“The color suits you.”
“Thanks.”
“Your belly piercing is sexy as hell.”
God, her smile is as bright as the fucking sun. “You’re just full of compliments tonight.”
“I only give them when they’re due. Does your mom know you have it?”
“Yep. She took me to get the piercing for my sixteenth birthday.”
“Do you want any more piercings?”
“Maybe, it’s crossed my mind a few times. What about you?”
“Nah, six piercings are enough.”
“Six? I only see five—tongue, lip, nose, and both of your earlobes.”
I lift up my tongue so she can see my frenulum piercing.
“Did that hurt?”
“Nope, it was a walk in the park. The old man and my mother flipped out when I came home tatted and pierced.”
“Did you do it to piss them off?”
“Kind of, but I got the tattoo on my back to honor my brother.”
“That’s a great way to keep his memory alive.”
It’s becoming way too easy to confide in her.
“What does the semicolon tattoo mean?”
“That I’m a suicide survivor.”
“Are you happy you’re still alive?”
“Yes, because death isn’t good enough for me. There’s peace in death.”
“I’m happy you survived. You have so much to live for.”
“I wish that were true.”
“It is. You—”
“What nationality is your father?” I ask quickly, hoping to end this line of conversation.
“Brazilian.”
“Oh, that’s where your feistiness comes from. Where is he?”
“He lives in Arizona, but he’s rarely home.”
“Do you ever see him?”
“Not really. He’s a CDL driver, so he travels most of the time, but when I visit my grandmother, he comes home if he’s able to.”
