Clarity

o n e

Listening to the buzzing of the machine next to my bare arm, slowly inching forward to make contact, I felt my body tense. I glanced at the burly man sitting to my right, as I laid still on the cold surface of the make-shift spa bed. I wanted this. But do I still want it?

Fuck yeah, I do.

Momma didn't raise no bitch.

"You ready, Leah?" I heard him ask, cautiously. Prepping my arm, before holding the tattoo gun a millimeter from my forearm.

"SHIT," I screamed in agony, hearing the machine start up again. "Fucking, son of a bit-"

"I haven't even touched you yet!" He interrupted. Giving me a what-the-actual-fuck look. "Are you fucking sure? Because I don't want you screaming for the next four hours."

"Y-yeah, I mean, I don't, fuck, shit, f-fuck," I stammered, obviously nervous about the untimely consequences of getting a forearm tattoo. "Rufi, give me the damn bottle of tequila!" I snapped my head back at my best friend, palming the air for an already half empty bottle of alcohol.

"Nuh-uh, malcriada, do not talk to me that way," he retorted, pouring me a shot of tequila. I reached out, snatching the bottle from his hands, before taking a huge swig of it.

"Bottoms up," I announce, taking the burning liquid down my throat and handing Rufino back the liquor.

"You crazy, puta," he muttered, giving me wide eyes.

I turned to the artist, giving him my most convincing thumbs up. I nodded, signaling my readiness, as he sighed in disbelief of the client in front of him.

"I do not charge enough for this bullshit," he grumbled under his breath. And as I was about to turn to say something to his stupid face, I felt a lethal pain shoot up my arm.

"Hijo de la gran PU-" But my body betrayed me before I could tell the asshole what a massive female dog he was born from.

•

"You have a terrible pain tolerance, m'hija," Rufino commented, bringing the cold towelette to my forehead. "How're you feeling?"

I grinned up at him, chuckling at his motherly ways.

"I'm fine, madre," I replied, rolling my eyes. I sit up slowly, finally standing from my couch and heading towards my kitchen. "Where's Luis?"

I hear him mutter something from the other room, obviously making it hard for me to hear him. "What'd you say?" I stuck my head out of the doorway of my kitchen, as I prepared us some peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

"I said," he started. "He's out with some friends." I could hear the absolute disappointment laced in Rufino's voice.

"Tsk, tsk." I grab our sandwich, handing him his half, and sitting down to take a massive bite. "You should just tell him how you feel." I could basically feel Rufino's body heat radiating off of him as he turned three different shades of red.

"W-what are you talking about, come mierda?" Rufino stuttering was the cutest thing of my life. "Feelings? Me? No. Pfft." I shook my head disapprovingly.

"I just hope he doesn't get snatched up by some young, hot bachelor," I shrugged, seeing if I could push his buttons. "Or worse. Un gringo!" I fake gasped into my hand.

Don't get me wrong, I love me some vanilla.

"Shut your whore mouth," he gasped, feigning heartache, as he placed both hands over his heart. "If he's gonna be with anyone, it will be with his Cuban papi."

"Well, then let's go out tonight," I exclaimed, getting really excited about the idea of a night out with my brother from another mother. "We can even invite Luis to meet up with us." I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively at him, earning myself a smack to the arm.

"Asshole," I murmured, rubbing my poor arm after the sudden abuse. Running to my room, I stripped quickly, and just as quickly came back out ready to go.

Fuck your cliché getting-ready scene.

I looked damn good; tight-ass bodycon skirt, crop top and all.

"Jesús," I began to say as I walked out to find an already dapper Rufino, catching his attention as he finally looked at my choice in ensemble.

"Christo," he finished. Mouth agape, turning into an approving smirk. "Me encanta." I twirled in place, earning a wolf-whistle. "Come 'ere." He grabbed me jokingly, pulling me into his chest roughly. "I swear if I was anybody else, I'd be all over this." I blushed, pushing him off.

"Too bad you're as straight as cooked pasta."

•

A/N - I'm back, bitches. I know my other story Breathe was put on hold... But it's been so long I can't even fathom going back to it (whoops). And it was supposed to be based on my real life... It just didn't seem good enough though. I wasn't completely satisfied with each chapter. Does that make sense? Welp, idgaf. Here's a new story, sorry I didn't introduce Harold right away, it'll be worth the wait. Maybe.