[COMPLETED]
trep·i·da·tion
a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen.
***
"You'll see the truth one day." I whispered against his harsh lips knowing this was wrong. The sensation was driving me insane, his warm breath panning...
Bulletproof passengers On the road to sex, drugs, etcetera Get out the dark and into the light
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"Ow! That hurts you fucking twat!" I hissed when Harry purposely dug the tweezer deeper into the wound than he should have. He looks like a nervous wreck while doing this, it is very funny.
"I told you it wasn't fucking ready!" He spit back making me laugh. "I'm not trying to jab it into you, I can't get this stitch."
"You are fine, Harry." I sighed as he messed around with the single stitch before finally grabbing it. "Just hurry up, we don't have much time and I need to change and do my makeup."
We had around ten minutes before we needed to be back down in the car, and Harry was taking his sweet time on removing these stitches. Thankfully he found a first aid kit, so I could bandage it once they were removed.
His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated making a smile come over my face as I watched him. His shirtless body hovered over my leg as he worked.
His skin was tan from Hawaii, making the tattoos more prominent than before. The ink that littered his skin was unique and full of special designs. Some of them are even questionable.
I liked the butterfly one a lot. It was the one that caught my attention the most. Right in the center of his chest, it's wings spread open like a book of words that meant something to him.
Or the swallows that rested on his collarbones. They were simple but elegant. I wonder what those two meant to him? I know about the butterflies partially, but not the swallows.
My eyes raked down his body at the sight of him kneeling on the side of the bed. My sight was lost in his image that was presented in front of me. I was lost in his presence, his figure being the only thing on my mind.
"Finished." Harry spoke snapping me out of my thoughts. I sat up to look at the scar that was rough and still fresh. I definitely should have given it another day or two, but Harry doesn't need to know that.
Gauze would help protect it for the next couple of days. I watched as Harry reached around in the kit to find some stuff to disinfect and bandage it. He pulled a large piece of gauze before moving back to my leg.
It was around a three inch scar that would now be part of me forever. They must have had some pretty tough bullets to do that much damage. It looked really cool, I've never understood why people hate their scars. It shows who they are and how they came to be.
Each scar tells a story. This one has its own very interesting story, and would be quite the story to tell one day. I don't think a normal human being would believe it.
