Tattooed Heart

❝You don't need a lot of money, and you don't have to play no games. All I need is your lovin', to get the blood rushing through my veins. It's doesn't have to last forever, as long as I'm the name on your tattooed heart.❞


1. i

It's amazing how blissfully content I was on such a bitter gray November morning. The half of my bed was empty as usual, hollow and cold from the absent sweet warmth of another body to heat it; something which had dissolved about a month ago. Stepping immeasurably slow out of the bed, I blindly swatted the frigid air; as if the awkward flicking motion of my long arms and fingers could warm the air around my face.The warm black carpet squished between bare toes as I padded dubiously over to my window. Fog clouded the window causing me to swipe a thin hand across it in attempt to clear up the view. My eyes gazed across the street landing on the tiny coffee shop where a man, a dot from window, bustled around getting set up; in, then out, then in, then out again. 

Turning away, I gently tugged the soft cashmere blanket from the small wooden chair around myself before I swiftly exited my tiny bedroom. Mariah Carey crooned quietly about her lover from the metal speakers of the minuscule radio tucked neatly between a thick leather bound book and a chipped teal mug. Flicking the switch on the tea kettle, I watched the button glow orange. Cold wind suddenly nipped my neck, and steadily I drew the soft blanket around me firmly. I turned, gaze revealing I left the window the previous night.

But, as I moved towards it, something crinkled under my foot. Dropping my head, my blue-gray eyes landed softly on a crumpled sticky note. I was surprised I yet to notice it, the neon an obvious contrast. Scrawled across into the paper with messy handwriting was a number.  Lifting it, I squinted as I read the name sprawled across: Liam. 

My mind vibrated at the familiarity of the name, yet how unknown it was. I shook it from my head, and quickly resumed my original task of shutting the sizable window. A modest amount of the frosty wind brushed my sandy colored hair over my shoulders. The button on the reasonably sized kettle clicked, orange glow slowly fading.

A frown donned my face and tugged it from the ground. A small sigh dabbled from my damp lips when I pulled the burgundy wood cabinet doors to discover I was out of tea and instant coffee. The memory of the man opening up the tiny coffee spot flickered in my mind, and I replaced the blanket with a coat and snatched the baby blue key to my house off the cold marble counter top. 

Rushing into the heated shop from the cold, my nostrils filled with the smell of coffee and sugary pastries. Ordering a medium sized mocha, I took a step over towards a small table. A deep and rich British filtered through the cozy space as my drinked was announced. I huffed gratefully. Drawing my eyes upwards I found myself looking into similar brown eyes. He wore a black fitted t-shirt, tattoos placed down one arm. Light brown hair pulled upwards in a quiff-like spike. My eyes widened and lips parted softly.


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