Page 20 of Our Secrets and Scars

Owen scowls as we pass him, opening his mouth as if to say something, but thinking better of it. Thankfully, I don’t have class with him today. I let out a sigh of relief, watching him through my periphery to make sure he isn’t walking after us.

“I’d be fine on my own, you know?” I say, looking up athimas he continues to hold my hand, despite no longer being in Owen’s eyeshot.

I don’t pull away though. It’s been a long time since I’ve held someone’s hand, and even though I don’t know who he is and why fate seems to have us running into each other all the time, I like the feeling of my palm against his.

He takes a sip of his coffee, glancing at me as he does so. “I’m sure you would.”

“Then why insist on walking me?”

“I didn’t insist.”

“You would’ve done it if I’d said no.”

“Is that so?” He smirks.

I nod. “Or just followed after me.”

“You think you know me so well, huh?”

For some reason, I feel my defenses rise at his teasing. I pull my hand out of his and hold it to my chest as if he’s hurt me.

“I don’t know you at all.”

“No,” he says quietly. Sadly, almost. “You don’t.”

He says it so mysteriously that I can’t help but look at him with narrowed eyes. I might not know him, but I know that he has secrets and plenty of them. That much is clear to me already.

I study his face, so perfect aside from the silver studs and ink that he’s decorated it with. And though his ink and silver barbells puncture the picture of perfection I’ve always sought after in life, I don’t think he’d be right without them.

Piercings and tattoos might not be my idea of perfect, but they’re perfect on him.

“Like what you see?”

I roll my eyes. “Are you always so cocky?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugs. “Not always.”

I don’t know why, but that seems significant to me. Like maybe if I look past the confidence in his long strides and the amusement in his tone, I’ll learn what he means bynot always.Like I might find something quite different if I were to look hard enough.

“So, you work at the tattoo studio then?” I ask. “And go to college at the same time?”

He nods.

“What’s your major?”

“Fine art.”

It seems obvious now he’s said it. I saw the designs he’d drawn in the room where he gave me the tattoo. He’s exceptionally talented, and I know that despite knowing nothing about art.

“Did you draw the picture of that girl I was looking at? The one with the cracks in her face and the light coming through?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He clears his throat, seemingly shy. “Thanks.”

I’m reminded of something then. Something that he said when he’d found me looking at the design.It’s a bit soon for us to get matching tattoos.

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