Page 96 of Savage Hearts

“With the one on the inside of your left wrist.”

The speed with which he answers makes it obvious he’s been thinking about that one for a while. It’s a single line of cursive black writing and consists of four words:

Remember Rule Number One.

“Well, if you must know, that one’s my favorite.”

“What’s rule number one?”

“Fuck what they think.”

He stops mid-snip and looks up at me. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“Everyone. Anyone else but me. It’s a reminder that other people’s opinions don’t matter. To live my life how I want, regardless of outside pressure. To be unapologetically me.”

After a moment, he nods slowly, satisfied. He goes back to work, teasing out a severed stitch and placing it to one side on the old bandage. “And the words ‘you can’ on your right ankle?”

“I used to say ‘I can’t’ to my mom a lot when I was little. It was just an excuse for something I didn’t want to do, or something I thought was too hard, but she wouldn’t let me get away with it. She’d just stay calm and say, ‘You can.’ And then I would, because I didn’t want to disappoint her. The tattoo reminds me to keep going when I want to give up.”

I’m quiet for a moment, lost in memory. “My mom was the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Mal glances up at me, his eyes piercing. “Was?”

I nod. “She died when I was a kid. Ovarian cancer.” My voice drops. “It’s not a good way to go.”

“There aren’t any good ways to go. Some are just faster than others.”

“My great-grandma died in her sleep at ninety-nine. That seems pretty good.”

“Sure, if you didn’t have to live to be ninety-nine to get there.”

“What’s wrong with getting old?”

“Don’t know many elderly people, do you?”

“Not really. Why?”

He says cryptically, “Old age isn’t for the faint of heart.”

The little pile of snipped black stitches is growing. And he was right: I’ve barely felt a tug. He’s good at this.

From what I can tell, he’s good at everything.

“What about the dragon on the nape of your neck?”

I grimace. “Big yikes.”

“Translate.”

“I got that during myGame of Thronesphase. I was obsessed with Khaleesi. A little boss bitch who owned three dragons and kicked butt all over the men? Yes, please. Wait. Is that… is that asmileI’m seeing?”

“No,” he replies instantly. “That’s just the face I make before projectile vomiting.”

“Ha.”

“And the pattern on the back of your right arm?”

“I thought it was pretty. What about that big scary hooded skeleton on your back?”