Bad Girl In Disguise (SAMPLE) I ✔

F R I E N D S

Just because my mom decided to lock me in my room whenever she can, doesn't mean I'm just going to stay there. Psht, who do you think you're talking to?

That's right. You are talking to Jesse Marks, the girl that if you push harder will bounce back harder. If mom grounds me, I'll just have to sneak out more often.

Are you following my amazing logic right here?

I decide to get another tattoo tonight as a form of giving my spoilt mom the middle finger. I grabbed my keys, put on a black hoodie and jumped out my window.

I finally learned how to make a convincing dummy of myself using the pillows I have. I know that mom rarely checks anyway, but you couldn't be too safe.

I have my fake ID and credit card with me inside the small duffel bag. I smiled and thought of the tattoo I want before finding the perfect idea.

I climb down the oak tree, feeling giddy and excited as I take my motorbike out of its hiding spot.

Lucas isn't here tonight, but I don't mind. The boy may act tough and strong, but it is all just an act. He almost died of fright when I told him about getting my first tattoo.

I went to the same tattoo parlor and started sketching on a piece of paper what I wanted.

When I'm done, I am lead to a chair and soon I found myself staring into familiar piercing blue eyes. I never got to know her name, and I feel a bit guilty because of it. I give her a  smile and go to lie down on my front so that she can look at my back. She looked at the sketch and got to work on my bare back.

The tattoo needle stings, and to take my mind off it, I start talking. 

"What's your name?" I ask. She doesn't look up but she answers anyway. Her pierced lip is pursed in concentration. 

"Angel," she answers curtly. She doesn't look like herself, although I barely know her. She doesn't have that air of confidence that she carried the last time I was here. She seemed bold and she made a statement. Now, she looks normal.

"Is something wrong?" I ask. She falters a bit on the needle but regains her composure and keeps drawing intricate designs on my back. She shakes her head, but then she gives in and tells me.

"That asshole, Cole, won't stop calling and texting me. I wish he would just leave me alone," she mutters. Her eyes turn misty for just a second, but she shakes it off. She shrugs uncaringly, putting on a tough facade and blank mask. Just like I do every day.

"Just block him. Don't reply, because that would just make you seem weak," I say. Her eyes look up for a split second, her blue irises looking at me with confusion and a bit of admiration. She has a small smile by the time she goes back to her work.

"Yeah. You're right. I just don't have the guts to do it. I guess I am weak," she said. I raise an eyebrow in disbelief. This beautiful woman says she is weak. I know tattoos and piercings make someone look tough. It shows they can endure pain. And that is exactly what they want. To be seen as tough. But inside, they are just as scared as the rest of us.

"As far as I know, there are 2 types of people in this world," I say, using 2 fingers. "The first is the type of people that are strong. They seem normal, but they fight their own battles each and every day. That toughens them up."

"And the second?" she asks, the grin on her face widening.

"The second is the type of people that fake being strong. They pretend that their life is filled with problems. They want to be strong. But they are not because they don't know what problems are if it bit them in the ass," I say. Angel chuckles, and so do I.