Page 83 of The Tattoo Artist

Surprised, my eyes widened, and I stammered, “why would you do that?”

He kept his focus on the road as he explains, “your parents were really strict with you. You hated living there, and you used to confide in me about how you felt like you were missing out on life, that you longed for something just for yourself.”

As he spoke, I shifted in my seat to face him better.

“So, my brothers and I decided to build the cabin,” he continued. “It was meant to be your getaway, a place where you could escape your daily life. We had some wonderful times there—during winters, we would try to ice skate on the pond, but we always had to be back before nine. That cabin became like a second home to us.”

His words painted a vivid picture in my mind.

“I had no idea.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “I wanted you to have the experiences you craved. Seeing you happy was all that mattered to me.”

It feels weird to matter to someone.

It feels weird to be loved by someone.

It feels weird to be cared by someone.

It feels weird having Ares.

As we approached the cabin, my heart began to race with anticipation. The car slowly navigated through a dense forest, the towering trees forming a protective canopy above, filtering the sunlight and casting dancing shadows on the forest floor. A crisp breeze carried the earthy scent of pine, welcoming us to this secluded haven.

And there it stood, nestled perfectly amidst the trees, like a secret hideaway waiting to be discovered. The cabin’s exterior was a charming sight to behold. It was a rustic log cabin, its timbers weathered by time and yet exuding an enchanting allure. Moss and ivy gently clung to the wooden walls, adding to the sense of belonging in this natural setting.

As we got closer, the sound of gentle rustling leaves and the distant chirping of birds filled the air, creating a symphony of nature that embraced the cabin like a protective melody.

Windows framed with delicate wooden shutters peered out from the cabin’s facade, providing glimpses of the welcoming interior.

We stepped out of the car and onto the soft ground, the crunch of fallen leaves beneath our feet echoed the wilderness around us. I shut the door, taking in a deep breathe.

I reach the front of the door and notice something carved into it, ‘A+A.’

I brush my fingers over it, feeling an electric buzz through my veins. I really did have a whole life. I’m trying my hardest to swallow down the tears. But I couldn’t, and so I turn away and wipe the drop from my cheek. Ares takes out the key from his back pocket and pushes it in before unlocking it. But before he opens the door, “can you do me favour?” He asks.

“Sure.” I smile.

“Can you just-urm-get a shirt for me, in the back of my car?” I nod my head as he unlocks the car, I walk all the way back over and open the boot before noticing a gym bag. Does he mean a shirt inside here? I unzip the bag and notice shirts; I slide one out before closing the trunk and heading back to the cabin.

Stepping through the cabin’s front door, a sense of warmth enveloped me. The interior was cosy and inviting, exuding a rustic charm that felt like a comforting hug from an old friend. Wooden beams adorned the ceiling, adding to the cabin’s character, and the gentle glow of sunlight filtered through the white silk curtains, casting a soft, golden hue on everything it touched.

A quaint living area greeted me, furnished with worn-in leather sofas and plump cushions. A sturdy coffee table, adorned with books and mementos, stood at the centre. To my left, a small, well-equipped kitchen offered all the essentials needed for a simple meal. The scent of aged wood mingled with the aroma of coffee, making the cabin feel even more like a home away from home.

Opposite the living area, a fireplace stood tall and proud, its hearth lined with river stones and logs stacked neatly beside it. I imagined the crackling flames on chilly winter nights, casting a warm glow that must have illuminated countless conversations and laughter. On the right side of the cabin, a modest dining table nestled near the window, providing a picturesque view of the surrounding forest.

A narrow staircase led to the upper level, where I knew I would find the cosy bedrooms, each adorned with soft, inviting quilts and memories of joyful dreams.

“Ares?” I yell his name out.

“Up here.” I follow the sound of his voice and head towards the stairs. Making my way up them, I begin noticing the paint on the wall causing me to stop on my steps.

Butterflies?

They were stunning…“you painted those.” I glance up to the top of the stairwell where he leaned against the wall, “wanted something to do when I went to get food.”

As I tenderly brush my fingers across the pages, tears well up in my eyes. It’s a struggle, allowing someone else to read my own book to me. You want to read it yourself-you want to feel the emotions yourself and laugh at the jokes...Telling you things you should have known.

It hurts.

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