Page 66 of The Tattoo Artist

“Everyone…everyone knows…Joey, Catherine, your parents—they know,” he says with a hint of bitterness. “They saw me. They threatened me, and they were happy...that you lost your memory. They said it was a gift from God, to remove all your memories of sinning with me.”

I feel a pang of anger and sadness.

How could they be so cruel?

“But why did I forget you? And not them?” I question, my mind still struggling to piece everything together.

He sighs, his expression heavy with the weight of the past. “The doctor said it was because I was recent in your life. The more recent the memories, the easier they were to erase.”

The waitress suddenly appears, “anything to order?” She asks.

The waitress’s question hangs in the air, and I find myself torn between two conflicting desires. If I place an order, it means I want to stay and go deeper into the past, to uncover the truth behind our relationship and the memories I’ve lost. But if I don’t order, it means I want to forget it all, to distance myself from the pain and confusion that have consumed me since I learned the truth.

And to say I was surprised myself, that I want to know more-because at the end of the day that only person I have the slightest bit of trust to get answers from is him-whether I liked it or not.

It surprises me even when I finally nod at the waitress and say, “I’ll have a coffee, please.”

As the waitress walks away, leaving us alone with my coffee order and a lingering sense of vulnerability, Ares’s expression softens, revealing the relief that washes over him. I take a moment to collect my thoughts before speaking again.

“What do I even ask you?” I whisper, my fingers playing with my sleeve.

“Anything,” he responds gently, his eyes locked onto mine, offering a safe space to explore the truth. I could ask him anything.

He has given me the opportunity to ask him questions, so why am I suddenly so silent? I watch as he slowly sits back onto the chair, he looks up at me-waiting for me to ask.

“I don’t know what to ask you.” I admit, he smiles, and there I notice he has a soft dimple on one side of his face and not the other.

And suddenly I’m wondering, am I a virgin?

Was he the one who had taken my virginity?

Was this how he knew what to do to pleasure me?

“Come on Angel, just ask the question.”

“But what kind of questions do I ask you? I don’t know if I should go personal or what’s your favourite colour type?” I mumble out, my coffee slowly becoming cold.

“Anything.” He’s not helping, he might think he is, but he isn’t. Couldn’t he just tell me what he thinks I might ask?

I take a deep breath. “Did we…am I a virgin?” I ask, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Or…”

Ares leans closer, his arms now pressing onto the oak table, his voice hushed, “no, I took your virginity two years ago Angel.”

It caught me off guard, but it made sense. This is why he smirked at me when I told him I was a virgin.

Because he knows me, and he remembers.

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this earlier? What were you trying to get from hiding this?”

He sighs, looking pained, as if recounting the memories is a challenge. “Two years ago, I had a plan. I wanted to recreate every moment we shared, every joke, every laugh, and I had a list of experiences we cherished together,” he explains. “But then… it was ruined.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“We were supposed to meet in the library,” Ares replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. “But fate had other plans, and you ended up coming to my tattoo shop instead.”

A smile tugs at my lips as I think about the cheeky old man’s antics. “Wait… why were you annoyed that I kissed you?” I question, trying to unravel the intricacies of our past.

His eyes hold a mix of amusement and fondness. “Because you weren’t supposed to kiss me, Alexandra.” He confesses, a teasing glint in his gaze. “It wasn’t part of the plan, and I was caught off guard.”

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