Heart In A Cage

22

Isabella

Below a built-in bra that plunges down the centre of my chest, the material of the red dress hollows out in a spiral that curls around my abdomen, hips, and upper thighs where it ceases, a thin mesh material substituted for those empty spaces. It makes for a half-translucent fit, my shoulders dressed in a thin strap each and arms unclothed.

I spin around and turn my head to the mirror, studying the back while Aya crosses her arms and grins in approval of the beauteous choice of attire.

The back is bare but for the straps arising from the bra, going over my collarbone, then sinking down in two bands that meet with the lower half of the dress where the sheer nature would expose the majority of my behind if not for the thick polyester wind of material striping across it. It's the physical form of indecency constructed into a fit that raises my breasts and flaunts my body―and I'm delighted by it.

Delighted at the tattoos, too, as is Aya. But she still rebuked me for the rash decision and how this new permanent rose staining each of my shoulders and the stems sweeping up from my fingers to wrists are things I can't simply take back. Unless, of course, I'd like to endure double the amount of pain and have them lasered off.

A few hours after getting the patch of garden tatted on my skin, I finally decided to peel off the protective layer Ethan had applied then sterilized it. From the way Andreas had adhered himself to me the first hour after getting it done, staring and touching and comparing mine to his, I knew he wanted to be there when I did. But I've been in Aya's room ever since I managed to rip him from my side, and the only suggestion that he wants to barge in and continue his inspection is the occasional visit he takes to the door to ask how I'm going.

It always ends up in unkind words spewing out of my mouth after I tell him to stop returning and he refuses.

The fresh coat of pigment is blushed at the edges, reddened following the constant insertion of needles from the previous hours. If someone were to come close enough, they'd be able to tell that the tattoo is fresh. And with its prominence, I know standing next to Andreas and the complete dark-greenish painting on him will leave no doubt that we're...together.

But that pain—that prickly, burning sensation—will forever be engraved in my memory. And whether I want to withstand that torture again will be considered, because I wouldn't mind having the complete tattoo.

I turn away from the view of my fabulous red dress and face Aya. Her royal blue fit is almost on the same level of exposure as mine, and paired with golden bands adorning her fingers which match the bracelets dangling from her wrists, the colour combination is gorgeous. The dress wraps around a curvy waist and plump hips, enclosing her body down to the thighs. The uppermost portion of it has similar styling to my own, with a neckline that's also cut to reveal a chest.

"You know," Aya starts, "like, usually, when people get given choices in life, they consider them. They don't say yes or no immediately. Because they have some kind of a rational mind unlike other people such as you, girl. I can't believe you sometimes." She straightens a bunch of her hair by a small mirror at her vanity, squinting at it as she continues. "You didn't even consider the decision. After this, when you let it sink in, look at the tattoos throughly, reality will crash down on you all at once. What if you regret it?"

I move to the long mirror and fluff up the front strands of my hair, trying to loosen the waves. "I won't. I might want another one."

From the reflection, I see her momentarily pause halfway through taking her hair between the straightener. She breathes out. "Honestly, I might scold you if I find a new section of that nature shit on you in the future. And then I'd tell you how good it looks after I've eased my temper."