A/N ...I know this is a Paul and Bella Story, But our Dear wolf will not be coming into the story until a few chapters in my lovlies so i encourage you all to be patient, it shall be worth it... I truly hope you Enjoy this! Reviews are always very much appreciated, and they help the muses kick my ass into gear!

'My body is my journal, and my tattoos are my story...'

(Bella's POV)

Those without tattoos don't understand how deeply the markings can affect your spirit. They can never comprehend the sheer eroticism of the swift pain followed by pride of having a new piece of jewelry to admire. You can never understand how addictive it is to hear the buzz of the needle, to relinquish all control over to it, nor the adrenaline high that comes with it. There's a release brought by the sharp needles of the gun embedding themselves continuously into your skin a culminating into a harmony between painful and euphoric. Well let's just say that you will never understand the near compulsive need for the pain, the control, and pure adrenaline release that comes with receiving a tattoo. I t was a heady mix that always left me wanting more.

Some people might think I'm crazy, which is okay. There are days when I would find myself agreeing with them—days when I see nothing past my own worthlessness. That's where my needles come in. Everyone is guilty of their own vices, some choose to use drugs, some choose to drink, and some choose to cut. For me though, there was never a choice. My tattoos and piercings define me when I can't speak. There was never any choice other than to use my body as a canvas for art that would depict my life, much better than any story teller ever could; a veritable opus. Words are a double edged sword because they have the ability to destroy as well as create and nourish. Words had failed me too many times to count…so, why speak?

It may seem impossible that inanimate ink could captivate and caress someone. The truth was that my tattoos sang to me, were wrapped around me tighter than a lover. The difference being, where lovers may come and go, my tattoos would always be with me—never straying—always twisting and turning to fit to me. I never had to change myself for them, I wore them with pride. Warriors bear their scars as a testament to what they've survived, what they've conquered. My ink showed that I didn't turn around and play dead in the face of my past. I had been used, I survived, and damn if I didn't live despite the breaks and bruises I carried inside.

That old dad in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" always said "Put some Windex on it." I say, Ink the hell out of it, and whatever cracks, whatever you can't fix…well it's called superglue for a reason. People tend to be too involved in their own maladies to help you deal with yours. I had found my perfect escape, one where no words needed, but I could find comfort in the knowledge that my art would speak for me.

I'd always had alabaster skin. It was a point of shame for me as a child; I had hated it with a passion. It wasn't until late that I came to appreciate it and be thankful for it. My paleness, which had been the main cause of my alienation and my lack of confidence, was now a point of pride. Everything looks stark on white and for the first time, I showcased something more than a sunburn.

My first tattoo is one that I'll never have the ability to forget…not that I would ever want to do such a thing. I received it in New York the summer before I went to Charlie. Renee had surprised me with the trip as both an "I'm proud you are an amazing student and haven't been knocked up yet," and "Happy eighteenth birthday, I can't believe you managed to survive so long," present, which was great because it worked for the both of us. I got a chance to step down from my mom role and be a teenager for a week, and Renee would have a week to get to know—shack up with—her new "love of my life." Don't get me wrong, I like Phil well enough but when your mother is dating a man who is only a few years older than you, the need to get out of the house becomes great. Renee was never exactly the shy mom who never wanted her daughter to be impure. No mine was the type that took me to get birth control when I was fourteen, and then had the sex talk…

In. Graphic. Detail.

Then the woman decided that wasn't enough and proceeded to scald my inner eye with images of various male sex organs. Why one woman ever needs 12 different types of vibrators I will never understand. I cried, she laughed. Then she showed me porn. It wasn't exactly the entry to womanhood one would expect. It would have been better to smack me with a tampon that, at the very least, would have been more subtle.

I guess I shouldn't be too shocked. She was an artist. The only constant in Renee's life was her art work, the only passion that mattered. I had inherited her talent for art. The only thing I took from her. We had different styles but it worked out for us. She was a very successful impressionist painter, and her work had been featured in many prestigious galleries. It was safe to say that we were well off. For the first time in my life, I was happy that my birthday was in June.

Flashback

It had been a week since Renee had told me of my trip to New York. I found myself staying at a Holiday Inn faced with a million opportunities, and all I wanted was to explore. So, I walked unworried about trivial things like getting lost. It was hard to accomplish that when you're gifted with a photographic memory. I absolutely loved the freedom I had here. I could just disappear within a crowd and gain anonymity. Lost in a crowd of eclectic people I wasn't too pale, skinny, or smart…I wasn't anything and it was refreshing. Here, I was just Bella.

I walked the streets of Manhattan for hours finding myself in an area called Saint Marks. Looking around I saw a storefront named Billiards Bar on the corner of the street. I could hear the sounds of people laughing and the steady thrum of music wafting out. The overall air around me was happy as people unwound from long day's work. I smiled to myself, feeling right at home in this area. I kept walking for a few blocks and saw a shop that stopped me short. A black on white sign with the words "Beyond Inked" caught my eye. Without another thought, I walked in as though some invisible entity was pushing and cajoling me to do its bidding. I could barely hear the light bells ringing or identify the soft music that was playing, as I stepped over the threshold.

I was dazed at the various sights that warred with one another, seeming to simultaneously be calling for my attention. There was no perceivable focal point in this shop. Long glass cases that acted as both counters and receptacles for all the dazzling jewelry glittering proudly behind it, stood polished along one wall. There were gauges, belly rings, nose rings and tongue rings galore.

Jeesh, there was just so much going on! A decorative Shoji screen stood proudly towards the back. Over the low buzz of a tattoo gun I heard the occasional ouch! uttered by a feminine voice, followed by low soothing murmurs saying, "I'm almost done, don't worry it'll only be a couple more minutes," from an unidentified male. I assumed he was the only one here manning the shop.

I decided to wait until he was finished. This place intrigued me, and I continued to study the rest of the shop. From what I could see around the changing screen, there were two empty stations. On the wall above the two were roughly six portraits in different styles and colors, and half-finished stencils tacked upon the board that hung. Huge glass wall-to-wall cabinets stood proud and inside of them were close to a hundred different pipes, bowls, and bongs. It delighted me to see all the different designs. All those colors had me feeling like a parrot thinking Oh Shiny! I gasped to myself when my eyes landed on one bong that was so intricately blown, so delicately colored that you couldn't look upon it and see its nefarious purposes. No, this was pure mastery—magnificent, even. The glass intertwined and twisted in so many curves and loops the overall shape was reminiscent of ancient Arabian hookahs. Nozzles jutted from the sides just begging to be worshiped by those who understood its value.

My entrancement tuned—near eye rape of the hypnotizing object—was interrupted by a masculine chuckle from behind me. Shocked at being caught and more than a little embarrassed at how unaware of my surroundings I was, I turned around quickly. Of course, being me I had to go and trip, nearly face planting into the stranger who disrupted my musings. Luckily, I felt two large hands grab my waist, stopping the catastrophe that surely would have occurred. My face, which I'm sure at this point was the color of a plum, stopped mere inches away from his chest. I quickly righted myself and started to apologize, but the "I'm sorry" I was about to say died in my throat as his face came into my line of sight. What little brain function I was left with managed to turn an apology into a squeak.

'Damn,' my inner Hornyella said, and honestly, it was damned indeed. I am not ashamed to say that I drooled a little—okay drooled a lot figuratively— at the sexy man in front of me.

The guy was a prime example of the male specimen. Standing at a little over six foot three with relatively broad shoulders, narrow hips, and with the muscles that I had felt as he caught me he was definitely not lacking in the looks department. However, what really caught my attention and surely the attention of any female with functioning lady parts would have to be his eyes. It seemed at odds with such a large man, but those cobalt blue eyes, framed by thick black lashes that matched a full head of silky hair which begged to be touched, were beautiful. His eyes were flecked with silver that did nothing to detract from their sexiness; those eyes were now looking at me, amused that I had yet to say anything.

His facial features coupled with the Golden hue of his skin screamed Native American to me, despite the rest of him. His overall visage however wasn't, it was a heady mix between Native and outsider, and it was beautifully cohesive. Tattoos ran up both of his bulging arms, and I could see either the beginnings or the ending of another tattoo along his neck, coming up from his chest. I really wanted to lick it. Snake bites graced his bottom lip that had me contemplating whether or not it would be worth the possible assault charges if I bit them lightly.

'Go for it" Bitchella felt the need to tell the rest of me.

'Bad Bella! Stop thinking about licking and biting a guy you don't know.' Rational Bella sternly replied.

'But he's yummy. Just one lick, what's the harm? Pretty, pretty please…' Hoella started begging.

At this point I'm sure the man thought I was a moron. I wouldn't blame him, darting my eyes around the shop looking for that female voice I had heard earlier, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"H-Hi" I managed to stutter while averting my eyes from his, clearing my throat I continued in a stronger tone "What I meant to say was, I'm sorry for tripping on you, kinda happens a lot." Laughing lightly, I finished while shyly rubbing the back of my head.

"Don't worry about it, Poppet. Happens all the time, ladies can't seem to stop falling at my feet." He said in a sultry voice with a grin, head tilted to the side studying me. A lock of ebony hair had fallen over his left eye, and I watched in a trance as he absentmindedly pushed it back, running his fingers through his hair. I might have whimpered out loud…I couldn't vouch for myself at this point.

'Fuck Me' Inner Skankella whimpered, he had a British accent, I'm sorry lady parts, but you can just die now.

'But what a way to go, Bella, what a way to go.' Hornyella sighed.

'Great, the first time you bitches agree on something and it had to be a man who rendered me incapable of speech. Sluts the lot of you!' Rational me threw out, stonily.

I once again tried to find my voice as my inner skanks squabbled in my head about this man's sexiness. "Ah yeah, well, I'm Bella." I exclaimed while thrusting my hand forward to meet his.

"Darien," was all he said, holding my gaze for a long moment before reaching out and accepting my hand to shake.

"So what can I help you with today Bella?" He finally said.

"Um, honestly I have no idea. I'm not from here and was walking around and suddenly found myself inside your shop…well, you know the rest. I can leave if it's a bother…" I trailed off unsure of what it was I wanted.

"No, No, you needn't leave on my account. I was simply wondering what a good girl like you was doing inside a shop such as this," he replied smoothly as he casually leaned his lithe form on the glass counter behind him. With one deliciously pierced eyebrow raised at me as though he was genuinely wondering what it was that had me thinking to come inside here.

His look stopped me short. I had to ask myself though, really what it was about this place that had me so sure I needed to come inside. I didn't usually get feelings like I had outside—that imperative—to cross this threshold that was so far out of my comfort zone. I didn't understand it, but for now I wasn't going to question it either.

What really ruffled my feathers was his blatant assumption that I didn't belong here.

Before I knew what I was doing I found myself staring right at him, tilting my chin upwards defiantly as I asked him dryly, "Why would you think I'm a good girl, huh? You don't know me, so what exactly are you basing that on, Darien?"

When I was done I realized I had crossed beneath my breasts, which had caused them to be on display from the neckline of my black tank top. For a split second I saw his eyes flick down—blue eyes raking my body like a sweet morsel—before slowly looking back up and meeting my own before he smirked. Just like that my face, that had finally begun to go back to its natural pallor, was right back to looking like an album cover shade for the next Maroon 5 album.

At this point, Darien was outright laughing at me.

"That's why."

Bitchella took over as my rationality fled the scene. I wasn't accountable for my actions when she was around and this poor man wouldn't know what hit him. Honest. I couldn't even try to stop the crazy hussy. In a move that was almost to fluid for me to have accomplished while in my right capacity. I closed the meager distance between us and slowly ran my hand delicately along his stomach, feeling his muscles spasm involuntarily beneath my touch.

Perching the other hand on his broad shoulder, I felt his hands slide up and grasp my hips, his thumbs rubbing the skin that had peeked out between my jeans and tank. I pushed away the shiver that wanted to take over, wanting to prove to this man that I wasn't to be so easily put in a box and labeled without thought. The hand on his shoulder used the leverage to go on my tiptoes, as I ran my nose along his jawline and laid a light kiss to his Adams apple, moving over to the tattoo I had admired mere minutes before. I felt his hands tighten on my hips as he pulled me flush against him, burying his face into my hair and inhaling deeply. I contemplated my next move before deciding to just give into my earlier urge and licked his neck, biting down lightly and savoring his taste on my tongue for a moment. I heard his breath come out in a short gasp, feeling my victory.

Finish him! Skankella hissed in a voice sounding very much like the one from Mortal combat.

I couldn't help but comply, as I put my lips near his ear and all but purred "Now, honestly whatever made you think I was a good girl huh, Darien?"

Then I moved my body away from his and quickly stepped back to my original position across from him, studying my nails and ignoring his panting breaths.

I looked up in time to see that his mouth was opened slightly and that his eyes were half hooded before he shook himself in an attempt, I'm guessing, to rid himself of the cobwebs in his mind. He quickly gathered his wits about him, closed that damned mouth of his and looked at me with new eyes, appraising me. I could see a twinkle come back into his eyes though now it was coupled with grudging respect.

"Well, Bella, it seems that I owe you an apology, Poppet." He said, smirking. "You aren't quite as innocent as those wide hazel eyes seem to belie."

I huffed for a second before giving him a wicked grin and happily exclaimed, "You're forgiven sexy, now about that offer to help me figure out what it is I need from you."

"Whenever did I offer that Ducky?" he asked me with a grin playing at his lips.

"When you decided to misjudge my adorableness for innocence, lover boy." I cheekily replied.

"Well, damn, lass I think I like ya! Come on back with me and we'll throw around some ideas." With that, he turned and walked behind the screen I had been admiring earlier. Again, I will not be ashamed to admit that as he walked further away from me, my eyes decided to glue themselves to his ass.

It is such a nice ass, I sighed and followed, suddenly excited at the prospect of having his hands on me, regardless of the reason.

Seeing that Darien was already seated at his station, and was waving his wrist lightly at the now empty tattooing bed; I hopped on it and started swinging my legs lightly. It was downright odd that I was so comfortable around this man—who I had only just met and basically molested—but I wasn't about to question my luck. It felt like this was an important crossroad for me. I knew I could walk out; no one would have lost anything but a few minutes. Yet something within me urged me forward and I looked at Darien, who at this point was sitting with his back leaning on the wall, his eyes indiscernible.

A few minutes ticked by as we sat observing each other, nothing passing between us, yet each tick of the clock seemed to signal a deeper connection between this beautiful man and myself. The longer we stared at one another the surer I became that I should be here—needed to know this man—that I could trust him.

I broke the silence after what seemed an eternity and asked "What's on your mind, Darien?"

He continued staring for another long minute, and at this point Bitchella had gone back to her corner sleeping contently at her earlier victory, the other psychos in my mind following suit, leaving me to my own devices. I ducked my head down, breaking the eye contact, and hiding behind my hair to stare at my Converse clad feet, that wouldn't stop their unholy swinging. It was a nervous habit I seem to have picked up only recently.

So focused on hiding from the crazy feelings that were coming over me, I was startled when Darien uttered my name.

"Bella I-" he stopped, looking like he was struggling to find the right words. "I don't understand what's going on here, Poppet, but this," he said while raising one hand to gesture at the distance between us, "feels like there's more to it than a serendipitous walk-in client. I can't explain it and I don't necessarily think I need to, but I just wanted to let you know, I feel it too." He nodded at me in a decidedly resolute manner when done.

Mouth open, all I could do was stare blankly at him—a little shell shocked that he had just explained what I had been feeling—eventually managing to shake my head up and down dumbly at him.

With a satisfied sigh that seemed at odds with such a man, Darien once more shook his head and grinned. "So are you interested in a tramp stamp, love?" and just like that the spell was broken and everything was light once more.

I gave him a playful glare and said, with a voice as sweet as sugar cane, "Only if you're willing to have your genitals meet with the needles of a tattoo gun, Doll face." The utter air of betrayal and mock anger on his face had me busting out in laughter at how affronted he looked. After a moment or two of my senseless cackling I heard Darien join in with me.

"Okay, okay I get it, I deserved that one Poppet, but don't think you're coming anywhere near 'Il Commodore'with your harpy like ideas wench!" With that he cupped himself almost lovingly as his body shrunk in on itself to protect his precious manhood before actually speaking to his junk. "Shh, precious, I won't let the crazy lady get to you. You're safe."

It was quite the scene, one that had me in tears as a new batch of laughter wracked my slender frame. Once I finally managed to control myself I gasped out a question that was driving me insane.

"D-did you actually just talk to your dick, Dare? What the hell made you call it 'Il Commodore?' Seriously…just why?"

Finally removing his hands away from his junk he replied proudly, "Because doll, once you ride me, you'll be filled with riches and enjoying some smooth sailing. Plus, I think you caused him irreversible emotional scarring with your psychotic ideas of harming him." All this was said with a straight face. My brain at this point surely resembled a heart rate that had just flat lined.

It was a good half a minute before I managed to snort lightly at the reasoning behind it, shaking my head.

"Dork!" Enough said.

"Shut up, Casper, don't hate." That response earned him a decidedly heated glare from yours truly.

"Point taken, Commodore." I said sarcasm dripping sweetly from my tone. I pranced happily over to his prone figure at the station and patted his cheek. "Now let's get crackin, I wanna get this started."

With those words Darien grabbed a fine tipped pencil and a sketchbook filled with paper so thin it seemed to be on the verge of destruction if you merely looked at it. Fixing those damn eyes of his on me again. "Tell me about you, B." he commanded me. So I did. It seemed I had no filter as I told him snippets about everything. The man was now a Bella thesaurus by the time I was finished. I told him about the Black's, my father, Renee, I told him of my responsibilities, and the pressures. My verbal vomit seemed to have undergone a no-holds-barred stance.

While I spoke, he just sat silently sketching; once in a while he would fix his stare on me as though trying to discern something.

I couldn't really understand what the point of this exercise was, but he seemed to know what he was doing so I went with it without much griping. When I was done, I sat quietly contemplating what had just happened. I'd be lying if I said that this experience took nothing out of me, but after telling him so much about myself I felt as though I were marginally lighter despite my emotional fatigue. I was lost in thought as I listened to the music that finally made its way into my consciousness.

The first notes of Apocaliptica's 'I Don't Care' began and I gave myself over to it. I hadn't realized I had started singing until the song was over and I looked towards my still mute partner-in-crime, only to see him staring at me in surprise.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing I just didn't know you could sing. It was…lovely." he said softly, not wanting to break the mood.

"Just because I cackle when I laugh doesn't make me tone deaf, but it's not all that." was my witty reply.

"You have a problem with compliments, don't you?" his eyes hard, staring me down almost challenging, daring

me to oppose his observation. I didn't, I couldn't really refute his claim, and so there wasn't a point in trying.

"Just let it go Darien, please." I said, begging him. I started rubbing my eyes, suddenly tired. This had become too deep, too fast.

"I-I'm sorry Bella, you're right. I'm taking liberties I have no right to yet, but I couldn't help it. It just feels absurd that we've only just met, you're almost like a long lost friend, that I've finally found once again. I can't help but feel a bit protective of you, even when it's to protect you from yourself. It's ridiculous…you're still in high school, only just legal and I'm 23, but I can't deny that this whole situation is bloody surreal. Forgive me for overstepping my bounds."

His eyes bore into mine, beseeching me to believe him, to forgive him. I was helpless against the slew of emotions that were currently inundating me, so I didn't bother questioning them. I didn't worry. For once, I stopped thinking, stopped worrying, and I just let myself be. I let myself act my age, in spite of or maybe because of my rationality.

I mustered up my strength and forced myself to look at him and said "I do, you have nothing to worry about. I know what you're saying, Dare, and I agree, but I just need it to be a little less intense…at least for now. I'm only here for another six days. We should both get to know one another, and we should make the most of it yeah?" I looked at him, waiting for a reply, hoping he would agree, and he didn't disappoint.

"Definitely, how about we order some food or maybe lock up the store and go somewhere? I need to get out for a while." He offered, I took a moment to think about it before I told him to lead the way.

Getting up from his perch, he grabbed his wallet and phone tucking each into separate pockets, then offered me the crook of his arm in a gentlemanly fashion. Slipping my hand onto the proffered appendage, we walked out into the busy night street after making sure everything was locked and taken care of, and away from the shop. All thoughts of the sketches were momentarily forgotten as we walked lost in our thoughts.