Page 57 of The List of Things

“The suspense is killing me, I can’t tell if she loves it or hates it,” My artist speaks, and I snap out of my feelings, suppressing the small urge to cry that’s building in my chest.

If I’m going to cry it will be in my room all by myself without an audience.

“I love it. It’s actually perfect,” I tell everyone, but my eyes are on Bellamy.

“For your parents. I figured a good first tattoo would be one for people you care about.”

He motions to his older tattoo, and I really would hug him if I could right now, even though that doesn’t feel like enough to show him that I appreciate him for not picking something stupid.

He listened... and remembered which is something I’m avoiding thinking about altogether because I hate the way it makes my chest swell. I hate the way it makes my mind feel too. I swear every judgment turns to mush at the thought of him being attentive the way he is.

“Thank you... I love it,” I thank him, and turn to the artist too.

“No problem,” He shrugs, and then he pushes a rolling chair over to me while he sanitizes his station.

I sit, and he cleans off the tattoo and takes a photo for me. He wraps it up after and leaves me sitting next to Bellamy. I get on my phone, and send the photo to my mom, and Sienna, knowing both of them will love it, and also be a bit shocked that I actually got a tattoo. At least I hope my mom loves it, especially since it’s technically for her.

“How are you holding up?” I ask Bellamy, looking at him, placing my hand on his forearm, sliding it down till I’m holding his free hand.

“The hand hurts more now, and far worse than the arm, but it’s still alright... I am curious to know what the hell you picked,” The realization hits me that he picked something incredibly sentimental for me, and I didn’t do that at all.

I picked a placement because I thought it would be hot... The tattoo, I picked it because of something he had said, because of what the two of us are doing, but it still doesn’t compare to what he chose for me. What if he hates it? I guess it’s too late now.

We wait together, and I watch as the artist works. He’s incredible at what he does, and the tattoo is looking even better than what I had seen on the wall. Bellamy keeps my hand in his other hand, running his thumb over my skin, his head tilted back as we sit together. He goes between looking at the ceiling to closing his eyes, and taking deep breaths. I can tell this spot isn’t fun for him, and now I feel kind of bad. After around an hour the artist backs away.

“All done... Take a look,” The tattooer starts cleaning up his station, and I turn Bellamy’s face toward me, feeling anxious.

“Okay, before you look just know it’s not as... Sentimental as what you gave me, but it looks really good... And it’s hot too.”

He smirks, shaking his head.

“I told you I don’t care,” He tells me, and turns his head, looking down at his hand, and revealing it fully to me too.

Two American traditional style birds, shaded perfectly. One on his hand and one right above it, closer to his wrist. The birds look like they are trying to reach each other. They look like they belong together on his skin, and dear god, they bring attention to his hands. As if they didn’t already get that.

“I thought that because of your favorite movie and the two of us are doing what we’re doing... I don’t know,” I shrug, trying to explain the tattoo, and I notice the smile on his face.

His eyes haven’t left the ink. He continues to stare, and I feel like I might throw up.

“If you’re a bird I’m a bird?” He asks, repeating the quote from The Notebook while looking at me, not losing the wide grin on his face.

“Yeah, exactly,” I tell him.

“It’s perfect and the placement is too. I love it Ryn. I told you I’ve always wanted one on my hand anyway. I’m glad it’s this,” He stands up to look at it in the mirror in full.

I stand next to him considering he didn’t let go of my hand. We both look at his tattoo and then at each other.

“I think this was a really good idea,” I say.

I don’t know where the confession comes from. I would consider myself impulsive, but not this impulsive.

“Yeah, I’m full of them,” He moves back to his artist and lets him clean the tattoo, and cover it, just like my artist did for me.

“Actually this was all my idea, you just helped,” I remind him.

“Minor details,” He brushes me off as the artist finishes wrapping his hand.

The two of us walk to the counter, and Bellamy insists that everything is being paid for together. He pays for both of the tattoos and tips excessively as he always does. He holds my hand the entire time we are in the shop and even when he walks us outside, and to his car. He walks me around to the passenger side and reaches for the door, but I turn him around, and away from the car. The urge I have is one I would have to fight incredibly hard to stop so I just let myself go without letting myself explain why.

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