1.2 The Chronicles of Us - Rewound & Retold

Chapter sixteen

A tattoo.

A goddamn tattoo.

Not just any piece of ink. No, she choose a fucking bird. Sure, her explanation made sense, yet I can't shake the feeling that the dumb nickname I gave her has something to do with it. Is she marking herself with me? That would be cause to freak the fuck out.

How did this even happen? I shouldn't have come with her to town but I couldn't resist being in her presence. For a split-second, when I saw her dressed this morning, I thought she was leaving. It made me a little ... angsty?

Breakfast proceeded normally enough. To my standards, at least. I asked questions and it was sorta gallant of me to pick her order. She seemed to like that.

The fuck am I thinking?

I shake the thoughts and continue my objective of pacing back and forth behind her chair. I don't wanna get to involved in this crazy plan of hers, but her little grunts of pain are making me very uncomfortable. Obviously, it's only because I'm evolutionary wired to worry. No man likes to see a girl get hurt.

Sure.

When she inhales sharply, I'm by her side, taking her hand in mine and trying to comfort her by saying, "It's just pain. Your nerves are sending stress signals to your brain. Feelings are an illusion. You'll be completely fine."

Logic doesn't seem to bring her comfort. Her bottom lip pouts out and her big eyes are almost begging. It's the absolute saddest fucking thing I've ever seen. Sadder than The Ugly Fucking Duckling.

Her voice strains. "But it really, really hurts."

I wanna help, but there's nothing I can do. Well, I could always yell at the fucker who's hurting her. "Are you done already? She can't take much more."

The artist laughs like I'm some sorta pussy. "I just have to finish this shading and then you can comfort your girlfriend."

Girlfriend?

I let go of her immediately and return to pacing out of her field of view. Why did he have to say that? I don't want her getting any ideas like that. Christ! What a catastrophe.

On the other hand, she said she isn't looking for anything serious. Besides, I invited myself along and she didn't try to hold my hand or anything during our walk to IHOP. No, she hasn't given me any signs that indicate she's willing for more than 'no strings attached'. We're good.

When the tattoo-gun stops buzzing and the artist-fucker starts wiping her arm clean, I grab my wallet. "How much?"

He keeps his eyes on his hands, wrapping her arm in Cellophane. "Eighty bucks." 

When I gather the bills, Ellie starts protesting. "There's no need for you to—"

"Shut it." She frowns, so I smile and add, "Just let me pay, okay?"

After handing the money, we leave the shop. She turns to me, timidly. "You really didn't have to pay, but thanks anyway."

I pull my shoulders. "It's the least I could do. I'm corrupting you already."

She got that argumentative crease on her forehead, so I take her wrist in my hand to look at her ink. The image is visible enough through the wrapping. It's pretty solid work. A lot better than my first ones. "I like the colors. They're very bright."

Her lips press together in a shy way. "Considering your tattoos, I thought you didn't like colored ones."

"They suit you better than they do me."