ELEVEN
Belle
My sigh echoes around the room as I flop back on my bed, arms flung to the sides. He tore me apart with that picture. Flayed me alive and uncovered the hidden part of my soul that still yearns for him.
The image cut off at the V of his hips, giving the barest hint of what lay below. His body was covered in a light sheen as though he’d been hard at work. His muscled frame, although smaller, is still as defined as I remember it to be. He might not work out the same, but he still puts in the hard yards to get that physique. Three years since I’ve seen him, and that’s how he chooses to update me.
He doesn’t know how to play fair.
Zeus drew a little arrow on the image, pointing to the untouched skin over his heart, and said that’s where he wants the tattoo. A serpent wrapped possessively around a dove. I googled the meaning of the image before I replied, unsure if he sees himself as evil over good, or what the picture inferred. And the passage from the bible that accompanied similar images surprised me. I know Zeus’s mother was religious, but I don’t once remember hearing that he’d gone to church. Maybe it was something that stuck, or perhaps he came across it by chance. Whatever the reason, the quote is what spoke to me most:
Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves. —Matthew 10:16
It’s everything: how our love is viewed and persecuted by those who don’t understand it, the struggles we face, the adversity. He is the serpent, and I am the dove.
It’s everything we were, everything I miss, and everything we can’t ever have again. Why he’d want that over his heart, reminding him every damn time he caught sight of it what can’t be… he chooses to live in the past, and that’s never a healthy way to be.
Look at my dad, for fuck’s sake.
Miserable and trapped within his head for years before he finally woke up to the realisation that Cerise was no good for him, and never would be. He found true happiness when he let her go. Is that what Zeus has to do? Wake up?
I roll to my side and retrieve my phone, navigating through to the image of the tattoo. I ignore the selfie as I scroll past, unable to deal with the feelings that invokes right now. My stomach tightens, the most intimate parts of me awake with anticipation as it buzzes by. My thumb slams down on the graphic, and I tap it to bring the design full screen.
The picture is good, the concept strong, yet the execution needs work. I slide off the bed, plucking my sketchbook and pencils from the desk, and return to spread out over the mattress. With one last look at the reference picture, I set to work.
Hours pass, my hand tired and cramping, and yet I only stop to get a drink and use the bathroom. By the time the sun teases the night sky my insomnia is no longer a concern and I have a progression of eight pictures spread across my bed. Each image is a variant of the one before, the slightest changes, the smallest adjustments to make the design perfect.
At least, what I think would be perfect for Zeus.
Dad’s voice drifts through the wall in a low rumble, the hiss of the electric jug coming soon after as he starts his day. My jaw aches with the depth of my yawn, my eyes burning with the need to close. I stash the seven practice images, and then lay the last out on the black backdrop of my suitcase. I snap a quick pic and send it through to Zeus before switching my phone to silent and stripping down to my tank and panties.
The day begins outside, and in a way, I feel as though that echoes the shift that took place within me as my pencils flew over the parchment. I’ve felt as though a piece of me was missing these last three years and of course I attributed that to the loss of Zeus. The ache of giving up something I wasn’t ready to part with.
But as I reflect, eyes closed as I search for sleep, it comes to me in my last conscious moments: the thing I lacked, was me.
Thousands of kilometres around the world, and it took coming home to see what it is that I have yet to let go of: my capacity to care too much about what others think.
***
“Hey,” Dad greets. “You feel better?”
I drag my feet across the floor as I enter the kitchen and then poke my head around the wall to glance over at where he sits in his armchair.
“Where’s Sharon?”
“Doing some shopping.” He mutes the TV. “If you need anything, I can give you her number to let her know. She’ll pick it up while she’s out.”
“No, it’s all good. I might head out later anyway.” I retreat back to the cupboards and grab a bowl, granola, and then get yoghurt from the fridge.
Breakfast mid-afternoon: sure sign of a lazy weekend.
“What had you up so late?” Dad reclines his seat, tucking both hands behind his head. “I got up during the night and saw your light on.”
“I was sketching.” He remains silent as I stir the mix in my bowl. No fucks to give, remember? “I had an idea about the studio,” I call, testing the waters.
“Yeah?” Dad appears at the junction of the wall. “What’s that?”
I pass by and settle at the table. “I know somebody who has space I can use while I get started. I thought perhaps if I work alone for a year or two, I can get the business off the ground, and work towards expanding into a shop with more staff like I originally wanted.”
“I’m listening.” He leans a shoulder against the wall; the afternoon sun highlights his greys. He’s too young for the salt-and-pepper look; it has to be stress induced.
“There’s a studio that would be enough for a single table and station—”
“Out the back of Zeus’s,” Dad finishes with a sigh. “Shit, Belle. Are we going there again?”
I set my spoon down and raise both palms as I finish my mouthful. “I’m looking at this objectively. He offered when he bought the house.”
“And you think that still stands now?” Dad narrows his gaze.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
He has a valid point. Zeus said last night that he doesn’t want to see me because of Dad. Would it change his mind if I said I’d discussed this with him? Would it make Zeus consider it if Dad himself gave the okay for us to be that close again?
Could I handle it?
I frown as my thoughts drift to Damien. Where is he right now? Who is he with? And most of all, what are they doing?
Why do I care?
“I don’t think it would be a good idea,” Dad says softly as he pulls the seat opposite mine out. “There’s a lot of history, and while you’ve done okay, he….” His words drift off as he stares out the window with a stern brow.
“He what, Dad?” My pulse races while I wait.
“He reoffended about four months after you flew out. Got picked up for a brawl outside the tavern on the corner of Vincent and Andrews. He managed to avoid returning to prison for the rest of his sentence by a small miracle.”
The air in the room seems too hot; the afternoon sun not as relaxing as it was a mere moment ago. I close my eyes and count to five before re-opening them with a deep breath. I feel… I guess hopeless. My departure almost put him back in prison. No matter which way you slice it, that’s the bare bones of the situation.
No wonder he doesn’t want to see me.
“And now?” I ask once the acid in my stomach has settled.
“He keeps busy restoring his car.”
“He bought another one?” I still can’t believe he sold the damn GTO.
Dad grins, cocking an eyebrow as he finally drags his focus back to me. “A 1971 Plymouth Barracuda.”
Lord, have mercy. As if my infatuation with Zeus wasn’t hopeless enough, now he drives my favourite car. “How much did he pay for it?” Those things aren’t cheap, or common at our end of the world.
“A fair price. It’s not a runner. He’s most of the way through an engine build for it. He only bought the shell. Most of the interior was trashed, and it was riddled with rust.”
“He’ll be enjoying that, then.” He did always like doing things with his hands. Clean those thoughts up, Belle.
“I think so.” Dad heaves a deep breath as I return to my breakfast/lunch. “All I’m saying is that he might not be as strong as you when it comes to being able to keep an amicable distance. I don’t doubt that his studio is a good answer for your predicament, but sweetheart, he’s not the man you remember him to be.”
Guess it’s time I found out exactly who he is, then.