Dark Phoenix | ✓

chapter 8

I spin my bracelet around my wrist, staring at the silver L inscribed on the outside.

"I notice you wearing that a lot. Mean something to you?"

"Happy birthday, sis. This is from all of us."

"Yeah," I mutter. "Pretty special."

"From a boyfriend back home or..."

This was not where I expected the conversation to be heading. I can feel my face turning a slight shade of red. I focus on my lap, my blonde hair falling into my face.

"It's from my parents," I explain. "Sixteenth birthday."

He looks relieved and it makes my heart swell. I try to tell myself that it means nothing, that even if it did, it couldn't mean anything.

He's turning into school now and I notice something black flash on the inside of his bicep. It's placed on his right arm and I watch him as he turns the wheel.

"You've got a tattoo?" I question.

He unbuckles his seatbelt, picking up his schoolbag from the backseat.

"Got it for my eighteenth birthday last month. Don't think my parents were impressed."

"Can I see it?" I ask, suddenly curious.

I'd always thought about getting a tattoo once I turn eighteen, I just never knew what.

"Um..."

He seems hesitant like he doesn't want me to see it at all.

I feel embarrassed suddenly, wishing that I never asked in the first place. He didn't want me to see it for whatever reason and I needed to respect that.

"It's alright, you don't have to show me," I laugh nervously, picking up my backpack.

"No, Lon, it's—"

"Seriously, it's fine. I get it. It's probably super personal or something and I'm overstepping. Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Lon. It's okay. I want to show you."

"Are you sure? Don't feel like you have to now just because I've made you feel bad."

He shakes his head as I nervously blabber on about nothing. He stops me by placing his hand on my arm. My mouth hangs open and I have to clamp it shut to pull myself together.

How much more pathetic could I get?

"It's fine. I want to. I just...I don't show many people. Only my friends and family have seen it."

"You really don't—"

"Lonnie," he laughs. "Here, look."

He lifts the sleeve of his uniform, flipping his arm over, drawing it out towards me.

The tattoo is no longer than my middle finger but the detail is incredible. It's an outline of a gun in black ink with red roses coming out of the muzzle. Each rose petal has been intricately drawn on and I can't resist running my finger against it.

"It's beautiful," I breath.

"Yeah," he says, his voice suddenly husky. "They did a good job."

The design is something that I'd probably have looked at for myself. Something that had meaning for me.

"I only ever want to get tattoos that had meaning behind them, you know? I don't want things that don't mean something to me," Harry voices, suddenly speaking my exact thoughts.