The Tattooed Flower

12. Eat Some Real Food

Tuesday

Caleb-

I like rain. Rain means flowers, rain is water. I like standing in the middle of pouring rain for no real reason other than to soak myself completely. I like rain. Unfortunately, here in Vegas... Not a lot of rain. BUT! There are a lot of showers, which is where I am now. It's almost dinner time and Quinn and I are going to eat downstairs at one of the hotel fancy-shmancy "amenities". Which does entail the following: dressing nice, smelling nice, being nice, and above all strategically placing myself in a public setting for as much of the time as possible so that I will not lose the bet.

I step out and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I need to hit the gym. I'm not getting soft or anything, I just need to work off my emotions. I can see it in the bags under my eyes and the sag at the corners of my lips. And even my scorching showers aren't relieving the tension in my muscles. I scrub the a thick white towel through my hair until it falls, damp, around my head.

I slip into a pair of black dress pants a button myself into a black dress shirt just two buttons shy of my neck and roll the sleeves up to my elbows. I walk out the door and find Quinn struggling with the zipper on the bright red cocktail dress I'd picked for her just four days ago. Four days. Thats means I've only known her for about a week. Can you fall in love with someone in a week? Is that enough?

I walk up behind her and gently back her hands away from the zipper, her fingertips grazing my palms as I hear a small gasp escape her mouth at my touch.

"It's okay." I murmur. She's been distant this morning, her eyes staring off into nothing. She seems so far away and I just want to pull her back to earth.

I reach for the zipper at the base of her spine and pull it up slowly. She turns to face me and gives me a small twitch of the lips smile.

"Thanks." She says. I smirk back at her and give her a quick once-over. The dress in strapless with a sort of heart shaped at her chest. It hugs her torso and fans out around her hips extending just shy of her knees. She has her hair pulled up into a tight bun that reminds me of a ballerina, hiding the blue tips.

Her makeup accentuates her features in all the right ways, a simple dash of color in her cheeks, some mascara, and her full lips painted in a bright red to match her dress. Makeup has never really affected my choice in women. Its always seemed like a form of art to those who take the time to do it and it's always bothered me when people say "makeup is like lying" or "they're just uncomfortable with their own body". Number one, you should be smart enough to figure out that eyelids aren't naturally gold and eyelashes aren't that thick and number 2, maybe they are uncomfortable. But if they're uncomfortable don't they owe it to themselves to try and fix it? And besides, how are tattoos, piercings, shaving, waxing, washing... How is any of that different?

Quinn looks down at her feet and mumbles something I don't really catch before she starts walking to the bathroom. I grab her arm gently and she turns to look at me again. She's not about to cry, but she still looks so sad. "You're beautiful." I say simply. She smiles lightly and continues to the bathroom. I follow her and lean against the door frame as she sets brown contacts against her irises, transforming them again. "Ready?"

"Yeah." I take her hand and I can feel the strain in her body.

"Are you okay?" I ask her.

She nods and pulls me towards the door. We walk down to the hall to an elevator. An old man passes by us and smiles, tipping the edge of his fedora to us. I smile and squeeze her hand. She looks up at me and smiles, this time it looks real instead of the one she's been using on me all day.