Page 22 of The Tattoo Artist

The realisation is intimidating.

I stood there, lost for words, feeling the intensity of his desire filling the air around us. Unable to form a coherent response, I simply nodded and waved farewell before hurrying towards the end of the road. I couldn’t resist the urge to look back, but to my surprise, Ares had disappeared, as if he were a fleeting dream. My heart pounded in my chest as I walk the rest of the way home, replaying the encounter in my mind. Ares had left an indelible mark on me, and I knew that no matter what happened next, my life would never be the same again.

But one thing was certain: Ares had awakened something inside me, something passionate and electric.

And I’m not letting it go.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ALEXANDRA JONES

MY PEN TAPS AGAINST THE EMPTY PAGES OF THE SKETCHBOOK.

He has this way about him, you know? It’s like he’s reaching deep into my heart and soul, stirring up feelings I never knew I had. But why? We barely even know each other. It’s confusing, to say the least. Yet, there is this strange connection between us, like an invisible thread pulling us closer together. Despite all the warnings I’ve heard from everyone around me, telling me to be careful, I just can’t seem to listen. Their words of caution slide right off me, like water off a duck’s back. With my pen pressed against my lips, I find myself lost in thought, chewing on the cap absentmindedly as I try to make sense of it all.

I could tell it is beginning to get on Catherine’s nerves, she hasn’t spoken to me for a while after I told her that I’m meeting with Ares a lot more, I should have just lied, I shouldn’t have told her anything and maybe our friendship would be the same.

The bell finally rings, and the door is pushed open filling with students who take their places. I flick through my sketchbook and realise that I’ve drawn Ares and Diávolos on the same page accidentally, my brows raise, their eyes are slightly similar? The curve of my pencil exactly the same.

The teacher, Mrs. Toffee, walks into the classroom with a bright smile. “Hello, good afternoon!” She greets, tossing her belongings aside and donning an apron around her waist. “Could you all please settle down?” Mrs. Toffee is my favourite teacher, unique in her own way. She had a quirky fashion sense, often with paintbrushes stuck in her hair and paint smeared on her hands. “As you know, it’s time to go through all your sketchbooks. But I have some exciting news that a few of you already know!” The room fell silent, and all eyes were on her. “I will be choosing one person to receive a free scholarship to the best art school in Seattle—The Miller School of Art.” My eyes widened.

A scholarship to the best art school in Seattle?

Instead of transferring…I could get the scholarship and study there.

Could this be real?

‘What?’

‘No way.’

Whispers and gossip spread like wildfire among my classmates.

“And it all depends on the project I’m going to assign you; you’ll have three months to finish it. I want something one-of-a-kind; it could be anything, and you could use anything in the world...but I want meaning; I want to feel it in my heart. I’d like you to prepare a presentation about the work you’ll be submitting before you start working on it; you’ll utilise these classes to accomplish that. But for the time being, get out your sketchbooks.”

This scholarship, it’s more than just a chance—it's a lifeline. With it, everything could change. No more sleepless nights worrying about making ends meet, no more suffocating under the weight of debt. It’s a glimmer of hope in a sea of uncertainty, a ticket to a brighter future. If I can just grasp this opportunity, it could transform my life in ways I never dared to dream possible.

I guess I have to start painting.

“This could change everything.” Ares continues cleaning his equipment as he listens to me rambling on about this scholarship, I continue poking my chopsticks into my pot of noodles. “I mean, the Miller School of Art! I didn’t even know scholarships exist to even go there.”

Ares pauses in his task, glancing up from his cleaning with a thoughtful expression. “The Miller School of Art, huh? That’s a big deal,” he acknowledges, his tone carrying a hint of admiration. “And you’ve got a shot at it with this scholarship?”

I nod eagerly, my chopsticks forgotten as I lean forward, enthusiasm bubbling over. “Yeah, it’s like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If I can get it, it’ll open so many doors for me.”

“What are you thinking of sending in?”

“I haven’t really thought about it…I mean, I haven’t had a connection with my sketchbook in a while.” I look up, my eyes locking with the painting hung on his wall. It was the most beautiful piece of art I had ever seen, and the connection I feel with it was unreal. “Are you really not the artist of this drawing?”

“Nope.” He answers.

“So, who is?”

“Just this girl I knew.” He shrugs his shoulders, standing up to grab a pair of black latex gloves.

“The same girl…from the accident?”

“I don’t want to talk about it Alex.”

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