The Tattoo Artist - PAPERBACK ON AMAZON!

Chapter Twelve | 'Get something out of your system'

A L E X A N D R A | J O N E S

"There's nothing to tell! He's just some guy I work with!"

"C'mon, you're going out with the guy! There's got to be something wrong with him!" Joey blurts.

"So does he have a hump? A hump and a hairpiece?"

"Wait, does he eat chalk?"

They all stare, bemused. I let out a soft laugh, biting into the spoon filled with pomegranate. Chinese take out flowed across the living room table.

"Just, 'cause, I don't want her to go through what I went through with Carl- oh!"

"Okay, everybody relax. This is not even a date. It's just two people going out to dinner and- not having sex."

Suddenly, a loud noise crashes from upstairs. I pause the episode, peering up from the blankets. I gulp, standing up. What on earth? I look around the living room for a lamp and instead end up rushing to the kitchen. 

I slide a knife out of the draw before closing it,  I make my way slowly up to the stairs. Holding onto the banister with fear lifting the little hairs on my legs, I push my parents' bedroom open but not a single thing is damaged. It definitely has to be my room then, it sounded like glass. I go down the long hallway, towards my door as it squeaks open. When I walk into the room, my eyes widen in surprise to see Diávolos on my bed. 

"Diávolos..." blood splattered all over his palms. When I look down at the floor, I notice that my New York snow glow has split, with water and glitters spilling out into the floor.

I rush up to him, dropping the knife as I see blood pouring down his legs. He tightens his groans, "let me get the aid kit, wait here."  I dash back down the stairs, heading towards the kitchen. I fling open the cupboard door and slide my hands up to the top shelf, attempting to scrape the first-aid kit towards me.

I grasp the hook and yank it out, opening the fridge for my dads vodka. I make my way to my bedroom. Shutting my door behind me, I open my cupboards and take out towels. I make my way to the bed, settling the thing on the floor. "Let me help you." I whisper to him, he glares down at me. Nodding his head. I stand up and pull his joggers down, his jaw tenses as I pull it down the wound.

I notice the tattoos all over his legs, they looked like stories. The wound was on his thigh, hence the amount of blood. I settle between his legs, "did you get stabbed?"

He nods.

I sigh in relief.

I grab the vodka, "this might sting." I whisper to him.

I pour the vodka over his legs but he does not make a single move or sound, I needed to clean the area. I grab the tissue and wipe away the blood before taking out the needle and thread.

"If you need me to stop. Tell me." He does not reply. Just stares into my eyes as if he is using it as a distraction. I begin to stitch up the wound, and I am shocked on how he does not over exaggerate or feel the pain. Before finishing up, I wipe away the remaining of the blood and grab the bandage. Wrapping it around his thigh, I look up feeling his fingers graze my hair behind my ears. My heart beats profusely. 

I stand up, "are you hungry?"

He shook his head.

"Thirsty?"

"No." He whispers. Barely enough for me to catch the sound of his voice.

"You can sleep here tonight, let me get some fresh bed sheets." I turn and open my cupboards again, taking out my marvel bed sheets before turning around and seeing him already standing. He look at my canvases in the corner, I change my bedsheets. He has already washed his hands.