December 19th; 22:42. London, England.
"He isn't who you think he is." The simple yet stereotypical words escaped my lips as the SUV door shut with a slam. But the flashes and screams carried on as such.
I took a second to catch my breath, not from heat of the flash, but the thought of him. The thought of how I lost him. Realizing the story that the ink and piercings told. Something I hadn't before done.
Then, in that moment. In the moment of thinking about all the ironic tattoos and distracting lip piercings.
Everything made sense.
