THIRTEEN
Belle
I’ve always thought it’s almost possible to feel the energy a person exudes when they’re eager to see their new tattoo. I wipe the antiseptic over the fresh rose design, clearing away the last dots of blood and smudges of residual ink from the woman’s skin as she vibrates under my touch. The colours are simple, but they needed to be to blend in with her other work.
“There you go. Take a look, if you like.” I gesture to the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the opposite side of the shop.
She slides off the table, twisting her leg as she walks to try and see the fresh art before she’s even reached the mirror. I roll on my stool toward my station and rest an elbow on the stainless surface.
After two weeks of number crunching, ad searching, and tearing my hair out, I had to cede defeat. I don’t have enough capital of my own yet for the bank to even look over my proposal, let alone to float the business if the first few months are slow. I caved and dragged my sorry arse into the shop by the railway station, trying to justify the decision to myself by arguing that I’d probably do the place a favour in giving them a half-decent artist. They must have thought so too, because here I now sit sharing a station with a part-timer of theirs. He gets the area three days a week, leaving the same for me.
It’s a start.
“I love it. You can’t even see the old crap underneath it.”
Cover-ups—my specialty. “I think it blended well.”
“I’m making another time with you on my way out,” she states with a huge smile. “I need more.”
“Tell Sienna to waive the booking fee, okay?”
The client nods eagerly, retrieving her purse.
“You remember the aftercare details?” I pat my knee, indicating she should rest her foot on it.
She nods again as I cover the fresh work with cream, and then wrap it.
“All set to go.” My smile is large, the illusion even bigger. “See you again soon.”
I’m not happy. Far from it. Damien has fallen silent over the past week and a bit since we spoke, and my self-induced ban from all things Zeus leaves me twitchy.
Dad was right—Zeus would struggle to separate feelings from business if I used his space, which is why I chickened out and back-pedalled my way out of the question by taking his misunderstanding and running with it. He probably thinks I’m a cold-hearted gold-digger now, but hey, isn’t that better than him realising that I still love him, even if what we had can never be again?
I had to back away. I had to put distance between us, if not for Damien’s sake, for my own sanity. We were playing a dangerous game with those messages—his selfie proved as much.
“Working on some new material?” Wade, the shop owner, nods at the sketches pinned to my section of wall as he walks by.
“A bit of income on the side, I’m hoping.”
“Yeah?” He returns with gear in hand and hesitates by my area. “How so?”
“I thought about mounting a few pictures and selling them.” I figure if not at the markets on the weekend, then surely I’d find an audience online. I could start a second Instagram page, even, dedicated to my artwork. Maybe do commissioned pieces.
“Hey, well feel free to have some up the front if you want.”
“Are you sure?”
Wade nods, his black dreadlocks swinging. “Yeah, definitely. Give the place some class.” He throws a wink my way before carrying on his way.
I laugh on the inside as I spin around to clean down my station. The shop needs more than a few framed prints to perk the space up. A torn sofa sits out the front, Sienna’s reception desk literally a hundred-dollar job from the local office supply store. Plastic plants gather dust in the unused corners of the shop; only the actual work spaces are clean and sanitised.
I took one look at the staff bathroom and developed a knack for holding out until I get home.
How he manages to keep any business, I don’t know.
I retrieve my bag once my area is cleaned down and lift a hand to catch Wade’s attention. “I’m out for my break. Back in fifteen.”
“Sure thing. See you in a bit.”
I walk out front of the shop and immediately pull in a lungful of fresh air. The sun hides behind the clouds, but I’m thankful for the otherwise pleasant day as I head down the street toward the bakery. My phone vibrates in my bag, the muffled ringtone struggling to be heard from the depths. I dig it out as I reach the store and manage to retrieve the call before it switches to voicemail.
“Hi.”
“Hey, babe.”
I literally cringe hearing the term of endearment from Damien. “How was the trek?” More so, are his damn ears burning?
“Fucking a-maz-ing.” He sighs. “I can’t wait until you see the pictures I took. You should have been there.”
Should have. “Except I couldn’t be.”
“Yeah.” He pauses. “Anyway, I’m sending you a message… now, with my flight details.” The notification chimes in my ear. “I’m on my way home, Belle.”
I sag against the streetlight outside the bakery as I realise I’m not as excited at the news as I thought I would be: I’m relieved. I feel as though his return will make it easier to keep focus on the future I’m supposed to have—one with a guy my own age.
“What time do you get in? I’m working now, so I’ll have to make sure I’m free to come get you.”
He clears his throat, making stalling sounds as he seems to search for the best explanation. I wrench the phone from my ear and slam him onto speaker before opening the message.
“What the fuck, Damien?” His itinerary has him flying into his hometown, not here. “When were you going to talk this over with me?”
“Now?”
“Why?”
He sighs. “I’ve got things to sort out at home before I come down to you, okay? It won’t be for long—a couple of weeks at most.”
Six weeks. That’ll make six weeks since we’ve seen each other. He somehow manages to keep on pushing out that damn deadline. I run a hand over my hair, frustrated, yet also aware I can’t get too mad when he’s got a valid point. He probably has things in storage, things he wants to bring with him when he comes to set up here.
I’m overreacting.
“I guess I’m disappointed is all. I’m sorry.” I blow out a heavy breath as a tradie exits the bakery and looks at me on his way past. “Is there anything you need me to do?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got everything under control at this end. I’ll let you know when I get in, okay?”
I watch the guy get in his work vehicle and nod despite the fact Damien can’t see me. “Sure. Sounds good. I better get on with my break, but we’ll talk again soon.”
“Miss you, babe.”
“Yeah. You too,” I say by rote, my gaze already on the display cabinets inside, picking what I want to eat.
The sentiment feels empty, but then so did his, which is why I have no regrets about hanging up without saying anything further.
His parents live three hours north. In all reality he won’t be that far away. Close enough to drive to within a day. The plan forms in my mind as I select a caramel slice to go with the fresh barista coffee, and then wait in line. I pull my phone out again and scroll my newsfeed. The posts from Damien are few and far between, probably because signal wasn’t all that great where he was. Still—the lack of anything sentimental, even a goddamn post saying how excited he is to be going home, to see me for crying out loud, leaves me frustrated.
I’ve sat back and waited for him to convince me that we were doing the right thing, being together, for years. I’ve always let him instigate everything, and never complained that the times we were intimate were rare and almost rushed. Learning my trade, studying under Chris in the final year, that kept me busy. I didn’t have time to evaluate things with Damien, but now that I do… is this how it is for everyone? All I have to compare us to is the time I spent with Zeus, but was that even something that could be classed as a relationship, or was the lust and desire so strong because what we had was so short-lived? If I were still with Zeus, would it be this… boring?
Everyone wants what they can’t have—it’s human nature. That’s what makes the chase so much fun.
“Belle?”
I reach out and take my coffee with a smile, determined to shake things up. I’m tired of my life being dictated by outside forces. Yeah, I went after my dream job, but even then, I’m constrained by the limits of my budget and experience. Every aspect of my life, friendships, love, career—they’ve all been limited by other people’s perception of me. I’m too dull, too young, too high-risk.
Fuck that. I made the pact with myself when I sent that design to Zeus that I wouldn’t be held back by other people’s opinions of me anymore. So why am I still so terrified of what the people in my life would think if I threw what I should do out the window and went after what I want to do?
Why do I care what they all think? Why does their opinion over what I love matter?
If people can’t see the value in me, the reason why they should be thankful to have me in their life—in whatever aspect that may be, professional or personal—then it’s up to me to show them why.
First on the list: Damien.
Three hours can be done in a morning. I can set off Sunday before breakfast, eat something on the road, and be at his parents’ by lunchtime. I’m done with trying to get through to him over the phone, trying to drill into him what’s wrong with “making things work” between us.
We shouldn’t have to force it. It’s not a task, to love somebody. It’s an obligation you upkeep without a single subconscious thought.
If Damien really does care about me, if he really does miss me, then he’ll be over the moon that I chose to make the drive to hash this out. And if not? Then I have my answer and also the permission I so clearly need to go after what I really want, clear as day, saving us both a hell of a lot of wasted time.