Red Flags and Black Ink

Lianna wasn’t the type of girl who took advice—especially not from her parents. 

At 17, she moved through life like a wildfire: unapologetically bright, a little reckless, and entirely sure she knew best. Her parents said she had a “problem with authority.” She said authority had a problem with her independence. 

They wanted her focused on college tours and AP classes. Lianna was more interested in chasing sunsets, painting her nails black, and swiping through dating apps when she was supposed to be studying. 

That’s where she met Theo. 

He was 24. Tattooed. Brooding. A full-time artist at a tiny but popular tattoo shop in downtown Seattle, right near the University District. 

His bio read: “Ink is cheaper than therapy.” 
His messages were smooth, confident—funny in a way that made her feel older. 

And it didn’t take long before Theo made her feel like she was older. Like she was more than a high school girl with big feelings and a sharp mouth. He called her passionate. Raw. Alive. 

No boy had ever said that before. 

The first time they met in person, he took her to a rooftop coffee shop, showed her his sketchbook, and asked her to tell him something she’d never told anyone. 

“I hate the sound of my mother’s voice when she’s disappointed in me,” she blurted, half laughing. 

Theo just smiled and said, “Same.” 

She was hooked. 

When she told her parents about him, they froze. 

“He’s 24, Lianna,” her mom said sharply. “You’re still in high school. You don’t even vote yet.” 

“Exactly,” her dad added. “He should know better.” 

Lianna rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “You don’t know him. He listens. He gets me.” 

“You’ve known him for five weeks.” 

“That’s four weeks longer than I’ve felt understood in this house.” 

The shouting started then. The slammed doors. Her mom cried. Her dad tried lectures. None of it mattered. 

Three weeks later, she packed a duffel bag and moved into Theo’s apartment above the tattoo parlor. Just like that. 

Living with Theo was electric—at first. 

He let her stay up past 3 a.m., drinking boxed wine and sketching vines around her wrists with Sharpies. They listened to moody playlists and ordered greasy takeout, lying on a mismatched mattress and talking about what the world owed them. 

He tattooed a tiny crescent moon behind her ear. Said it reminded him of the way she looked when she slept—half hidden, entirely beautiful. 

Lianna thought she’d found the kind of love you write about. The kind that makes you brave enough to give up everything else. 

But two months in, things began to shift. 

Theo started leaving earlier for the shop. Coming home later. His phone lit up more frequently. Once, she saw the name “Cassie” flash across his screen. 

When she asked, he said, “She’s a client. Chill.” 

Another night, she found a silver earring on the bathroom sink. It wasn’t hers. When she asked again, he sighed. 

“It must’ve been Riley’s. She borrowed my charger last week.” 

“She comes into our apartment?” 

“It’s a tattoo shop, Lianna. It’s connected to the stairs. People pass through. Don’t start acting crazy.” 

She bit her tongue. That night, Theo barely kissed her goodnight. 

By month three, the warmth between them was cold ash. He stopped laughing at her jokes. Stopped calling her baby. Sometimes, he didn’t even answer her texts until hours later. 

One afternoon, she came to the shop to surprise him. She brought his favorite donuts. Inside, she found him sketching on a girl’s thigh—long-legged, pierced, older. 

They both looked up. The girl smirked. Theo didn’t even flinch. 

“Li, I’m working.” 

“Clearly,” she said, voice flat. 

He pulled her aside after. “What are you doing? Showing up like this?” 

“I brought donuts.” 

“I don’t want donuts. I want space.” 

That night, he didn’t come home. 

The confrontation happened two days later. 

She sat on the torn-up couch, arms crossed, shaking. “Are you cheating on me?” 

Theo looked exhausted. “What do you want me to say?” 

“I want the truth.” 

He laughed, dry and bitter. “You want the truth? Fine. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I thought dating you would feel different—exciting. But it’s like babysitting with extra drama.” 

Her heart dropped. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re seventeen, Lianna. You still live in your feelings. Every little thing is a meltdown.” 

“You’re 24 and can’t even tell me how you feel unless you’re trying to hurt me.” 

“I’m tired,” he said, rubbing his face. “I’m just… tired of playing house with someone who needs constant saving.” 

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t need saving. I needed someone who didn’t treat me like an impulsive mistake.” 

He didn’t stop her when she grabbed her bag and slammed the door. 

The walk back to her parents’ house was quiet. She didn’t cry. Not until she was at the front door. 

Her mom opened it. Just stood there, eyes wide, as Lianna exhaled all the anger, heartbreak, and shame she’d been holding in. 

They didn’t say “I told you so.” They just brought her tea, wrapped her in a blanket, and let her sleep in her old room. 

Everything was still there—posters on the wall, books on the shelf, the throw pillow that said “YOU GOT THIS” in peeling glitter letters. 

Only now, she wasn’t sure if she ever had. 

A week passed. 

Theo didn’t text. She didn’t call. Instead, she sat in her childhood bedroom scrolling through old photos—him in his paint-stained jeans, her in one of his hoodies, laughing into the camera. 

Love had felt real. Until it wasn’t. 

One Saturday, she ran into an old friend from school. 

“You moved in with that tattoo guy, right? The one who’s dating Cassie now?” the friend asked casually. 

Lianna blinked. “He’s what?” 

“Yeah, they posted a reel together. Looked official.” 

Her chest tightened—but there were no more tears. Just a strange, hollow laugh. 

That night, she sat on the porch steps with her dad. 

“I thought love meant defying everyone,” she said. 

Her dad handed her a mug of hot chocolate. “Love shouldn’t make you lose yourself, Li.” 

“I wanted to prove everyone wrong.” 

“You did,” he said gently. “And now, you get to prove yourself right.” 

She sipped in silence. 

“I don’t hate him,” she finally said. “But I don’t miss him either.” 

“Then maybe you’re healing,” her dad replied. 

Two months later, she enrolled in community college. Started sketching again—on paper this time. Realized maybe she didn’t need someone older to feel older. 

Maybe growing up wasn’t about rebellion or romance. Maybe it was about knowing when to walk away, and when to come home. 

And for the first time in a long time, she was proud of herself for doing both. 

Comment Question: 

Have you ever made a decision your parents warned you about… and realized later they were right? 
When does love feel like freedom — and when is it just another mistake in disguise? 

Let’s talk about choices, heartbreak, and growing up the hard way.