Page 40 of The Tattoo Artist

Ares (12:50am): had to deal with a few things.

He doesn’t respond, and I chuck my phone to the side as I enter my drive. I switch the car off and head to my door, I push my key in and hear the TV on in the living room. I glance down at the shoes next to the door.

Fucking Atlas and Adonis.

I chuck my keys onto the side table and make my way there; I lean against the frame and watch them. They both turn to look at me simultaneously, and I can’t help but feel a sense of guilt and regret wash over me. Shaking my head, I decide to distance myself from the situation and head to the kitchen.

In the dimly lit kitchen, I open the cupboard and grab a bottle of whiskey. As I turn around, I find Adonis leaning against the island, his concerned eyes locking onto mine.

“What happened?” He inquires, his voice laced with worry.

“She got drugged,” I reply tersely, pouring whiskey into a glass with ice. Adonis sighs and takes a seat on one of the stools.

“Fuck, man. Is she okay?” He asks with genuine concern.

I nod my head. “She’ll be fine,” I assure him, pouring another glass of whiskey for my brother.

As I continue to prepare the drinks, Adonis probes further, sensing that something more is bothering me. “What’s really going on, Ares?”

“I ruined the plan,” I admit, the frustration and disappointment evident in my voice. “I’m trying to do everything according to the list, but I fucked it up.”

Adonis looks at me intently, concern etched on his face. “Ares, why can’t you just leave the list, the plan, and make her fall for you naturally?” He whispers, genuinely questioning my approach.

I shake my head, avoiding his gaze, and stare ahead at the bottles lined up on the kitchen counter. “I can’t,” I say, my voice heavy with the weight of my convictions. “This is how she’ll love me, and this is how I’m going to do it. I’ve worked two years on this, and it’s all ruined. Don’t you get it? She’ll never-”

“Stop thinking so negatively,” Adonis interjects firmly, his words cutting through my self-doubt. “You’ve got to let go of this plan and just be yourself. If you keep trying to control everything, you’ll end up pushing her away.”

I shake my head and settle my empty glass inside the sink as Adonis stands.

I glance at him, conflicted emotions swirling inside me. Adonis’s advice strikes a chord within me, and I realise that perhaps he is right.

“Just fuck off.” I whisper.

ALEXANDRA JONES

I couldn’t stop vomiting, I guess I was completely hungover, and it was moments like this where I thanked the lord for giving me my own bathroom. I couldn’t remember anything that happened before I was completely drugged. But I woke up in this oversized shirt that I know belonged to Ares, after cleaning myself up and all, I head to my bedroom and grab my phone that was plugged in the charge.

One I switched it on, my phone overloads with messages from Catherine, phone calls and voicemails. I press onto Ares number and send him a message:

Alexandra (1:07pm): thank you for yesterday.

Ares (1:09pm): don’t need to thank me butterfly.

With my parents away at my aunt’s house, I take advantage of the empty house. I head downstairs, the exhaustion from the club and the adrenaline of the altercation with the stranger still lingers in my body. I seek comfort in my favourite treat, heading to the fridge to grab a tub of creamy ice cream and a bowl of juicy pomegranate seeds.

The soft glow of the TV illuminates the living room as I switch it on, filling the room with a comforting ambiance. The familiar hum of the television provides a soothing background noise, easing the tension that had built up in me throughout the night.

As I settle on the couch, spooning the cold ice cream into my mouth, my mind drifts back to Ares. The events of the night replay in my thoughts, and I can’t help but wonder about him. The warnings I’ve received from multiple people about him being dangerous confuse me. From my perspective, Ares has shown nothing but kindness and care, going out of his way to protect and help me.

The desire to know more about him battles with the need to stay cautious and protect myself.

Hours go by, and my favourite TV show is on. Friends.

“There’s nothing to tell! He’s just some guy I work with!”

“C'mon, you’re going out with the guy! There’s got to be something wrong with him!” Joey blurts.

“So, does he have a hump? A hump and a hairpiece?”

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