𝐒𝐓. 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃, b.

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

❝𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.❞

𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟐𝟓𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟖

"beauty is pain, that's what my mom always told me," jahseh said as he finished sketching on my stomach with the watercolor pencil.

i laughed and said skeptically, "what the fuck were you doing where your mom had to tell you some shit like that?"

"when my mom used to comb my hair out and shit. raking that fine toothed ass comb through my hair and got mad at me for crying. this was before i got dreads, by the way. traumatic experience. white people don't know how good they got it." he glanced up at me. "you nervous?"

"a little. i know it's gonna hurt a lot more than the tattoo on my wrist," i said, holding up my wrist with 'purgatory' inked into the skin.

jahseh stayed silent, tossing the cotton pad to the side before turning on the tattoo gun. he locked eyes with me once more. "you ready?"

"yep."

jahseh pressed the gun to my skin and i winced at the pain. i forgot how bad tattoos hurt.

"doing okay?" he asked as he began to draw on my stomach.

"mm-hm," i replied curtly.

"maybe i should be distracting you from this, huh?" he asked over the sound of the gun.

"yeah that would be nice," i said through gritted teeth.

jahseh was quiet for a moment before blowing out a deep breath. i waited patiently for him to speak even though the tattoo gun was making my patience run thin.

"what's your biggest regret?" he finally asked.

"ooo, we're going right in with the deep shit," i replied. i searched superficially through my life's memories. "hm, i don't know, i don't have any regrets.

"i'm just kickin' shit, dude. i don't know, man. i guess, letting myself fall."

"fall?"

"fall, to grief. i used to be such a harmless ass kid that was in dance class and rode horses and shit, white girl shit. and then boom, my brother died, and i was suddenly on the path to destruction. it happened so fast that—i don't know. none of that shit is fun to think about. i try my best not to think about the past and live in the present, but the present isn't that fun either."

"really?" he asked, lifting the gun from my skin and waving it around, referring to our current predicament. "this isn't fun?"

"of course it's fun, asshole. but if you think about the circumstances that got us here and the fact that we even live here in the first place, shit can be depressing."

"you're only here for six months, billie. i'm here until i turn eighteen. i have a whole year left. and that's if i don't leave here and go fuck up in the real world again. then i'm back in the pen."

"hey, don't think like that. hopefully when you get out of here you'll change and be a 'reformed member of society' or whatever the fuck bullshit they spout on that dumbass brochure," i said, forming air quotes.

"you want me to change?" he raised an eyebrow. i knew that he wasn't serious, but i could tell that a part of him wanted to know what i really thought.

"no, jah, i don't want you to change, but unfortunately society wants you to. you know shit's never gonna be good until we change. on the outside, i guess. we're all still gonna be crazy bitches on the inside," i chuckled. "what, you really think that you'll still be unhinged when you leave here?"