II. —Solo—

II. —Solo—

“You’re getting something else over it?” Julia asked, her face was contorted in concern as her voice was laced with disbelief.

Angelina nodded as she sat in the backseat of the car criss-cross with her journal prompted on her lap. The girls had been talking about various things. More particularly, the next few days of Angelina's schedule. Cristofer put off filming due to the confusion and frustration derived from traveling from New York to Philadelphia - there was trouble transporting filming equipment. Angelina enjoyed the fluidity and breaks between filming.

Again, the topic turned into the “wild” stuff Angelina had been dabbling in. Though, she couldn't exactly lable it as ‘wild’ when all she did was get two new tattoos. Slip-shot ones at that. Initially, Angelina's tattoo was to be completed in the Netherlands. She had a nitch now to travel-she was itching to be anywhere but where she was. But just like the filming, it had been cancelled. Nothing to worry about-she hired an artist.

Julia looked over her glasses peering at the almost fading in colour, brunette. “You really had that guy tat you, in the back of his car? Needles and everything?”

“Mhmm,” Angelina answered as she flipped through her journal. Some pages felt damp to the touch; signaling she had just written on them...more or less scribbled too.

Julia was stunned when Angelina told her how her dragon tattoo was done. It was not so much that Angelina got it in such an insensitive place, but rather where, the tattooist had done it. In the back seat of his car! The women had traded sentiments of bubbling fun nitpicking jabs—in which Julia had grilled Angelina in a questioning manner if she had been high at the time.

“Well yeah... How else do you think I stayed calm?” Angelina laughed giving a callus shrug.

Her need, the burning intensity to just say 'fuck it!' and get the tattoos was evident that night. It hurt, and the close body heat between her and the artist was above her comfort zone. It didn't matter though; She felt like she was trapped, too confined, too small right now. Is this what would happen every time the end of filming approaches? Angelina had been wondering that for a couple of days now. She didn't forget that under her pillow, at home, laid Lisa Rowe. Scripts itself were like a hot portal into the next character, next personality she would be exposed to. Or rather, it was like a hot piston digging into her body. Is that why she was on the edge of running? Wanting to get pricked and drawn on?

Angelina twisted her lips in a puckering motion as she let these dragged and explosive thoughts filter in and out of her mind. Her eyes were on Julia but she couldn't hear or understand what she was saying—she knew she was saying something because her lips were moving. While she delved deeper into her thoughts, Angelina felt her conscience slipping. What was truly happening to her? Not in the moment, but inside of her. Why did she store the script under the pillow, like a dirty little Playboy magazine? Why was she still insistent on getting a tattoo?

With a few slow blinks she raised a hand to her head touching the messy bun of hair. Almost like a reassurance that she was still here, still alive, she tugged at the hair on her head and let out a low chuckle. Julia had turned fully in her seat facing the correct position; done speaking, Angelina guessed. It was almost like the ride was going on forever—she'd lost track of where they were going. Next to her were the roses that the tattoo artist had given her. They were wilting now; it seems like she was wilting as well. That thought alone caused a bit of a creepy smile to curl her naturally pouty lips—yeah, maybe she was wilting...changing, adapting. It could all be into something she'd look back on and be proud of. Maybe, maybe, that's why she wanted new tattoos, maybe that's why she found herself recording everything into her journal, maybe that's why Lisa Rowe frightened her so. Maybe. Maybe was always a bright side.