We kick off our boots and hang our jackets by the door.I toss my sketchbook on the table, and we eat without talking, hunched over our plates, scrolling on our phones like strangers.
“Who’s texting you?”Finished eating, I collect our empty plates.
She hesitates, then says, “Jag.”
My jaw tightens.
I don’t ask for details.She’ll just ignore me.But my anger rises fast, pressing under my skin.
“Want a drink?”I ask instead.
“Sure.”
I pour two vodkas, one of Kody’s latest infusions.Birch and spruce tip.Smoky.Earthy.Tastes like Alaska in a glass.I hand her a tumbler and lean against the counter, sipping from mine.
We stand in silence.The kitchen light hums overhead.Our shadows stretch across the floor, reaching for each other, trying to bridge the gap we don’t know how to cross.
“You drew today?”She turns her attention to my sketchbook.
“Yeah.”
“Anything good?”
I flip it open, the pages curling from being handled too much, and show her the latest ones.
Dark Disney princesses.Horror-style.Steampunk Belle with mechanical limbs and cracked porcelain skin.A reimagined Sleeping Beauty tangled in IV lines, trapped in an endless lucid dream.Snow White with broken mirror shards embedded in her skin, each one reflecting a different distorted version of her face.
Most of them look like Dove in some twisted way.The graceful shape of her features.The curve of her mouth.Her eyes, always angry or defiant.
“Wow.”She stares at the illustrations for a long time, flipping back and forth between them.“You’re insanely talented.”
“Thanks.It’s my take on the classic fairy tale heroines.They’re all tough in an unconventional and misunderstood way.They appear self-destructive, but some dark shit has happened to them, and they take matters into their own hands.”
Like someone else I know.
Her gaze flicks to mine.
She doesn’t move closer.Doesn’t touch me.But she gifts me with her eyes.Steady, bright, curious eyes.It’s the most intimate thing she’s given me.
“Do you have tattoos?”Her gaze skips down my body and quickly returns to my face.
“You wanna check?”
She gives me a bland look.
The truth is I have too many scars.Deep, ugly scars that aren’t healed enough to cover with ink.I’m not sure they will ever heal.
“No tattoos.”I shrug.“You?”
“None.”She tips the glass back, swallows what’s left, and sets it down with a soft clink.“I always wanted ink.Know anyone good who works with difficult canvases?”
“Depends.”I lean in, making her blink.“I’d love to mark you.But not if you’re going to disappear the second it means something.”
Her breath catches, and she briefly closes her eyes.“I’m sorry I shut you out today.”
“I forgive you.”
“Don’t forgive me so fast.”
