Chapter twenty-three
His cheek is against mine, his hands are on top of my hair, weighing it down to the pillow, I'm drenched in both of our sweat and I'm hot as a motherfucker.
But he looks so peaceful sleeping. He's not crying or upset. Not harming himself or others. Not talking badly about himself. Not insulting me. Not hurting me and not with another woman.
I'm happy.
I'm combing my hand through his hair, curling the soft strands with my fingers.
He's so cute. And handsome, and beautiful and everything under the damn sun.
I stare at his arms, going through each and every one of his tattoos until he wakes up.
A four-leafed flower, which of course is in gray ink, like most of his tattoos. What looks like some sort of bicycle. A few quotes, written in cursive. Not gonna read those right now.
I turn his arm over gently, careful not to wake him and look at the tattoos.
There are so many tattoos. Where do I even.....
WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK?!
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!
ns52.14.25.155da2
