Page 20

Bella

I didn’t expect Blade’s mom to agree when I walked up to the house to ask if she wanted that first tattoo now. But here she is, half-lying in my new chair in just a tank top, her white-grey hair pulled back from her face.

“How much is this going to hurt?” she asks, but I hear no trepidation in her voice, no backing out.

“It’s going to hurt, I’m not gonna lie,” I tell her and grin. “So if you want to change your mind…”

She shakes her head resolutely. Good. Because I already have my latex gloves on and my needle and colors ready. I also already have a firm mental image of what I will draw on her skin.

“So, a butterfly?” I ask.

“Yes, because they represent rebirth and transformation,” she says. “But also because I just really love them. I planted a few special bushes in the garden that I read would draw them in to my garden, but so far, no luck. Maybe it’s all the smog in this city. I really should move to the country.”

Most of my customers get chatty, especially first timers. It’s the nerves and anticipation of pain, so I just smile along and listen.

“I’ll give you the most beautiful butterfly to have with you all the time,” I say. “We could even make it a little family of butterflies? What do you say?”

The shock on her face says all I need to hear. A big no.

“Maybe just one to start,” she says. “Then you can add more if…”

“If it’s not too painful? Gotcha.”

I turn on the needle and the buzzing sound makes her tremble. Another reaction I’ve seen a bunch of times before.

“Don’t worry, you’re a tough lady,” I say. “It won’t be more pain than you can handle.”

I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. I caused a bunch of that pain for her, including putting her only son in a coma for three days. My father and brothers did that, but I might as well have done it, since it happened because of me.

“We’ll see if I can handle it,” she says and laughs. “Else I’ll just have a little dot or something… if I change my mind.”

If she’d been thinking the same thing I was, it’s not evident from her voice. And I better get started before those terrible memories swallow my whole mind and leave me useless.

As soon as I draw the first line, the now disappears and I’m all-in on the art I’m creating. It happens when I draw on paper and even more so when I draw on skin. I love it.

“You don’t think my saggy, old lady skin will make it look odd?” she asks, eying what I’m doing.

“Your skin is great,” I tell her and it’s not even a lie. “I think it will look gorgeous.”

The butterfly would look perfect on her hand, as though just resting there for the moment. But she’d never go for a tattoo that’s visible all the time. So I’m putting it along her collarbone, where it’s easily covered, or uncovered whenever she wants to look at it.

I was right about her high tolerance for pain. She barely flinched when the needle pierced her skin and is handling it fine as I go on.

“So what color are you making it?” she asks.

“I was thinking sapphire, yellow and black,” I say.

“Perfect,” she says. “It’ll be like a piece of jewelry. I do love sapphires.”

“I know you do,” I say. “That’s why I chose those colors.”

She gives me a sidelong look that pulls me right back into the whirlwind of memories I’m trying really hard to ignore. I don’t return her look, just focus even harder on the drawing and it helps. Somewhat.

I’ll need one of those stronger reflector lights in here.

I thought I could get away with it without getting one, but the light is fading fast and not even turning all the lamps and ceiling lights is helping.

Not that I need much light to work with.

I see the design in my head clearly, and my hand translates it onto skin exactly.

That’s always been a gift I had. Probably my only gift.

My vision of a butterfly that had just landed on her collarbone is coming together perfectly. I can’t wait to add the colors. That’s when the vision will truly come to life. But for now I’m just tracing the outline, just making the shape to fill, just giving it the first inklings of life…

“You really love this work, don’t you?” Sophia asks.

Her eyes are clear and pain free as I gaze at her, get sucked into them, because I’m still so lost in the work.

“And I really love your son too,” I say.

No idea what made me say it. I was so consumed by the art I was making I’d lost touch with the real world. It happens all the time. That’s why I prefer to not engage in small talk when I work. Because I never know what stupid thing is gonna come out of my mouth.

There’s pain in her eyes now. And my needle isn’t even touching her skin.

I remedy that by getting back to work, praying to get back the focus I had. But it’s melting away even as the colors I’m applying melt together into perfectness.

“I was trying to get help for him that night,” I say. “I was trying so hard. I don’t know if anyone ever told you…”

“He told me,” she says. “It was the night you were abducted.”

“And I never imagined my family would beat him up so badly,” I say, choosing to ignore the last bit of what she said.

That night is just darkness in my mind, the next two weeks even more so. The only light is the love exploding in my chest, love for Blade, that led me forward, let me fight, kept me sane in that dark basement. “I never imagined a lot of things… things I should’ve known.”

The silence that follows is full of the buzzing of my needle that sounds like water flowing fast somewhere. Like maybe under the bridge. If only I were so lucky. Of course no one trusts me, of course she doesn’t trust me. I’ve done nothing to deserve anyone’s trust.

“You’ve made some mistakes, there’s no two ways about that,” Sophia finally says. “But what happened that night isn’t your fault. None of that was your fault.”

The butterfly is done. It’s just as pretty and perfect as I wanted it to be.

Maybe even slightly better. But I can’t see that perfectness anymore.

It doesn’t make me happy. I’m still just lost. Like I was that night.

Like I’ve been since that night. Right up until Blade showed up at my studio almost two weeks ago now.

But everything is still all messed up. Nothing is perfect.

“Go look,” I tell her, having trouble stringing more than that together. “In the bathroom mirror. Before I bandage it up.”

She gives me another loaded look, a searching look, like she’s checking for my reaction to what she said. All she’ll see is regret. And that hasn’t solved anything yet.

I say nothing and thankfully neither does she. Instead, she gets up and walks to the bathroom like I asked her too. A gasp is followed by another loaded look in my direction.

“This is beautiful, Bella,” she says. “Better than anything I could’ve hoped for. And my sagging skin isn’t getting in the way at all.”

She’s grinning wide as she checks it out some more, moving her arm this way and that.

“It’s like it’s alive,” she says. “And the colors. They’re amazing too. So real. So shimmery.”

“Glad you like,” I say as I join her in the bathroom, holding the bandage to put over it. “I wanted you to love it.”

“And I do.”

She’s gazing at me but I’m avoiding her eyes. I’ve seen quite enough of the fuck up that is my past in them tonight. And heard it in her voice too.

“You have to keep it dry for a few days. And apply this ointment.” I hand her a small vial of it.

“I didn’t want to push you,” she says once we’re just standing there under the glaring fluorescent light in the bathroom.

This room also has a stained-glass window. It’s a colorful picture of a meadow full of flowering trees. And I’m pretty sure those dots I can’t quite make out are butterflies. “You can talk to me anytime.”

“What’s the point?” I ask. “The past will still be the past. Why bring it forward to mess everything up now?”

“There’s something to be said for releasing the past,” she says.

“I don’t think I’m one of those people that can be saved,” I say. “I can only be forgiven. Maybe.”

She doesn’t speak, just wraps her arms around me and it’s very hard to keep the tears in.

But I manage it. Because crying about it never solved anything.

Back when I still lived at home with my family, I’d do a lot of yelling and screaming and arguing.

But that didn’t solve anything either. None of this can be solved.

It just has to be endured. I’ve learned and relearned that so many times in the last ten years.

“If you’re looking for my forgiveness, you have it,” she whispers.

And I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that until a tiny tear escaped despite its pointlessness.

“And I’m sure others will forgive you too.

In time. Because none of it is really your fault.

You were too young to be blamed for your addiction, for giving your heart away, for making the wrong choices for the right reasons. ”

What she’s saying makes perfect sense. But it’s just words. And words, like crying, don’t make anything better. I’m not sure anything ever truly gets better.

“You have to forgive yourself first, Bella,” she says and lets me go to gaze into my eyes again.

This time I do return the look. And get lost in her eyes again. But also found, in some bizarre way.

“I’ll work on it,” I say and extricate myself from her arms.

But I think both of us know I wouldn’t know where to begin.

In Blade’s arms is a good start, a little voice in my head is telling me.

But another one is screaming at me that I’ll just fuck it all up again.

Maybe worse than the first time. That I should leave.

That being alone is better. At least there’s no one around to be hurt then. But there’s no one to love either.