Page 60 of The Tattoo Artist

“Catherine?” She held a bottle of vodka in one hand, as she stumbles on her feet.

She glances down at the bags and releases a chuckle.

“Went shopping, did you?” She speaks. She dips her hand inside and slides out the blue lingerie, and then she looks at me after setting the bottle of vodka on my bed, “Catherine, you’re drunk.”

She raises the bra high and looks at me, “who’s this for? Ares? You really think this would look good on you?” She laughs at me like I was a joke, I shake my head at her. “Are you sure you mirror isn’t dirty?”

“Catherine, stop.” I whisper, grabbing my shirt as I slide it over my body.

“What? Why? For telling you the truth? Who did you go shopping with? They lied to you.” She sits on the bed, unscrewing the lid of the vodka. “You look fat in that lingerie. I can see you spilling out of it.” I grab the bra from her grasp and shove it into the bag, tears begin to fill my eyes as she laughs.

“I said get out Catherine.”

“Woah, why are you being so mean to me? All I’m telling you is the truth; you think Ares finds you attractive? He never goes for women like you, he goes for more mature women-skinny, tall, and pretty.”

I took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. Catherine’s hurtful words were like knives digging into my self-esteem, and I felt a surge of anger and pain at her cruel remarks.

“Catherine, that’s enough!” I said, my voice shaking with emotion. “You have no right to come into my home and say such hurtful things.”

She scoffed, taking another swig from the vodka bottle. “Oh, come on, Alex. You know it’s true. Ares would never be interested in someone like you, he just wants your virginity.”

Catherine was my friend, but right now, she was acting like a bitter enemy. I couldn’t understand why she would say such hurtful things to me. “You don’t know anything about Ares and me,” I said, my voice steadier now. “And it’s none of your business. But what I do know is that you need to leave. Right now.”

“Please, spare me the sob story,” she slurred. “I know what I see. And trust me, he’s just using you.”

Her words stung, but I refused to let her see how much they were affecting me. “Get out,” I said firmly, my voice steady now. “Keep the lies to yourself.”

“You want to speak about lies now Alexandra?” She grabs my face in her hands, “then ask Ares.” I push her off me, and she stumbles back.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been lying to you this whole time…him and your parents. They’ve been keeping a big secret from you.”

“What are you talking about, Catherine?” I ask, my voice quivering slightly. Catherine took a step closer to me, her eyes burning with intensity.

“He’s been keeping something from you - something big. Something that would shatter the illusion of the perfect life you thought you had with him.”

My mind was racing, trying to make sense of what she was saying. Could Ares really be hiding something from me? It seemed impossible, but Catherine’s words were like a poison, seeping into my thoughts and causing doubt to take root. Catherine’s hurtful words had pushed me to my breaking point, and as she made her way towards the balcony doors, something snapped inside me.

I couldn’t bear to hear any more of her venomous lies.

“Get out now!” I yell, my voice trembling with anger and hurt. I move towards her, trying to push her out of my room, but she retaliated, shoving me back with force. I stumbled and crashed onto my desk, hitting my head in the process.

The paint pots, brushes and snow globes drop down onto the floor.

Paint dripped down onto me like a twisted mockery of rain, staining my clothes and skin with vivid streaks of colour. I clutched the back of my head, a sharp hiss escaping my lips as I felt warm blood oozing from the wound.

I wanted her out of my sight, out of my life.

“GET OUT! NOW!” I scream at her, my voice hoarse and filled with raw emotion. Catherine shook her head, her eyes widening with surprise, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t bear to look at her any longer.

CHAPTER TWENTY

ALEXANDRA JONES

ISTARE AT MY BALCNONY DOOR.

Mostly because I don’t want to stare at myself.

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