Not a moment later, I walk past him towards the water. He’s too much for me.
One minute he acts kind and the next he acts the way he did at the anniversary party.
Feet crunch behind me, but I don’t look back.
I’m scared that if I do, whatever I’m feeling right now will grow bigger and mold against my ribcage.
“Why did you bring me here, Dean?”
My question is met with utter silence.
Sucking in my cheeks, I turn around and let out an involuntary gasp.
Gone is his shirt.
Instead, black swirls of ink cover the length of his left arm. Even though I should be telling him to put his shirt back on, I can’t. I’m greedy. I’ve been wanting to see his tattoos since I caught a glimpse of them when he grabbed the soiled pot from me the first day we met.
I’ve known about the vines and leaves branding over his knuckles, but what I didn’t know was they extend up towards his shoulders and curl around the back of his neck. Each vine intertwines with each other. One of the vines has thorns, the other has four different flowers.
Orange Blossom.
Violet.
Nerium.
I take a step towards him to get a better look, but I’m distracted by the rest of his tattoos.
In the empty space between the leafy vines, there’s more. A dragon rests on one of the thorns, blowing out fire towards a flower that’s growing instead of burning it into ashes.
Another step.
On another blank space has a… snowflake? No, that can’t be it. It doesn’t have the softness of a snowflake. There’s a round circle protruding sharp icicles in the middle.
As my eyes travel upwards, I notice that each empty space has something.
On the bicep, there’s a pocket watch where the chain connects to the last flower—a sharp inhale—an… anemone.
“Sit down, Nova.”
I’m sat.
Even while sitting criss-crossed next to him, he’s bigger than me—broader, and stronger. All it would take is for him to wrap his hand around my neck and slightly squeeze to take the life out of me.
Excitement shrivels through me.You weirdo, this is why you need a therapist.
“Why’d you bring me here, Dean?”
He stares at me and nothing on his face gives me an answer. “Are you disappointed?”
“Yes.”No.
“Your ogling says otherwise.”
“If you’re done harassing me,” I blush while smacking my hands against my thighs. “Then I will be leaving now.”
As I move to stand up, he holds me down by the wrist.
The intensity in his gaze ties knots in my stomach, keeping megrounded.
