CHAPTER TWO
ALEXANDRA JONES
SUDDENLY EVERY PASSING CAR SEEMS TO RESEMBLE MY FATHERS.
Anxiety gripped me tightly, causing me to clutch my sketchbooks tight against my chest. The fear of my parents discovering my presence in this part of town consumed my thoughts. I should have just went to the library, what if they find out I’m lying? What would they do?
“Come on, Alex, stop being a baby,” Cathy said, rolling her eyes at my hesitation. I shook my head in distress, scanning the busy streets around us. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to have strict parents, her parents lets her do whatever she likes. I think that Cathy doesn’t seem to understand that we are different.
“It isn’t about being a baby, it’s about getting caught!”
Cathy swiftly interrupted me, placing her hands up in a calming gesture, granting me a moment to catch my breath.
“I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to push you so hard,” she said, her voice softer now. “Listen, I’m getting a tattoo, not you. Why don’t you take this opportunity to sketch the place? Get some ideas for your portfolio. Remember, you’re applying to transfer to that University in Seattle.”
I can tell she was trying her hardest to calm me down, but her bringing up my portfolio that I had to hand in soon made me stress even more. I haven’t even started; I haven’t even opened up this fresh sketchbook I bought. I had been stuck with my portfolio for weeks, desperately needing inspiration. The deadline for submission is only two months away. Reluctantly, I sighed, realising that this unexpected visit might just provide the spark of creativity I needed.
“You never mentioned it was in this part of town,” I grumble.
Cathy chuckled. “Well, if I had told you, you probably would’ve never agreed to come.”
“Exactly!” I call out.
We finally arrived at the front of the tattoo parlour, its name, ‘Temple Tattoo,’ displayed in elegant black fonts.
Cathy pushes the door open, allowing both of us to slip inside. As she approaches the front desk, engaging in conversation with the woman there, my gaze wanders to the walls adorned with a montage of signatures, drawings, and writings. Distracted, I turn my head at a ninety-degree angle, examining each unique piece of artwork. The array of images and words sparks my imagination, pulling me into a world of creativity. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected detour could provide the breakthrough I had been seeking for my portfolio. I mean the art here is just beautiful, it’s meaningful. My fingers grazes the scratched wood, a smile spreading across my face as I read the messages of who has been here.
“Alexandra.” Cathy’s voice snaps me back to reality, and I quickly follow her through the narrow hallway, walking in a single file due to the limited space. The sound of the light buzzing, the peeled wallpaper.
Each door we pass reveals a different tattoo in progress, adding to the buzzing energy in the air. The receptionist pointed us to the last door, and with Cathy’s confident push, it swung open.
“Ares.” Cathy speaks, addressing the artist inside.
I shut the door behind me and turn around, my eyes locks with his.
With Catherines voice in the background, explaining what she wanted done – my eyes were on his.
His gaze held an enchanting allure, speaking volumes of unspoken stories. Pale green. They captivated me completely, drawing me into their depths.
He’s beautiful.
Yet, there was something strangely familiar about him, something that tugged at the corners of my memory. I struggle to recall where I had seen those eyes before, as if they were imprinted on my soul.
His hair, the colour of the night sky, cascaded in wide curls over his forehead. His strong brows framed his eyes, emphasising their captivating hue. With each blink, his long lashes brushed against his cheekbones. A prominent nose and full, inviting lips completed his features. I found myself staring, the intensity of my gaze causing a warm flush to rise to my cheeks.
“So instead of a diamond, I’m thinking a lotus flower with petals falling.”
Shaking off my dazed state, I notice Cathy taking her seat as instructed. I retreat to the couch in the corner, watching as he prepares his equipment. A delicate butterfly tattoo on the back of his hand caught my attention as he slips on black latex gloves. My eyes wanders to his tattooed sleeve, which decorated his neck, arms, and possibly extended beneath his shirt. But I couldn’t get the way he looked at me out of my head—it stirred a deep sense of familiarity within me.
Catherine opens the newspaper, flicking through it whilst Ares started on her tattoo.
“Oh, that killer is back?” She whispers, I raise a brow and look up at Cathy. She turns the newspaper around, and in bold letters stood:
DIAVOLOS STRIKES AGAIN!
My heart begins to beat, he was just in my room yesterday.
He marked my throat with an X.
I told him I wasn’t afraid of him; I shouldn’t have seemed to confident. Maybe he got irritated by it.
“I don’t know why people believe he’s real.” She whispers.
“Maybe because he is?” I respond.
“Come on Alex?” She closes the newspaper, looking at me dumbfounded as if I said something so utterly stupid.
“It literally says it in the paper in front of you, he strikes again.” I repeat.
“Yeah, journalist will do anything to scare people, it’s literally their job.”
I flick my new sketchbook open, sliding a pencil out of my bag as I tap it onto the empty page. I haven’t been able to draw lately, it felt as if there is something missing in my life. It’s like... like there’s this void inside me that nothing can fill. I try to distract myself with university and art, but it’s always there, lurking in the background. Come one Alex, just draw anything.
Look around.
I look around.
My eyes locking onto his figure.
My pencil dances across the paper, seemingly guided by an unseen force. Stroke by stroke, it brought him to life, capturing every intricate detail. I found myself stealing glances at him every now and then, observing him as he sketched and ensuring that my portrayal was perfect. My focus fell on his side profile, his features taking shape with each stroke.
Lost in my artistic thoughts, I notice him wiping the ink from Catherine’s arm before resuming his work. He delicately wielded small knives filled with vibrant paints, carefully etching them onto her skin. Suddenly, our eyes met for a brief moment, but I quickly averted, my heart pounding in my chest.
Why did his eyes hold such intensity?
Time slips by, marked only by the cessation of the drilling sound. I pulled out my headphones, curious to hear what was happening around me.
“Wow, that’s amazing. Alex, take a look,” Catherine exclaimed, drawing my attention away from my own artwork. I rose from my seat and walked over to her, who now had a lotus flower with petals falling down on her wrist.
“It’s really nice.”
Curiosity tugged at me as I heard a deep voice speak from the corner of my ear. “And you?” I turn my head and find myself face to face with the man who I had been quietly observing. “Are you here for a tattoo as well?” He asks.
“Me?” I stammer, caught off guard by his sudden attention.
“Am I looking at someone else?” He replies, nonchalantly discarding his gloves into the nearby bin.
“No, I’m not.” I respond, holding his gaze.
“Alright, how much?”
“Thirty.” Catherine slides out her bag and flicks it open.
“Shit, I left my purse in my car. I will be right back.” As she hurriedly left the room, panic surged through me.
And now I stood alone with the tattoo artist, in a dim room.
Awkward.
That is the only word that could explain this very moment.
“She better come back, or you’ll be the one paying,” he remarks, tidying up his workspace. I kept my observation fixed on anything but him, my fingers fiddling with the bracelet around my wrist.
“She will come back; Cathy isn’t like that,” I murmur, desperately seeking a distraction. Come on Catherine, how long does it take to get to your car? I look around the room, a painting caught my attention. It represented a woman, her delicate hands covering her breasts, while her hair cascaded down her back. A butterfly adorned her chest.
“This is beautiful,” I exclaim, only to realise that Ares, the man standing beside me, had silently approached the painting.
“People often say that, but few truly know its meaning,” he answers, his attention shifting down towards me. Ares looms over me, his tall frame casting an intimidating shadow upon my figure.
“I know it…” I whisper.
“Enlighten me.”
“It isn’t the woman we should be focusing on, it’s the butterfly. It symbolises rebirth, growth…” I answer, surprising myself by meeting Ares’ penetrating gaze. His eyes seemed to delve into the depths of my soul, reminiscent of Diávolos.
“You have a good understanding of art,” he acknowledges, a hint of approval in his nod.
“I know you painted this.”
“And how did you figure that?” He counters, folding his arms across his chest.
“Because the same butterfly is tattooed on the back of your hand,” I pointed out with my pen. His expression remained stoic, but he offered a small nod of acknowledgment.
“Doesn’t prove anything.” He speaks.
“Yes, it does.” I reply quickly.
A smirk spreads across his lips, almost as if he were shocked, I was arguing with him. “And what does it prove exactly?”
“That you drew it.”
“You’re a very hardheaded woman.”
“And you’re a very stubborn man,” I counter, my own smirk matching his. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re the artist behind this painting.”
“Alright, got it!” Catherine enters the room, and I step away from Ares. Cathy hands Ares the cash and swiftly pulls me out of the room, urging me to follow her without giving me a chance to look back.
During the car ride home, my thoughts remained stuck on Ares. It was rare for someone to speak to me directly, to acknowledge my presence. Despite my outward appearance, I couldn’t help but believe that it was because he genuinely saw me.
I liked the way he smiled.
He had a nice smile.
In the company of Cathy, people always seemed to gravitate towards her.
And I understood why—Cathy was stunning.
With her short, blonde hair, crystal-blue eyes, and fair skin, she exuded a beauty that captivated everyone. Her impeccable fashion sense only added to her allure. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but feel that she spent time with me out of pity, as if she felt sorry for me. No one had ever truly looked twice at me until Ares broke through that barrier and acknowledged my existence.
“What’s on your mind?” Cathy’s voice broke through my thoughts, her eyes focused on the road ahead.
“Nothing,” I mumble, absentmindedly rubbing my nose.
“You’re a terrible liar, Alex,” she retorts, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel. I let out a sigh, unable to hide my tell-tale gesture.
“I really am…”
“Hang on, do you have a crush on Ares?”
“What? No?” I shoot out.
“I mean I wouldn’t blame you, he is gorgeous, but I think he’s like five years older than us?” Catherine stops at a red light and glances over at me. “And I’ve heard rumours about Ares and Alex, they were not good. He isn’t a good guy.”
Catherine warns me, I lean my chin onto the palm of my hands watching the houses past by us. Catherine’s warnings, my own warnings alerting me that I shouldn’t really interact with him anymore. But there was something…oddly weird, oddly familiar…
Catherine parks in her driveway and switches the car off.
“And the fact that you are two different people entirely, basically opposites…can I be honest?” I nod my head. “I don’t even think he’d go for you…you’re young, innocent and…you know.”
“No, I don’t know Catherine so please enlighten me.”
“I’m not being rude; I’m just saying that…he goes for girls who are more mature.”
“I’m twenty years old, I am not a child so stop treating me like one. And if you like him, then good for you but you don’t need to put me down on the way.”
“I don’t like him.” I undo my seatbelt and bid Cathy farewell before entering my house. “Alex, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Retrieving my keys from my bag, I insert one into the lock and twist it, allowing the door to swing open. Inside, I found my mother cleaning the house.
Without a word, I made my way directly to my room and closed the door behind me. Dropping my bag onto the floor, I place my sketchbook on the desk and found myself staring into the mirror.
At twenty years old, I felt like an absolute mess.
I look like a mum of five.
I slowly raise my skirt a little higher, folding the waistline to reveal more of my legs. I undo my hair from the bun and chuck the hairband to the side as I ruffle out my curls.
Before I could dwell on my self-criticism, a knock on my door interrupted my thoughts, and my mother entered with a basket of freshly laundered clothes. “You better be studying, young lady,” she warns, her tone laced with concern. “I know your exams are soon. You already missed out two years.”
“I am,” I reply, guilt washing over me.
She settles down my clothes on the bed, and glances around.
“I’ll be going out with your father tomorrow. We’ll be staying at Auntie Laura’s house due to the Catholic church event. Would you like to join us?” She offered, her eyes searching mine for any signs of interest. I shook my head politely.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll come next time.”
“Your skirt seems to be riding up,” she pointed out, her gaze drifting to my attire. “Fix it.”
“Sorry.” I whisper as she closes the door behind me.