Page 23 of The Tattoo Artist

I nod slowly, a silent acknowledgment of his anguish. But as the silence stretches between us, a surge of frustration wells up within me. The unanswered questions linger like a haunting melody, their dissonant notes reverberating through the air.

Does he still love her? Does he miss her? Does he think about her?

The ache in my chest intensifies, a relentless ache that refuses to be silenced. But I swallow hard, pushing the turmoil aside, knowing that some things are better left unsaid. Ares settles down beside me on the couch, without a word, he reaches for my box of noodles, effortlessly using the same chopsticks. I am unable to keep my eyes off him, the way he eats-the way he- fuck-stop it Alexandra. You look like a weirdo. Watching him like that.

I look away.

The heat growing between my legs, my thighs tighten against one another. My heart racing in my stomach.

Why is he making me feel like this?

How is he making me feel like this?

How do I get rid of this feeling?

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I shouldn’t be doing this in a catholic household with my parents downstairs, but I wanted to try. The Johnson family are coming over soon, however I had other idea’s in mind.

My hands slowly dip down to my jeans, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down. I slide them down my legs before throwing it to the side, I begin to rub onto my clit slowly.

I close my eyes, and suddenly I begin to imagine Ares on top of me.

His hands gently sliding down my face, his thumb pushing into my mouth pulling it open. He kisses down my neck, his canines slowly digging into my skin. I moan, my stomach tensing.

“Ares…” I whisper his name.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My eyes widen, my hands slip out of my underwear, and I look up.

“What the hell!” Catherines mouth drops open with a smile turning her lips.

“Were you just masturbating?” She chuckles, settling down onto the edge of the bed.

“How the hell did you-”

The balcony doors.

That’s how.

Embarrassment flares through my cheeks as I rush into my bathroom to wash my hands, Cathy leans against the door and folds her arms.

“You can’t just do that, Cathy.” I whisper.

“Sorry, I haven’t seen you in so long, and you weren’t answering your phone.” She smiles mischievously, “but masturbating about Ares, huh? He’s really gotten inside of you.” She teases.

I roll my eyes and playfully shove her shoulder. “It’s not like that. He’s just a friend... kind of,” I stammer, not wanting to admit the truth.

“A friend? So, what you masturbate about me too?” I release a laugh, falling onto the bed as she leans in closer to me. “You like him.”

“No, I don’t.” I rub onto my nose.

“Top tip, when you masturbate about a guy in a Catholic house, you don’t say his name out loud.” I sigh, we both stare up at the ceiling, finding comfort in each other’s presence. I wish I could just tell her everything, but the fear of how she would react scares me. I know she doesn’t like Ares; I know she is scared for me because of the stories she heard from other people. But I have taken to understanding that they were just rumours. Ares doesn’t seem like the type of guy to do that, to move on after killing someone.

There is more to him that meets the eye.

I know there is.

“He is a good man Catherine…” I whisper, she turns her head so that her eyes locks with mine.

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