Page 39 of Breaking Vincent

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t look so surprised, I’m actually a very nice person. Please just sit down and give me a second to fix this and then I’ll explain everything.”

I weigh up the pros and cons for me actually sticking around for this conversation and ultimately decide I may as well hear what his reasons are for him acting like a prick.

True to his words, it only takes a minute for him to finish mopping the floor. He walks behind the reception desk and grabs a clipboard before passing it over to me. “Before we start, what are you wanting to get pierced.”

I clutch the board tightly in my hands, feeling more nervous than I was before I walked into the shop.

“I literally have no idea. This was kind of a spur of the moment thing. What do you think I should have?” This is his job, and I have to trust he won’t give me something stupid.

His eyes sparkle with mischief at my question, so much so that I nearly take it back and tell him I’ve changed my mind.

“Have you got any piercings at the moment?”

I shake my head. “Uh, no. I had my ear done when I was younger, but I haven't worn it in years, so it's probably healed by now.”

“Do you want it redone?”

I shrug my shoulders, “I don’t know. It's a bit boring, isn't it?”

“What about something more risqué?”

“I am not letting you shove a needle through my dick, if that’s what you’re suggesting?”

He laughs. A deep full laugh from the pit of his stomach. And I hate myself for enjoying the sound of it so much.

Now that he's not acting like a prissy arsehole, I can’t deny that the physical attraction I felt when I first saw him is still there. He seems relaxed and happy, a complete 180 from every other time we crossed paths.

“Nobody ever takes my suggestion for a dick piercing. Do you want something that can be hidden for work? Or are you not bothered about it?”

I think about the guys at work, and sure enough a couple of them do have a few facial piercings, so I know that's not an issue. “My job doesn’t have a no piercings rule. I don’t think I want anything on my face.”

“Ok, why don’t I give you a suggestion? How about you go home and think about it? There's no rush to get something done, for you to just end up hating it.”

My nervous stomach calms at the thought of not being stabbed. I feel like I’m pussying out. I don’t even know why I came in here in the first place.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Can we still have that talk though? Or do you just want to start over and promise to be civil if we bump into each other again?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. I'm unsure if he's surprised that I’m willing to let it all go without him explaining himself.

After a minute or so, he finally nods his head, before standing up from behind the desk and walking over to me. He holds his hand out and says, “I’m Vincent.”

I look at his outstretched hand and then to his face. Even up close he’s pretty. No blemished skin, he’s just clean and smooth. Although, I do notice he looks more tired than the other times I’ve seen him, his eyes seem kind of dull, not as bright as they once were.

Imagines of the MaskedBrat slam into my head. Long white hair. Blinding green eyes. The tattoos, the tongue piercings.

“This is the part where you shake my hand and tell me your name,” he stage-whispers. Pulling my brain back into the current moment.

Clearing my throat, I place my hand into his and say, “David. Nice to meet you.”

I let go of his hand and turn towards the door, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace, even though I want to run away and gather my thoughts.

By the time I get home, my head is more jumbled up than it was to start with. The plants I wanted to grab on the way back have all but been forgotten.

I grab my phone out of my pocket and log into my Voyeurism Fans account, only to remember that the brat no longer has a profile, leaving me no way to cross reference the photos and Vincent.

That couldn't be right. Surely if Vincent was the brat, he would have told me back at the tattoo parlour, wouldn't he?

Or maybe he wouldn't have. We agreed to start fresh. He could have planned to tell me he was the brat, before I suggested the truce.