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When he pulls into a strip mall, I assume we’re going to the Chinese takeout place to grab some food until he pulls into a spot right in front of a tattoo shop.

“Uh-uh, no way.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “You’re such a chicken.”

He gets out of the car, walks around the front, and then opens my door. “I don’t know about this,” I mumble, glancing toward the tattoo place.

Resting his arms on the hood of the car, he looks down at me and asks, “Are you against getting one?”

“No, I just ... I have no idea what I would get.”

“I’m gonna choose.”

“What?”

“You trust me?”

Nervously, I tell him, “I should probably say no.”

“But you do?”

With a heavy sigh, I close my eyes and nod before he takes my hand and helps me out of the car.

“Oh god.” I cringe as he leads me into the shop.

“You’ll be fine. I won’t choose a skull or anything like that,” he teases.

While Sebastian talks to the guy behind the counter, I sit on the bench at the front of the shop, anxious and second-guessing going through with this. They look over at me before going back to talking in hushed voices as the guy sketches something on a piece of paper. I try not to think too much, but all I can do is consider the million reasons why this is a bad idea.

“You ready?” When I don’t answer, he tells me, “You’re going to love it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you.”

And believing that he does is all I need to smile and stand. “This is crazy.”

“So was jumping into the Sound, but you did it anyway.”

“I’m Sam,” the guy introduces, and I shake his hand before he asks to see my ID and has me sign some paperwork. We then follow him back to one of the booths. “Just have a seat and relax.”

I sit in the chair and recline, but there is no way I can relax. My heart is racing too fast.

“You look like you’re going to puke,” Sam says, and Sebastian chuckles. “Is this your first tattoo?”

“Is it that obvious?”

He smirks as he shoves his hands into a pair of purple latex gloves, and then he asks Sebastian, “Which arm?”

“Her left.”

“My arm?”

Sam pushes the sleeve of my sweatshirt up, and I jump, darting my eyes to him. “I’m just going to clean the area with an alcohol swab,” he assures, but that isn’t what has me in knots; it’s the fact that he’s staring right at my scar. My stomach turns in sheer mortification as I watch him. He muddles on the other side of my shameful tears that have me locked in place.

After he tosses the swab into the trash, he looks at my failed attempt. With his thumb, he traces along the memento of my darkest moment, but it’s when he lifts his eyes to mine and gives me the tiniest hint of a nod—a nod that conveys understanding—that I calm a little.

“You gotta look away now,” he says, and when I lay my head back and face Sebastian, a tear spills out.