Page 71 of Dirty Ink

“Aurnia,” Conor said patiently.

She turned her head to him, origami flowers swaying with her sleek black hair.

“What?” she asked him, eyes wide, confused.

Conor eyed Mason and lowered his voice to say, “Remember, it’s…complicated.”

Aurnia laughed. A sweet laugh. A laugh that didn’t know it was all fucking downhill from here.

“What love isn’t?” she declared boldly, the way only someone in love truly could.

I cleared my throat and Mason choked on the wine he had been guzzling like it was the last gallon of gasoline. Like without it he’d have no way to fucking escape.

“We’re getting a divorce,” I said, my own nails digging into my palms beneath the tablecloth.

Mason and I sat in chairs just about as far from one another as was possible without our knees being exposed on the sides. We might have even separated that far, but the restaurant was busy and we’d likely end up with a chest full of spaghetti if we tried. Hey, that might not be a bad excuse to bail out of this shi—

“You say that,” Aurnia said, wagging a finger between Mason and me. “But are the papers signed? Are they turned in? Do you have some sort of official stamp or whatever shite you get?”

I sighed and muttered, “They’ll be signed in a couple weeks. We’re just waiting on…some clerical details.”

I glanced over at Mason but found his face lowered, busy spinning his steak knife on the edge of the table.

“Right?” I pressed.

He looked up with a strange look on his face.

“No, yeah, right, right.” Mason sat up so straight he looked pained as he contorted his lips into a smile and said, “Look, Aurnia. This is really sweet. This like double date shite. And we’re obviously so happy that you and Conor found each other. And haven’t left one another. But Rachel left me and she wants a divorce and that’s that.”

I was about to call fucking bullshit on whatever the fuck that was, but Aurnia swept in with an impassioned plea for giving it “another try”. So I resorted to kicking Mason under the table. I didn’t spare him any kindness either. He got the pointed toe of my heel. And he got it hard.

Wine sloshed out of Mason’s glass onto the white tablecloth as he gritted his teeth to keep from shouting. Maybe gritted his teeth to keep from whipping around angrily and giving me a piece of his mind, too. Who knew. Either way, Aurnia looked at him with concern.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

Conor’s response was to lift his empty whiskey glass to the passing waiter and tap it with his forefinger.

“No,” Mason replied after collecting himself. “No, Aurnia, everything is not alright. You’ll understand one day. You’ll understand the pain another can inflict on you. You’ll understand just how terribly someone can hurt you.”

I gasped in shock when, unknown to anyone but me, Mason ground the heel of his boot over my toes. He pushed harder as I struggled to maintain my own composure, smile easy and casual as Aurnia argued back.

“But we hurt the ones we love, you know?” she said, bringing the back of Conor’s hand to her lips. “Because all we really want is someone to trust, someone who won’t run at the first sign of trouble, someone who can handle our pain. It’s like we’re testing the ones we love, the ones we think we can love.”

I slipped my butter knife under the tablecloth and jabbed the butt at Mason’s intruding thigh.

“Well, some fail that test,” I said to Aurnia, but really to Mason. “Some really fucking fuck it up.”

“But—” Aurnia’s phone went off. She held up a polite finger, cheeks reddening as she said, “Sorry, sorry, I have to take this real quick.”

Mason and I both smiled like the goddamn queen of England and nodded like obedient dogs and said, “Sure, sure, of course. Take it. Take it.”

But the second she was gone we were scooting our chairs in toward one another’s, fingers getting pinched as we got as close as our chairs would allow. And then we got closer.

“Don’t lie to Aurnia about what happened,” I hissed, face right up to Mason’s.

His was twisted with as much frustration as I was sure mine was. He whispered harshly back, “The truth hurts, baby.”

I glared at him. “No, your fucking boot hurts.”

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