Page 65 of The Tattoo Artist

“Angel...” he answers on the first ring.

“We should talk.” I whisper.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ALEXANDRA JONES

ITAKE A DEEP BREATH AS I PUSH OPEN THE DOOR TO the coffee shop. My heart pounds loudly in my chest, and my hands tremble with nervousness. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I know I need to see him, to talk to him, to confront the truth that lies between us.

As I step inside, the familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelopes me, and I glance around the cosy little shop. My eyes instantly lock onto him - Ares, sitting at a corner table, waiting for me. He looks as stunning as ever, with his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead and his intense green eyes watching the streets.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I can handle the emotions that will flood over me when I face him. But I remind myself of the love we once shared, the memories we created together, and the deep connection that still exists between us.

Taking a deep breath, I make my way toward him. Every step feels like an eternity, but I keep moving forward, my heart pounding in my ears. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I wonder if he’s lost in his own thoughts, just as I am.

As I draw closer, I notice the slight tension in his shoulders, and I realise that he’s just as nervous as I am. The sight brings a small smile to my lips, and I feel a glimmer of hope that we can find a way to mend what was broken between us.

Finally, I stand in front of him, and our eyes meet. There’s a mixture of emotions in his gaze - love, regret, and longing. I can see the pain we both carry, the weight of the past that we must confront.

“Hi,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

“Hey,” he replies, his voice equally soft.

“Can I sit?”

“Of course.” He stood up, about to pull my seat for me but I stop him in time. I settle down. There’s a moment of silence, filled with unspoken words and emotions swirling between us. I want to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin against mine, but I hold back, unsure of how he’ll react.

“I read the letter,” I finally say, my voice trembling slightly.

His eyes never leave mine, and I can see the vulnerability in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Alexandra. I never meant to hurt you, to make you feel betrayed.”

“I know,” I whisper, my heart aching with both pain and love. My heart races, knowing that this conversation will unearth painful truths. “But why didn’t you tell me the truth?” I ask, my voice quivering slightly.

He takes a deep breath before answering, his eyes never leaving mine.

“After the crash, when you woke up from the induced coma…you looked at me and called me…you thought I was your doctor.” His voice wavers with the weight of the memories. “I thought you were joking at first, but you weren’t budging. And then the doctor told me that you had memory loss, fuck, you should’ve seen me. Shouting at him, wanting to strangle him…”

I swallow hard, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

He glances down, his hands fidgeting with the edge of the table. “Do you know how hard it is? When the love of your life asks you…who you are?”

It was this question, that punched me right in the gut.

Because I haven’t thought about his side, only mine. I never thought about how much it must have affected him, I could never imagine falling in love with someone only for them to forget you-all that hard work you both put in…for no reason.

“How long were we together?” I ask him, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Two years,” he replies softly, his eyes locked onto mine.

I nod my head gently, absorbing this piece of information.

Two years of memories, love, and shared experiences erased from my mind.

“How old are you?” I ask, trying to grasp at any detail of our life together that I could still recall.

“Twenty-two.” Two years older than me, I think to myself. But none of it feels familiar.

“Who knows?” I continue, seeking answers to the fragments of my forgotten life.

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