Thirty Days
I know it will be years before they fade properly, but for now, I would like something to distract the eye when I am in short tops.
Gently James runs his thumb over the scar on my right wrist, and when I look up into his eyes, instead of the pity I am expecting, all I can see is compassion. “I think these will be too fresh to go over, but you could talk to a good artist that could work around the scar, sort of incorporate it into the design so that it will end up fading into the background.”
“Thanks, that sounds like a good idea,” I say. “Whereabouts did you get yours done? I love the tribal feel to it.” James tells me about a local guy who he went to school with; Fred mastered in fine art b
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