Vincent

Signed and Sealed

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Song

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I ordered Chinese, paying for it, while he called a tattoo artist. Our agreement was I get to pay for the food and he'll pay for the tattoo. I wanted to pay for it but he was being all gentlemanly so he didn't allow me to.

He tattooed 'Lex' in pretty cursive letters and I got 'Vince' in his handwriting on the outer part of my hand. I was inspired by Lana Del Rey who had a 'paradise' tattoo that I always liked. I didn't listen to a lot of her music but the songs I did (Brooklyn Baby, Off to the Races, Ride, and Salvatore) I loved. So, naturally, I wanted his name there.

Sure, it might've been impulsive but I wanted it. I mean, he put my name on his skin too so what was the harm?

"I have to be out by six," Vincent said. We were watching a movie, eating. "That's when your family is coming back and Michael said I had till that time or he'll kill me."

He laughed about dad's words but I frowned.

"He would. It's not something to laugh about," I explained.

"Then I'd do the same," he brushed off.

"Don't say that."

"Why are you still defending him? After all the shit he called you, you're still fucking takin' his side?" he asked. It might've seemed like he was being rude but it was just how he was. Aggressive and nice at the same time.

"He's my father," I slowly said, blinking at Vincent like it was an obvious reason why I'd defend the man that called me a whore and whatnot.

"You're still gonna stick up for him after what he said?" he continued.

"You call me a bitch- a lot- and I still defend you," I countered.

"Fine," he shrugged, "none of my business. I just have to be out by six."

"Okay," I nodded.

I put down my chicken. I didn't feel like eating anymore. My stomach was hurting- mildly.

"What do you want to watch?" I asked as the movie ended. He shrugged and I clicked on 'Anger Management.' "This is a funny movie."

"I'm leaving tomorrow at about five tomorrow," he said and I looked up at him, "to go back. I'd take you with me but..."

"Yeah," I nodded, knowing what he meant. "Are you coming back?"

"In two or three weeks."

"Oh."

He ran his hands through my hair before kissing the top. "I like your hair this length."

"Thank you," I responded, my face warming. I liked that he complimented me. He did it often and it always made me feel really pretty.

"Is it natural? The color? Ever stained?"

"Yeah, well, when I was like twelve, I dyed parts of my hair pink. Like hot pink," I told him.

"Like half?" he asked.

"No, like highlights but they were pink. At the time, I was super into Avril Lavigne again so I, like, begged my dad to do my hair," I nodded.

"When I was that age, I robbed a store for my dad."

"Did you want this life?" I asked, "like being part of this? Did you have a choice?"