Page 11 of The Tattoo Artist

He raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “And what motives would those be?”

I hesitate, unsure of how to respond. There’s something about Ares that both intrigues and unsettles me, a magnetic pull that draws me in even as it fills me with apprehension.

But before I can formulate a reply, Ares takes a step closer, his presence looming over me. “You’re an interesting one, aren’t you?” He muses, his eyes searching mine for any hint of vulnerability. The intensity in his eyes softened, revealing a depth I hadn’t anticipated.

Or maybe I was simply reading too much into it, allowing my mind to wander into the realm of romantic comedies. Perhaps it was my tendency to overanalyse.

“I could say the same about you,” I shoot back, my voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach.

“And how am I interesting to you?”

“Because you’re weird, I’m not used to people speaking to me, especially boys like you.” Ares exuded an air of mystery, dressed in a fitted black shirt, and black trousers. It was evident that black was his colour of choice. Glancing down at my own attire, a yellow sundress that covered me modestly, I couldn’t help but contrast our styles. I had never owned revealing clothing; my mother had always been the one to dictate what was suitable for me.

“Boys like me. Explain,” he demanded, his tone carrying an air of authority that emphasised his status as a man rather than a boy.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” I speak, facing the art piece once again. “Now leave me alone.” I haven’t even yet begun to enjoy my pomegranate.

“You draw?”

“Yes, I’m an art major.” I reply, a genuine smile spreading across my face. It was a rare moment for someone to express interest in my artwork. Even Cathy, my closest friend, had never shown much enthusiasm, simply assuming that my work was already incredible.

“Can I see your work?” Ares’ request caught me off guard.

“I didn’t bring it with me.”

“I can see it, poking out your bag.”

Shit. He caught me on that one.

“Well, I don’t want to show you.”

“No need.”

There is no need.

“Are you always this tense or do I have an effect on you?” My brows furrow, and I turn my head to face him.

“I am not tense.” I stand up, shoving the closed container back into my bag. “And you do not have an effect on me.”

“I don’t? Doesn’t seem like that.”

“You’re very egoistic, aren’t you?” He smirks.

“I wouldn’t use that word.”

“And what word would you use?”

“Okay maybe I would.”

Don’t laugh. It isn’t funny.

“Goodbye.” I yank my bag from the bench, walking out of the museum.

“Wait.” Ares’s voice pierces through my thoughts, and I look back to see him jogging towards me. I continue to push past the bustling crowd on the streets, my mind flooded with conflicting thoughts.

Why is he following me?

“Leave me alone!” I shoot back at him through gritted teeth, lost in my own thoughts, I fail to notice the danger ahead until Ares’s arm slips around my waist and pulls me back.

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