Lily Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts

Tattoos and a Switchblade Attitude

Despite what I had told Jack the night before about only being tipsy, I woke up with a massive headache the next morning. Ouch. Looks like I drank more than I thought. Carefully, I peeled myself off of my bed – how did I get there anyways? – and looked around the bedroom area of the bus, noticing pretty much everybody laying in bed, dead asleep and some of them snoring.

It took me a good two minutes to get down from my bunk in my hung over state, and I made my way to the kitchenette area for a glass of water, stumbling and freezing when I noticed Alex sitting at the table, saluting me with his own glass of water. I looked down at myself and sighed. I was wearing my fuzzy pink pajama shorts and a grey tank top which showed a good portion of the tattoo on my back, but still left quite a bit to the imagination. It really didn’t matter that I wasn’t wearing a bra because honestly, I didn’t have very big boobs in the first place.

Besides, I was going to be living with these guys for a few months and would hopefully keep in contact after words with all of them. So I decided that I looked somewhat acceptable and raised two fingers in a salute back to Alex and returning his smile before turning my back and grabbing some water.

“Damn, I didn’t know you had tattoos.” Alex said, and I turned back around to him and took a seat across from him.

“Mhm.  I have three.” I smiled at the impressed look on his face and he slid me a bottle of asprin, and I took two gratefully.

“What are they of?” He asked, pocketing the asprin. I eyed the bottle suspiciously. Would this become a regular thing? I wasn’t sure I could handle the vicious cycle of getting drunk and waking up hung over every morning.

“The one on my back is an anchor, and I have one on my ankle that says carpe diem, and this,” I said, holding up my wrist and showing off my butterfly.

“I’m willing to bet there’s some interesting stories behind those.” Alex prompted, raising an eyebrow.

I froze. While Alex was my inspiration and my singing hero, I had only met him last night (and we were both drunk for the majority of that) and wasn’t quite ready to tell him about Charlie.

“Maybe another time, Gaskarth.” I smiled uneasily at him.

He searched my eyes for some sort of answer, but I just closed my eyes and gulped down my water. Then, Jack stumbled into the room wearing red plaid pajama pants and no shirt. I felt my cheeks flare up and I turned my head to look out at the passing road through the window. I missed the knowing smirk that Alex sent me.

And of course, because he’s Jack Barakat, he plopped down next to me. “Good morning, beautiful,” he chirped, smiling at me, “How was night one of your first tour?”

“You are far too energetic for being hung over and for just waking up.” I muttered, keeping my eyes on the road.

“Most girls say thank you when I call them beautiful,” he commented.

“I’m not like most girls.”

I could feel Jack’s eyes running over my body, and I shifted uncomfortably. “You’re most definitely right about that.”

I rolled my eyes and looked over at Alex, who was covering his mouth with his hand and laughing silently. Well, he’s no help. “Can you move, Barakat?” I snapped, finally meeting Jack’s eyes and immediately feeling guilty when I noticed his pouting face.

“Sorry, that was mean.” I apologized, but he continued to look like a beaten puppy. Oh my god, I’m a horrible person.

“Why do you hate me, Lily-Flower?”

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What? I don’t hate you.”

“Yes, you do. You haven’t been nice to me.”

Aw. Look at that face. I can’t be mad at that face…

I sighed. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been really stressed out lately. I didn’t mean to come off as rude.”

Jack’s face immediately brightened. “That’s fine. It’s your first tour after all, anyone would be all freaked out.”

This boy needs help of some sort.

“Uh, I don’t get stage fright.”

“Is that a tattoo?”

Better question: is that ADHD? I looked over at Alex for some form of help, but he put his hands up in surrender and left the kitchen area, probably to go and play some video games or watch TV before he had to compete with the other guys for it.

“Yeah, I have three.”

Jack grinned devilishly. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,”

“Your shirt is off,” I reminded him, “I can see both of your tattoos.”

He shrugged. “So now that you’ve seen me half naked and didn’t have to pay anything for it, can I see your other two tattoos? That’s a sick butterfly, by the way.”

I looked over his face carefully. Showing him my back tattoo would be pretty awkward considering; A.) I’m not wearing a bra, and B.) It takes up my entire back and I would have to do a weird sort of shuffle to keep the top half of the front side of my shirt from exposing my boobs. Was it worth it for him to see it?

I sighed once I noticed the dreaded puppy dog eyes. I was already putty in his hands when he did the puppy dog eyes, and I had barely known him for a day (in real life). Which brings me to my next point: Jack Barakat, guitarist and my favorite member of my favorite band wants to see my tattoos.

I turned around and pulled my red hair off of my back and over my shoulder as I reached behind me and pulled up the back of my shirt, making sure the front wouldn’t fly up. “You can look, but you can’t touch.”

The tattoo was an interesting one to say the least. It took up my entire back, and was an extraordinarily long process, with six hour sessions once a month for six months so that my skin would have time to heal after each session. At first, it was just a giant anchor outline that started at the middle of my neck and ended a few inches above my butt. Slowly but surely, the inside of the anchor was filled with miniature designs; some were random, and some were not. It was my favorite thing about my body, hands down (no pun intended).

“Damn,” he whistled lowly, “I’ve seen a lot of bad ass tattoos, but yours takes the cake. I am so attracted to you.”

I’m positive that my entire face was redder than my hair (which was incredibly red, mind you) as I yanked my shirt back down.

I am so attracted to you.

I am so attracted to you.

I am so attracted to you.

Sometimes, people would say trivial things to me like that like, “I am so attracted to you right now,” which just meant that only in that one moment was I attractive to them. Like, when I wore a particularly pretty dress or did my hair and makeup a certain way. But Jack just said that he was attracted to me, without the right now part, which sort of implied that he was attracted to me for more than just my anchor tattoo.

Now, I’ve never been a particularly religious person, but now seemed like an appropriate time to pray.

Dear whatever deity that may or may not be out there – please don’t let me fall for Jack Barakat. I don’t think my heart can take it. Thanks. Love, Lily Anne Sparrow.