Page 93 of Broken Beauty
Watch the stars.
Watch fireworks on the tallest hill.
Go to the fair
Spend the whole day at the beach.
Sneak into a movie theater.
Get a tattoo with a stranger.
All have been completed. And each one has been one of the best experiences I have ever had. And it's all because of Ash.
I never thought I would have the guts to do something like ask a guy like him on a date. I never thought I would have the guts to even spend time with someone like him.
Ash and I don't talk for a while. I just look down at his hands that are tracing my palm lines. He has little tattoos on his hands that follow up his arm. He also has some on his back and chest.
I've never really asked about his tattoos.
“Do your tattoos mean something?” I ask, tracing a small tattoo on his wrist.
“Most of them do. All of my tattoos have a story behind them but not all of them mean something significant.”
The one wrapped around his wrist is a barbed wire tattoo. “What does this one mean?” I asked, stroking that tattoo with my finger.
I feel his head move against mine. “To me it's like suffocation but worse.”
“Why did you get it?”
He is quiet which makes me think he isn't going to answer so I move on to the next one. It's a teddy bear holding a paper.
“What about this one?”
“That is a gift I got from one of my friends who committed suicide.”
Now I feel bad for asking.
“Can I ask why?”
“She didn't want to be in a world where only cruel things happened to her.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. I would have been unhappy if she were still here wanting to kill herself. I'm happy that she was able to find a way to live peacefully.”
“No one should face that though.”
Ash sighs. “I think that if you truly think there is no other way to make you happy or make you want to live then you should go ahead and do what you want to do. Why would anyone want to stay in this world where you have to pay to breathe or pay to even do anything?”
Deciding to go on to another topic I look at another tattoo on his arm. “What about this one?”
This tattoo is a guy with wings sitting down and resting his head on the ground. This guy looks desperate and miserable. He looks like he wishes he could stop the voices in his head.
“That's me. A dark angel.”
“Why? Why are you posing like that with your face to the ground?” I ask, sadness laced in my voice.
“Because that's how I felt Ariella,” he whispers. “Choose another one.”
