Page 94 of His Hell Girl

I can't believe he'd so readily agree to this, especially since I know he'd kept his neck clean of any ink so that it doesn't peek out from his clothing. With the initial I'm drawing, it's bound to show and let everyone know who he belongs to.

And that makes me feel fuzzy inside.

I focus on getting the letter right, doing a cursive A instead of a standard one. As I cross the middle of the letter, I add a drop of blood falling to the ground to emulate my own design. Although it's nowhere near his level of skill, the letter is clean and simple. After I add one last stroke, I lean back, surveying my work.

"I think it's nice," I tell him proudly.

He takes the mirror, inspecting it, and a reverent smile appears on his face.

"Thank you," he says, unable to take his eyes off it. "Now I can have you with me always too."

It takes a while before we can move on to the next tattoo, mostly because Vlad seems to be quite enamored of his new piece of ink, grabbing the mirror and staring at it every few minutes.

"Have you thought about what you want there?" he asks when he finally puts the mirror aside.

"Yes," I say.

I'd had alongtime to think about what I'd like to take the place of the odious cross that reminds me of my worst nightmares.

In the beginning, I just wished it was gone. But with time, I realized that it's still a mark that proves I've been through fire and made it out alive.

Picking a pen and a paper, I start showing him how I'd like the cross to be changed into a different design.

Embedded deep in my skin, the scar is pretty gnarly, the edges a deep pink due to the fact that it had never healed properly. Just thinking of the pain it had caused me for months on end renews my anger towards Sacre Coeur and everything I'd had to endure there.

"That's amazing, hell girl," Vlad finally speaks when I'm done. "And it embodies everything you stand for."

I nod, pleased he gets it.

After we go over all the details, he begins by sketching the image on my skin. Soon, he's picking up the tattoo gun, starting to etch the permanent ink into my skin.

This one is more complicated, and it takes twice as long to get everything right.

"What do you think?" he asks, his tone hopeful as he puts the gun down, handing me the mirror.

Taking it, I start studying his work, immediately in awe by the level of precision.

"You're really good at this." I praise him, and I swear I note the smallest tinge of a blush on his cheeks.

Smiling to myself, I continue to look in the mirror. He'd perfectly depicted a woman being burned at the stake, the body of the cross serving as the wood holding the woman captive, her hands and feet tied, her mouth gagged. Small flames engulf the stake as the woman slowly succumbs to her death. Still, her eyes are unflinching as she's facing her execution with courage, knowing it's not her fault she's being punished. It's just the world she lives in that's unaccepting of those differences.

She bears the mark of the devil, and her entire life she's been shunned for it, everyone seeking to condemn her for something that was not her fault.

But in the end, even as she knew her life was going to end, she preferred dying for her principles and ideas, her chin raised high, her convictions unwavering. She never once considered changing to accommodate other people's beliefs—never taking the easy way out.

And just like that, I find myself in the drawing. My entire life I'd been conditioned to be a certain way, condemned the moment I didn't fit other people's mold.

But as I stare at the tattoo—the permanent drawing making its house on my skin—I can't help but be happy with all the choices I'd made.

Yes, I'd suffered for being different. But I hadn't conformed. I'd stayed true to myself, and I'd been rewarded for the entire ordeal.

Placing the mirror down, I direct my gaze toward him—my prize.

Because I would have never reached this point if I hadn't held on to my true self. I hadn't let those nuns beat obedience into me. I hadn't let the mean girls destroy my core. And because of that I am here.

With him.

Both with our idiosyncrasies, both matching and complementing the other. I know we were made for each other, our very beings vibing with one another.

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