Deep Breath | G.Dolan

Lover Or Fighter

"I can't believe you're doing this on impulse. You're really stupid," I said sitting there in Ian's friend's basement trying to talk Ian out of getting a tattoo. "You're going to get a disease." He rolled his eyes at me. "No offence," I said to his friend who was holding one of those tattoo needles ready to permanently ink his skin.

"Just calm down and hold my hand," he said taking off his shirt. Damn...

"What are you getting?" I said trying to change the subject.

"Your name." My eyes widened. I was trying not to shank him with my house key.

"You better not," I said pulling my hand back. He laughed.

"I'm not. I'm getting whatever Damien here wants to put on me." Damien was the name of the devil's son in The Omen. I wouldn't trust him.

"That's a good idea," I said sarcastically and sat back in my chair.

"You should get one," he suggested.

"Yeah, definitely. It could say, 'Hi God, am I going to hell yet? No? Well this should definitely do it.'"

"Well that's just too long. Where would you even put it?" he said and Damien (aka 666) started the inker thing. I was probably more freaked out about it than Ian was.

When it was all over he had a dumb little symbol on his collarbone. I didn't even bother asking what it was. He looked hot with it though, so I guess that's all that matters.

"I have airbrushing too if you want me to do that on you. That's what I do for the pussies," the spawn of Satan said. I gave him a sarcastic smirk...and then a brilliant idea came to me.

"Gray? Are you home? I want to show you something!" I said walking through the front door later that day.

"Yeah, I'm in my room." I walked up the stairs and down the hall until I got into his doorway. "What is it?"

"Don't get mad at me," I said.

"I won't get mad." I rolled up my sleeve showing him my saran wrapped arm. "You got a tattoo?" he asked smiling. He looked excited about it. I nodded my head.

"It hurt like a bitch," I said and came closer to him.

"Well why would I get mad? What is it?" he said looking as I stuck my wrist out to show him the black 'Ian' inked on my skin. It was airbrushed of course, but he didn't know that. "Are you crazy?!"

"You said you wouldn't get mad!" This is funner than I thought it would be.

"Do you know that tattoos are permanent? How stupid could you be!" Well that's a little angrier than I thought he would get. But instead of telling him it was fake like a stupid little slore nugget, I got him even more angry.

"Well I mean you're one to talk about stupid tattoos," I said back.

"Who are you even? I really don't know anymore," he said and got off his bed and left the room.

"Wait! Grayson, are you serious?" I called after him. "It's—" I heard the front door slam, "fake." Oh my God. You don't know how entertaining it is to watch you get stupider and stupider as the days go on.

I went into the bathroom and tried to scrub it off. It half worked. It only took half an hour and almost permanently stained the entire sink. Is this what I get for being an asshole? Yes. I went back into my room and sat on the bed. To text him and apologize or not to text him and apologize. Why would you try and make things better? That's not really your thing, remember?