Disclaimer: We don't own Twilight, but we do have a few tattoos...and there might even be a Twilight one in the mix somewhere.

Removed - Chapter 4

EPOV

A chipper nurse greets me upon my arrival today. After leading me into a room set up with an exam table and, what I'm guessing to be the laser, she tells me to undress from the waist up and make myself comfortable on the table.

See, that's what I like—specific instructions.

I quickly unbutton my shirt, hang it on the hook provided, and hop up onto the table.

When Dr. Swan walks in, I'm in the middle of listing the 44 U.S. presidents in alphabetical order, willing myself not to think about the recurring dreams I've been having that have starred none other than her, and a table very similar to the one I'm lying on right now.

I've tried everything I can think of this week to stop the dreams, but every night, they've become more . . . involved.

Harrison, Harrison, Hayes, Hoover . . .

"Good afternoon, Edward," she says, brushing past me.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Swan," I reply, managing to keep my voice neutral.

"Ready to get started?"

Oh, God. "Yep, ready as I'll ever be." Jackson, Jefferson, Johnson, Johnson . . . Fuck! I should have skipped those two.

"I'm going to go ahead and put some numbing cream on your skin. It should help you stay comfortable throughout the procedure," she begins, working methodically. "The laser treatment shouldn't take long. Good thing you didn't get her middle and last name."

I look up to see her brown eyes shining with mischief.

"Yeah, that would have really sucked. She's Italian . . . and the only granddaughter . . . on both sides."

"Oh, goodness," she says, laughing. And I can't take my eyes off her—particularly her mouth.

When she's finished applying the cream, she walks over to the counter behind me, which is out of view; I want to crane my neck back so I can see her. I've waited all week to see if she was as gorgeous as I remembered and my memory failed me. She's even more so, and the way her face lights up when she laughs—her eyes crinkling in the corners—is spectacular.

"Would you mind if I take a peek at the ink on your shoulder?" she asks, shaking me from my thoughts.

"Of course not." I love my ink. It's not something that I show off, but if someone asks, I'm more than happy to show them. Besides the name spread out across my chest, the other pieces I have are all significant, and carry deep meanings for me.

Her hand sweeps across the tattoo on my shoulder and makes the trail down my back, sending an electric shock through my body.

"This is great work."

"Thanks," I chuckle. "I didn't really think you'd be much of a fan, given your line of work and all," I say, gesturing to the laser beside me.

"Don't let the lab coat fool you," she says, turning back around toward the counter. "Lie down, and let's get started."

Her choice of words and bossy demeanor make my cock press against the zipper of my jeans. I try to adjust while she's not looking and go back to naming the presidents.

Kennedy, Lincoln, Madison, McKinley . . .

When she reappears above me, her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she has goggles covering her eyes. I'm not sure how, but she looks even more stunning. As she turns around, I notice a swirl of black gracing the back of her lovely neck.

I am so fucked!

I want to ask about the hint of ink, but it feels too personal. Maybe she'll bring it up, or maybe I'll grow some balls between now and my next visit.

"You'll feel a warm sensation on your skin, but this new fancy laser has an air conditioner," she says, laughing lightly. "So, it should cool the burn almost immediately."

She's right, I feel my skin heat up, but it's not unbearable. The clicking of the laser reminds me of the buzz of the tattoo gun, except I don't think I'll ever become addicted to this. I know it seems crazy since I'm laying here getting ink removed, but I actually have an appointment for some new ink next month.

"So, who is she?" Dr. Swan asks, nonchalantly.

"Oh, she's . . . well, was—" I say, struggling for the right description.

"You don't have to tell me. I was just making small talk," she says, her lips pulling up into a sly smile behind the laser. "But just know that I've heard it all . . . one-night stands, shotgun weddings, drunken mistakes . . ."

I decide my story isn't so bad after all. "Ex-fiancée."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, I committed the cardinal sin and got her name permanently etched onto my chest. I guess I jinxed us."

"Tattoo 101: Never get your lover's name," she says, shaking her head. "Always ends in Splitsville."

"Yep."

"I'm guessing it was a little more serious than that, though."

"You could say that. I guess we just wanted different things . . . or, at least, she didn't want me."

The clicking from the laser stops for a moment and it feels like her brown eyes are digging deep into my soul.

"My dad always said that every ending is a new beginning," she says, continuing the process to remove the reminder of my ending.

"It took me three years to realize that, but I'm finally there, which is why I'm here." I'm not sure why I'm telling her this, but it just sort of spills out. Maybe there's some sort of correlation between me laying here half naked on her table and bearing my soul.

The thought of being half-naked on the table leads me back to the completely inappropriate dreams. Shit!

Monroe, Nixon, Obama, Pierce . . .

A/N:

Polk, Reagan, Roosevelt, Roosevelt . . . :)

Don't forget, we'll be back tomorrow . . . same time, same channel!

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