Page 44 of The Tattoo Artist

“Don’t break promises.”

“I won’t.”

I knew what was coming next - a confrontation with Catherine. Ever since that night at the club when she abandoned me, we hadn’t spoken, and I wasn’t sure how to face her. As I stepped out of the classroom, there she was, standing next to my locker, waiting for me. I attempted to slip by unnoticed, but her voice cut through the air, stopping me in my tracks.

“Alexandra, I know you saw me,” Catherine said.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to face her. “What do you want, Catherine?” I asked, trying to keep my tone steady.

Her face fills with apologies, she whispers, “I’m sorry. I never meant to leave you.”

I hesitated, torn between my hurt feelings and the fact that Catherine had been my best friend for years. People make mistakes, I told myself, and she’s not responsible for my every move.

She isn’t my mother.

We were both twenty years old, after all. I’m not a child.

“It’s fine,” I whisper, trying to bury my resentment beneath understanding.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Catherine squeals, pulling me into a tight hug. I chuckle awkwardly and gently push her away. As we walked towards the canteen, Catherine couldn’t resist prying into my personal life. “So how are things with you and Ares?” She asks, trying to act casual.

“We haven’t seen each other since the night I got drugged,” I reply, feeling a twinge of sadness. “He seems busy.” It’s true. I haven’t. and I don’t know if I want too, I still couldn’t believe that I vomited in front of him.

“Have you tried texting him?” She asks.

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to be clingy or annoying.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed slightly as she examined the necklace that Diávolos gave me. “That’s a cute necklace,” she comments, her jaw tensing involuntarily as she notices my fingers gently brushing across it.

“Yeah,” I murmur, suddenly feeling guarded as I tuck it beneath my jumper.

“Did Ares give it to you?” Catherine’s question caught me off guard.

“No, why would he?” I reply, my curiosity piqued. “Why would you think that?”

Her face fell slightly, and it was clear she had said something she shouldn’t have. Why is she acting so weird? Why is she acting as if she’s hiding something from me?

“I mean, isn’t it weird?” She stammers, backtracking. “His entire tattoo place is filled with butterflies, and his hand…”

No.

No.

No.

She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

Everyone loves butterflies.

I love butterflies.

Who doesn’t love butterflies?

But Ares has an obsession over them.

His hand.

His parlour.

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