Reclusive- s.r

ten

"Vega, are you awake?"

The quiet whisper sounds so far away, and I choose to ignore it, snuggling closer into my pillow and trying to fall back asleep.

"Vega!"

I groan quietly and open my eyes slowly, adjusting to the light in the room and I glance down to the floor where Spencer slept, now sitting upright and pulling one of my pant legs.

"Yes, Spencer?" I rub my eyes and turn onto my back. I'm acutely aware of the fact that my ankle is hanging over the side of the bed, but I make no effort to move it.

"Are you hungry?"

"I was sleeping," I throw a hand over my face and groan again, dragging my hand down and letting out a loud yawn. "You've been here for three days Spencer, why are you still scared of my parents?"

"What? Scared? I'm not scared," he scoffs and I roll my eyes. Since we've got here, Spencer waits every morning for me to wake up before we head downstairs together. My guess is that he's intimidated at the idea of being alone with my family, hence why he never leaves my side.

"As much as it pains me to say, they like you. You don't need to be uncomfortable." He perks up slightly and grins at me, and he has far too much energy for someone who just woke up, which tells me he's been awake for a while and just let me sleep.

"They like me? Did they say that?" I nod my head. My entire family, at some point since arriving here, have all pulled me aside and told me how much they like Spencer. I received a few comments in French about how I should date a good boy like him (thank you, mother) and now everyone has hopped on the bandwagon.

"Yes and yes." I finally sit up in bed and I glance down to see Spencer staring at my exposed ankle, looking right at the permanent ink there. He traces the stars with his index finger and smiles softly.

"If I remember correctly, then your star, Vega, is this one right here," he places his fingertip over the star which I was named after. "The brightest one here." He traces the constellation again, and I watch him with a lazy smile when he asks, "Did it hurt?"

"Like a bitch," I answer honestly. The pain alone from my first one was almost enough to deter me from getting another one, but I ended up getting another two after.

"Was it your first one?" I nod my head, then the next question comes, "Do you have any other ones?" I nod again. He hesitates, and I know what he's about to ask me, "Can I see them?"

I hesitate for a moment, because my second tattoo is on my ribcage, and I'm not wearing a bra under this shirt. One wrong move and I'll flash him. I cover my breasts with my arm and slowly lift my shirt up and his eyes widen like saucers. once my shirt is pulled up just under my boobs, I hold it up and reveal the writing I have there.

"What does it say?" He squints, trying not to lean forward and get a better look at it.

"Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as understood," I respond back. It was my second tattoo I ever got, and there's not much reason behind it except for the fact that I simply just liked it. "You can get a closer look if you want."

At my permission he leans forward and carefully drags his finger over the writing with a quiet hum, "George Orwell, right?" I nod my head and he grins. I shiver when his fingers drag across the ink, and it's somehow more intimate than I thought it would be. I clear my throat and drop my shirt, pulling my hair to one side and revealing the two butterflies behind my ear, one of them flying away. I just like butterflies, hence the tattoo.

He brushes a piece of hair away from my ear and leans in close to look at it, smiling to himself. I gasp when I feel his lips press right over the ink, smiling against my skin as he makes a path for himself, moving along my jawline slowly. I tilt my head to the side to give him better access, and I feel his hands tracing random patterns along my waist as he peppers soft kisses over any available inch of skin.