I press my cheek to the pillow, feeling emotionally drained.
Me, Salt, the gloomy artist working in a tattoo parlor, always on edge, always alert on the street, scanning for shadows sliding along the walls, watching for eyes fixed on me, checking again and again every day through calls and messages to make sure Senu is okay. What is going on with him?
From the day I started to work, my life has been a constant fight for money, for keeping a safe roof over our heads, for making sure there is food on the table.
Oh, how much I would want to leave behind me this old Salt, constantly alone, falling asleep curled up on the bed,sometimes secretly rubbing one out, making sure Senu would not hear with his omega ears that catch everything…
Me, quietly imagining strong arms holding me, a touch that would lift me over the ugliness of the world, let me fly, let me escape the fucking struggle, the constant mess.
That version of Salt knew well that those pretty, shiny things were distant dreams, hazy visions that belonged to other people’s lives, not mine. But in the darkness of the lonely nights I dared to dream anyway.
Hours spent bent over clients’ skin, inking tattoos into the surface, frustrated, immersed in the scent of strangers’ bodies and their often not so perfect, artistic visions.
And inside me?
A constant lack, a restless chase after something vague on the horizon. Unreal, misty, a flicker of something beautiful and gentle, of a life that could maybe be good, safe and warm.
I remember those days when one of my coworkers would bring his husband and their little son to work. I’d hide out in the corner, leaning over my project, sneaking glances at them. Their happiness burned. It felt like a slap in the face, a reminder that I’d never have something like that.
Whenever their kid wandered too close to my workstation, I’d pretend I was busy. Only once, when his parents weren’t looking, I dared to lean down and gently touch his curly black hair. It felt like touching something impossible. Like brushing against a dream I could never have.
I hear Eliano coming from the shower and entering the room, dimming the lights even more. His body, strong, hard, lies behind me, his hand casually resting over my waist.
Too pleasant a feeling!
Too… cuddly.
The thought about the duty of revenge on Tanner strikes me like a sharp whip, jolting me, pulling me out of the pink haze.
Sorry, Eliano, but I have to leave the island and hunt him down. And then the police will shoot me or catch me, and I will never return to the island, into your arms, because they will never allow that again.
A repeat offense. I won't talk my way out of it.
Ruined. My fate will be sealed.
Eliano will stay behind, along with that small, colorful bubble of hope that forms whenever I am close to him.
That damn cursed bittersweet hope.
ELIANO
The funny thing, or maybe the tragic thing, is that the less anger and rage I sense in Salt, the more I feel his sadness, almost like a heavy depressive cloud hanging around him. The next morning at breakfast, Salt sits with his head bowed over his tray, looking almost numb, his eyes empty, his mind elsewhere.
I try to make some small talk with Evan, but I can feel the resistance immediately.
Both he and Roman answer only sporadically, in monosyllables. I wonder if something has been permanently broken, if they think they cannot be friends with me anymore, that I am some kind of animal who beats people like a beast, nearly killing them.
I look around at the others. They all avoid our gaze. We are like lepers, socially excluded.
By the very end of breakfast it gets even worse.
Evan suddenly clears his throat and says, "Listen, tomorrow there is a farewell breakfast for Jeff and Shane. They asked me to pass along a request that they would prefer if you and Salt did not attend."
I stare at him for a moment, not quite processing it yet. Even Salt lifts his head from his tray and looks at Evan, who bites his lip like he’s not sure how to act.
"Okay, no problem. I cannot say I don’t understand," I add with a bitter edge to my voice.
Salt says nothing. He lowers his head again.
