Malefactor [H.S.]

53*

I've decided I'm getting the butterfly tattoo Harry wanted me to get done last week during his appointment.

It's been exactly one week since Harry had his done, and now we're sitting in one of the private rooms waiting for Destiny to come in and start my session. We got here early, mostly because I have a habit of showing up to things habitually early when I'm anxious about whatever it is I'm doing, but she was already running late with her appointment before mine. She tried to offer up an explanation but Harry waved her off, telling her it's fine.

She let us come back here to wait instead of having to sit out in the front. Normally they do any tattoos that don't require you to expose yourself out in the main, open area, but since Harry told her I don't feel comfortable having my boob half-out in front of everyone, she said I could have mine done back here.

There's now a sketchbook sitting in my lap again as Harry flips through it, eagerly pointing out other tattoos he wants me to get.

"What about this one?" he asks, pointing to a sun and moon design. I stare at it, flicking my eyes up to his which are already staring at me.

I smile, shaking my head with a teasing pout of my lips. "Relax, let's focus on the one I haven't even gotten yet before you start pressuring me into more."

He groans, flipping the book shut and placing it down beside my hip. I'm sitting atop the cushioned table that looks like the kind you hop on at the doctor's office.

"You'll look hot covered in ink," he attempts to persuade me.

I shrug, not saying anything or budging. I don't care what he says, there is no way in hell he's going to be able to convince me to walk out of here today with anything more than the small rib butterfly tattoo.

"Why'd you suddenly say yes, anyway?" he asks, stepping away from me and heading over to the counters against the wall. They're equipped with different materials and tools. "You didn't mention it until last night. I thought you had forgotten."

"I thought about it and decided I wanted to get it. I don't like doing things impulsively, but ever since you planted the idea in my head, I pretty much knew I was gonna do it," I admit.

"Yeah?" he grins, running his hand back through his long hair. I nod, swinging my legs back and forth from my elevated position on the table. "So that means all I have to do to convince you to get more is to keep annoying you about it?"

"No," I ground out. "If you do that, I'll come back here and get it removed just to spite you."

"That's painful, you know."

"Don't care. I'll suffer through it if it means getting you to shut up."

He rolls his eyes but stays silent, continuing to dig around in the materials that are laid out. I straighten up a bit, trying to see what's he doing. He picks up one of the tattoo guns, eyeing it before running it over his skin.

"Harry, don't do that," I scold him. "Destiny's gonna be using that stuff on me. If I get some type of weird skin infection because of you, I'll suffocate you in your sleep."

"Jesus Christ," he laughs at my brazen threat. "You'll be fine. You would've gotten a skin infection by now if you were allergic to me or whatever."

"That's not how it works," I say, and although I don't know so for a fact, his logic doesn't sound too, well, logical.

Turning to show me the tool he's still holding despite my protests, he says, "And there's no tip on it. You're fine, Cam. She's gonna disinfect all this shit anyway–"

Without warning, the door to the room we're in bursts open. Destiny appears, the light smile on her face dropping the instant she sees Harry standing there, holding her stuff.