Page 96 of The Tattoo Artist

The rain pours down as I ran, each step a release of pent-up frustration and hurt. My heart was heavy, but I refuse to let my family’s hurtful words break me. I needed to find a safe place, a place where I could gather my thoughts and figure out my next move.

As I ran, my mind raced with thoughts of Ares. Part of me wanted to go to him, seek solace in his arms, but the other part knew that I needed to stand on my own two feet. I couldn’t keep relying on him for everything. I eventually found myself seeking shelter under a nearby awning. My clothes were soaked, and I was shivering from the cold rain, but I didn’t care. I needed to catch my breath and think.

“Where will you go?”

My mother’s voice echoed in my mind. The truth was, I didn’t know. I had no plan, no destination in mind. All I knew was that I couldn’t go back home, not after what had happened.

Suddenly, I found myself standing in front of the cabin, memories of happier times flooding back as I slowly ascended the stairs. The weather seemed to mirror my emotions, with a light drizzle adding to the melancholy atmosphere.

Searching for a key, I checked under the mat and the post-box, finally feeling a glimmer of hope when my fingers brushed against a key tucked under the mailbox. I wish to myself that this was the key for the door and not the post-box, I slid the key into the lock and turned it, the familiar click of the door opening resonating in the quiet surroundings.

As I enter the cabin, a rush of emotions overcame me.

This place held so many precious memories, and yet, it was also a stark reminder of the pain I was currently going through. I close the door behind me, needing a moment to gather my thoughts and emotions.

Resting my forehead against the door, I close my eyes, trying to find some inner calm. I needed clarity and strength to face whatever lay ahead. My nose continued to bleed into the shirt, I walk over to the sink-throwing the shirt onto the counter as I cough out some blood. Tears fall into the gold sink as I sob to myself, shaking my head. What am I even doing in my life?

I am met with an unexpected sight as I turn around—Ares standing by the stairs, shock clearly written on his face. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, neither of us said a word. The silence is heavy with unspoken emotions, each of us grappling with our own feelings.

He analyses my face.

Please don’t bring it up.

Is there blood still dropping?

I graze my nose with my finger and take a look to see crimson blood stained into my fingerprint.

He hit me hard. Finally, Ares stepped forward, his movement shattering the tension that hung between us like a heavy fog. “What happened to your face?” His voice, a blend of concern and anger, cut through the air, his gaze fixing on the bruise marring my cheek.

Of course, he would ask. I should have known he wouldn’t let it slide.

“Ares...please,” I implore, a desperate plea to avoid delving into the painful topic.

“Don’t ‘Ares’ me. What happened to your fucking face, Alexandra?” His tone brooked no argument, demanding answers I wasn’t yet ready to give.

Mostly because I don’t know how Ares would react if he found out it were my parents who became abusive.

He asks again, his voice dark with rage. “Alexandra, answer me now!”

“It hurts,” I cry out, my voice strained with pain, my hand instinctively reaching to clutch my throbbing nose. “It really hurts...” Tears cascade down my cheeks, betraying the facade of composure I desperately tried to maintain.

He strides toward me, his footsteps echoing with purpose as he reaches out, gently grasping my face in his hands. With a tenderness that belies his earlier anger, he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His touch is soothing yet firm as he inspects the damage, his thumb tracing lightly over the bridge of my nose. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, carrying the weight of concern and frustration.

“Who did this to you, Alexandra?” His voice softens, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through the mask of anger, as he searches my eyes for answers.

“My parents,” I finally admit.

Ares’s brows furrow, his eyes darkening with a dangerous intensity as he absorbs my revelation. He steps back, a perceptible tension radiating from his stance. Without a word, he moves to the fridge, retrieving a pack of frozen peas from the freezer before returning to me.

Wordlessly, he presses the cold compress against my injured nose, his touch gentle yet purposeful. His silence speaks volumes as I continue to explain, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“They found your shirts in my room... and then they just went crazy...” My voice trails off, the memory still vivid and painful.

“I’ll show them crazy.” He mumbles under his breath.

CHAPTER THIRTY

ARES NICOLAIDES

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