every time he touched me, or whenever our lips met. I had never felt butterflies like that before him, not with anyone. It was Zayn who birthed that sensation for me, who brought it to life.

And he felt them too.

But it was important that prior to my decision to get it done, I had to reason with myself on it.

I concluded that despite whatever ended up happening between him and I, I still knew that what I had with Zayn would always have a long lasting affect on me. Because in the midst of falling for him all summer, he had awoken this hidden truth in my soul and gave me the courage to really want to live it out loud, to know and be who I am.

All three of my new tattoos were done in only black ink, just like the old sailor tattoos that my grandfather had, because I admired him and that vintage style. And the butterfly one was the most painful one to get so far, the needle sinking deep into the skin of my torso twenty thousand times in a row, but it was worth it.

* * * * *

I arrived back at the vineyard shortly afterward, having driven myself there in Zayn's black Ferrari 458 while he stayed back at the house to finish his sculpture. I promised him over and over again that I was a proper driver before I took his car out and he let me; it was telling just how much trust he had.

Walking up to the open-doored garage I cleared my throat, approaching him as he worked diligently at his art. I watched him closely for a second, Zayn leaning down slightly to sculpt intricate details into the clay lotus with a thin blade, and he didn't bother to pay me any mind at first.

So I decided to get the attention that I needed from him quickly. I removed my white t-shirt up over my head suddenly, holding it in between my hands. Naturally within a second, his brown eyes cast upward at me and he dropped the blade, staring at my shirtless torso.