‘That’s why your jeans are slung so low.’ She nods as if she’s contemplating that. ‘How far down does it go?’
Her hand darts for the waistband of my jeans. I grab her wrist just in time. ‘Far enough.’
Holding her wrist lightly only reminds me of the places she’s not touching. I don’t think I could keep up a conversation if she touched me there. In fact, it’s probably better if I don’t even think about it.
‘Oh, right. So it’s okay for the tattooist to see it, but not me?’ She shakes me off, her eyebrows raised. ‘Harris, I saw you when you came out of surgery.’
I startle. ‘Not all of me.’
‘You had a drape.’ She shrugs.
I relax enough to snort. ‘Yeah, well that’s not all of me. This goes underneath my jocks, so I think we’ll just leave it at that, hey?’
‘Fine, then. Prude.’
‘Prude?’ My own eyebrows go up. ‘Really? I been called a lotta things, but that’s definitely a new one.’
She pouts, her lips making that pillowy shape…aaand I think it’s time I put my shirt back on.
‘Hang on, let me fix the bandage…’ Amie fusses with the tape as she re-fastens the white padding. ‘You’re kind of getting into the role, then, getting a tatt.’
‘Snowie paid for it,’ I admit. ‘But it wasn’t just for the job. It was for me.’ I ease my T-shirt carefully over my head, my back. ‘I haven’t really had that for a while.’
Amie’s expression changes as she comes around to face me. ‘You’re a good person, Harris. You know that, right?’ I snort, and she becomes insistent. ‘No, it’s true. Don’t blow it off.’
‘I’m no more good than anybody else,’ I say firmly. ‘I mean, look at you. You’re committed, too.’
‘I’m not living in it – you are. You’re doing a really full-on thing. You need to be so careful.’ She’s concentrating on her hands as she packs away the medical supplies. ‘I used to believe if you’re a good person, good things happen to you. But I was kind of proved wrong when Mum died. She was good, and then she died. Just remember,gooddoesn’t equalsafe. I’ve heard plenty of stories from Dad about shitty things happening to nice people.’
It makes me feel warm, that Amie thinks I’m a nice person. But I don’t want her to be disillusioned when she realises the truth. ‘Well, I get that. My mum was a good person, too, but Dad made her life really miserable. She left before it got too serious.’
‘Too dangerous, you mean?’
I examine my hands. ‘Yeah, I guess. And my sister was so little…’
Amie stops where she stands. ‘You have a sister?’
I didn’t mean to mention that. I move on quickly. ‘Anyway, I can understand why my mum left. How stressed she must’ve been.’
‘But…she left you behind.’ Amie looks genuinely shocked.
A sudden smarting pain smacks me in the chest, deep inside. ‘Yeah, but my dad didn’t really give her any say in the matter. He set terms.’
‘And…you were part of the terms,’ Amie says.
This isn’t as much of a revelation for me as it is for her, but it still makes the pain in my chest thrum. I clear my throat but my voice comes out husky. ‘Being a nice person has never been something I’ve learnt to see as an advantage.’
Amie’s eyes hold a challenge. ‘So why do you keep trying to be one?’
‘Who says I’m trying?’ I half-grin, squint at her. ‘What about you? Who are you being good for?’
She shrugs, like it’s not as important as we both know it is. ‘For Mum, I guess. And for my dad. But I don’t believe anymore that being good automatically immunises you from harm, or brings you luck.’
‘Well, you can’t play it safe all the time.’
‘I guess. I just…’ Amie seems to be avoiding looking at me. ‘I worry about you.’
‘That’s…’ Probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me? Can I say that? But I reckon I need to spell something out to her. ‘Amie, that means a lot. But you don’t have to carry all my shit.’
