Remember Me ; Dabi x OC

2: The Rules

"But when the fear comes and I drift towards the ground
I am lucky that you're around..."
-Sia

•Valen•

"So, what do you think?" Sariah beams at me with a smile as bright as the sun, looking as if she will spontaneously combust from excitement.

Deciding to give my dear tattoo artist a hard time, I bring a thoughtful finger to my chin, tapping on it leisurely to make sure she squirms at least a little bit at my response.

"I dunno, Sari. I think you could do better than this," I state casually, giving my shoulders a shrug to throw the entire act together.

My facade soon crumbles to dust from the expression that appears on Sariah's face, her jaw falling wide open while her ghostly blue eyes start to pool with disappointment.

"What?!" The girl practically yells in the small tattoo shop, not even earning a quick side glance from her outburst. "I put so much thought into this one! I was sure you'd love it, V! Aw, man..." Sariah visibly deflates, rubbing her hands over her face in stress.

Leaning over to get closer to her, I swat a playful hand at her arm, sending an innocent grin her way to let her know that she has been played.

"You piece of shit..." Sariah draws out slowly, letting a mediocre scowl furrow her eyebrows as she attempts to look genuinely upset. "Don't move around too much! You'll mess up the stencil!"

I laugh at her overdramatic tone, moving to sit back in my chair once again, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. "As if I could ever dislike anything you come up with, Sariah," I point out matter of factly, using my finger to point at her knowingly.

Sariah gives me a sassy eye roll in response, spinning around in her rolling chair to face the metal desk, adding the final touches to the stencil of my upcoming tattoo.

"Yeah, V. Forgot you were a such comedian," She says with even more sass than her eye roll, making me snort in amusement.

It has only been a week since I last saw Sariah at the bar, and with my latest paycheck being way more than I expected, I couldn't resist reaching out to the artist to take her up on the offer.

Axel told me, whenever I went to drop off yet another short manuscript a couple of days ago, that one of my more recent writings had gotten a lot of attention. Meaning, more money for me.

My agreement with Axel is quite simple. I write pretty much whatever the hell my heart contents and he does with it what he pleases, keeping it all completely anonymous. I also receive the majority of the earnings from my work, something that came as quite a surprise considering how shady people are nowadays.

It seems that people thoroughly enjoy reading the inner thoughts of a severely traumatized girl in her early twenties, possessing the dry sense of humor of literal sheetrock.

Little do the readers know, the writer is seriously damaged and struggling on the inside, absolutely terrified to face reality.

At this point, I've become so accustomed to just rolling with the punches that, by the next day, I have completely moved on and shoved it all down that endless pit that lingers deep inside of me.

Nothing really affects me much anymore.

This is not a pretty part of myself, and it is something I am not proud of, but I do the best with what I have. If it keeps me from absolutely losing my fucking mind, then so be it.

Laying down on the tattoo table, I pull my leggings down to expose my right hip to Sariah, making sure to cover my lady parts so that I don't give the entire shop a free show.