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“Do you know Vince?” I met her eyes in the mirror.

“Not really. He is um. Intense.”

Suppressing my smile. How sweet she is concerned for me. I glanced at the clock. Of course, he is late. I suppose I had asked him again last night; he was sure.

“Okay, let's start.” Walking to the chair, “How do I sit?”

I could do this. I totally could do this. Though I hated my ears getting pierced. How bad could it be? Sitting forward, straddling the chair, she moved the arm rest up for me.

The door opened.Vince.Thank Christ.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He dragged a stool in front of me. “Tell me you haven’t started?”

“I thought you’d forgotten.” I sighed, watching as he shrugged his jacket off. For some reason, he started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Did you, um, need to check it, Mr. Crow?”

I grinned.Mr. Crow. I was so using that later.

“Are you happy with it?” he asked me before looking, his expression changing instantly.

“The lettering was just for her. To see the full design.” The tattoo artist spoke really fast, as if she was suddenly scared. “I um, yeah.”

He nodded but seemed lost for words. I’d never seen that look before.

Taking his shirt off, he gestured for me to sit back.

He helped me put his shirt on, before taking the top I had been holding to my chest away.

“Happy?” he asked me again.

I’d be a lot happier when this part was over. “Yep.”

Frowning at seeing him in his singlet, what if he gets cold?

The buzzing of the gun caused my stomach to twist. Reaching for my hands, he sat in front of me. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he was nervous.

Kissing my cheek, “I’m right here my love,” His thumbs stroking the back of my hand.

Okay, it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be. Sharp, burning, uncomfortable. Loosening my death grip on his fingers.

Every few minutes, he kept asking if I was okay. At first, I was, but after a while, it got more intense. Closing my eyes, trying to focus on his touch, and not the thousands of tiny little needles. Why would anyone get this done willingly?

He brushed my hair to the side, kissing the top of my head. Apart from smiling at him volunteering his hand for me to bite, I didn’t say a word. I sat deadly still, eyes closed, declined breaks, and pretended this wasn’t the most painful experience of my life.

Three and a half hours. Three and a half long, painful hours. Even though the artist kept telling me, I could stop. Our circumstances weren’t normal. I had done the math. The crest had to be done and healed before the wedding.

“I’m so proud of you.” He kissed my cheek again, buttoning his shirt up on me. He insisted on me wearing it. Apparently, my top would be too tight. In fairness, he probably was right.

“Can you drop me home? Otherwise, I’ll have to call my driver.” I asked, rolling the sleeve up.

“Are you okay?” holding my chin, he tilted my head back to look at him.

No. I wasn’t okay. It hurt. My back was sore. My neck is stiff and I’m tired. Even though that made no sense, because all I did was sit.

“Why would I drop you at your parents? You’re coming home with me.”

I could feel the emotions bubbling. Why can’t I be normal? “You don’t have to do that.” Moving my head out of his grip, I focused on rolling the sleeves up. He had just wasted half his day holding my hand.