❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
Every man's life is a fairytale written by God's fingers. —Hans Christian Andersen
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Epic Summer To Do List B4 I Turn Eighteen: #3: Get my ears and belly button piercedbecause why the hell not?
Thirty minutes later, I walk out of the piercing parlor and take in a deep breath. The numbness in my ears and stomach caused by the ice is fading rapidly and now, I can feel the pain. It's a pulsating kind of ache and my stomach—the area close to my belly button—feels like it's on fire.
"No pain, no gain," I mutter to myself and lightly touch my left ear, the helix where one of the possibly overpriced earrings reside. "It's done. Finally, I've completed something on that blasted list."
I walk down the sidewalk, letting my face soak in the sun. Most of my body is covered as always, but this time, my tank top is rolled up, letting part of my tummy show in order to expose the new piercing.
I stare at my car for a moment before looking down at my watch. It's only a bit past noon and driving back to the hell I call home isn't on my agenda.
I look across the street. There's a pizzeria, a barbershop and right between the two buildings is a very familiar open tattoo parlor.
I make my decision and cross the road. I keep my eyes trained on the door and I can see Ian Ross—the cheating, back stabbing asshole—sitting at the counter. I get to the door, push it open and quickly slither in before it can close.
He looks away from the comic book he's reading and looks up at me with indifferent blue eyes. "Could you get even more predictable?"
I ignore his rhetorical question as I walk towards him. I don't stop till only the counter is between us.
He raises a single eyebrow, prompting me to speak.
"I just got my ears and belly button pierced. Right now, I feel like I can take on the world," I say. "Of course, I would feel even more invincible if I had a tattoo."
He sighs like talking to me is pure torture. "I thought we had a deal."
"I thought we had a deal," I mimic his tone with a roll of my eyes. "Bullshit. You stole my fucking drink. And because of you, two tasks on my lists are incomplete. I thought I was having a stroke of bad luck so I spent my time watching horror movies on a binge for two days and now, I realize that you're the demon who has basically been a block to my accomplishments. You think I'm going to let this whole thing go just because of a bet based on mochas, frappuccinos and lattes?"
He rolls his eyes and drops his comic book on the counter between us. I can see it's a Superman comic and I raise an eyebrow. "Look, Scarlett. You have determination—I like that. Now, if only you were eighteen and you had a permit from your parent or guardian, then yeah, you'll be walking out of here with a tattoo. Unfortunately, you don't. So—"
