Falling for Death

Future

Harper

We walked inside the tattoo parlour, hand in hand. I was extremely nervous and scared nonetheless, I was exited.

I could practically hear my heart besting. He squeezed my hand in a reassuring manner.

An intimidating—but not as intimidating as Ace—looking guy greeted us at the front. He had tattoos all over, was very tall and looked to be in around his late twenties.

I told him what I wanted, he nodded and gestured for me to follow him.

"Want me to come with?" Ace asked.

"Yeah."

We followed the guy to a room and I took a seat on the chair right in the middle.

"What design?" He asked, I showed him a picture of what I wanted on my phone. I sketched it out earlier and took a photo of it.

"On my wrist." I told him.

"Alright." He drew the design on my wrist with a pen then grabbed the tattoo gun.

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat, I dug my nails into my other hand, something I did when I was very nervous and when anxiety got the better of me.

Ace grabbed my hand and rubbed it soothingly. I loved when he did that. It was so comforting.

"Ready?" The guy shot me a reassuring smile.

"Yeah." I took in a deep breath and exhaled.

"It'll hurt a little." I laughed nervously and tore my attention away from him and moved it to Ace.

"Already regretting your decision?" He mused.

"Not a chance."

I don't understand how he did it. I've seen him get a tattoo before—of a butterfly that reminded him of me—he wasn't even fazed.

He made it look painless.

So what could possibly go wrong?

My reassuring thoughts when out the window when I felt it.

The sharp needle poked into my skin. I took in a sharp breath and shut my eyes.

I was slightly distracted from the pain as Ace continued rubbing and kissing my other hand comfortingly.

However the pain was still unbearable.

It hurt like hell.

But I had to keep reminding myself that the outcome would be worth the pain.

As soon as the idea popped into my mind, I knew I needed to get it.

I almost screamed as the needle pricked my skin harshly.

I bit down on my lips, drawing blood. That familiar metallic taste hit my tongue.

Then, it all stopped. The pain vanished.

I slowly looked back over to my wrist.

"All done." Brent, the tattoo guy said. I smiled, admiring the ink on my wrist.

Poet was written on my skin, with a butterfly and an ace of spades in black ink beside the word.

I was in love.

It looked so cool.

I chose the word poet because it symbolized something I aspired to be—amongst other thing. It reminded of the poem I wrote for Ace. The ace obviously symbolized him.