“She had multiple opportunities.Yet here I am.”
I finish the sketch in silence, swap my gloves for a fresh pair, and grab the machine.
With a quick glance at his nude form, I confirm what I already assumed.This will be his first tattoo.
But I notice something else.
A scar.
Faint, old, but not forgotten by the flesh, it lives just below his rib cage.A thin line, no longer angry but stubborn in its permanence.The width of my thumb.Clean entry.No fraying at the edges.Someone knew how to hold a blade, and they sank it deep.
A kill shot.
Whoever did it meant for him to bleed out.
I’ve seen stab wounds.Too many.Dozens mar my reflection in the mirror.I know how they age, how they change over time.This one is ancient history.
Who put it there?An ex-lover?A job gone wrong?Dove?
I hope it was her.
The buzz of the machine is the only warning I give him before driving the needle into his knee.
It’s an excruciatingly sensitive spot, but his body doesn’t flinch.Eyes half-lidded, breathing steady, he takes the pain like it’s a cigarette break.
The only sign he feels anything is the way his fingers flex against the chair, slow and rhythmic, syncing with the pulse of the needle.
“You like hurting me,” he says after the initial shock of pain passes.
“You deserve worse.”
We lock eyes.
The buzz returns.
The ink sinks deeper.
Neither of us speaks for a long time, but I feel his gaze pressing against my skin, stroking, burning, never leaving.
“Watching your artist work?”I don’t look up.“Or are you undressing me with your eyes again?”
“I can multitask.”
“Yeah, well, keep your fantasies to yourself.You’re not my type.”
“Sure about that?”
“You’re not even your type.”I wipe away a bead of ink and angle the machine higher, tracing around the outline of the heart.“She told me you used to scare her.”
“I protected her.”
“By fucking her fiancé?”
He’s quiet a breath too long.Then… “Dove and I survived things together.Things you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
He shifts, the motion subtle.Not discomfort.Something else.“We were hunted.Homeless.Starving.On the run.I was sixteen.She was eight.I kept her alive.”
