Page 35 of Love Punch

“Oh, sorry.” I did my best to relax before looking back to Arthur. Arguing with him was helpful, in its own way. The more I focused on him, the less I could feel the sting as a million tiny needles jabbed ink into me. “Why don’t you draw any more?”

“First day on the job, my iPad got crushed in my suitcase,” Arthur confessed. “Haven’t replaced it since. I draw sometimes on paper, but art supplies—”

“Are an expensive hobby,” said Sophia. “You’re underpaying the poor bugger.”

“Shit. Am I?”

“No.”Arthur looked close to tears, and I didn’t want to push him whilst I was under orders to stay still. I didn’t know what these broken-down emotional barriers would mean in the long run, but I knew I had to shoulder the good and the bad of a relationship with this man. So, we sat in an incredibly awkward silence as Sophia continued her work.

As much as it made the sting worse, there was something therapeutic about focusing in on what she was doing, watching as she created art on my body by mutilating the skin.

After what felt like forever, Sophia stood and cracked her neck. “My work here is done,” she said. She grabbed a piece of tissue, doused it with antiseptic cream, and wiped off the excess ink.

“Beautiful,” I said. “Arthur, come and look.”

He set down the iPad and walked over to where I was sitting. “It’s so pretty,” he said. “Thank you. For telling me.” He kissed my forehead.

“Wow,” Sophia admonished. “If Bradley’s not paying you enough, you can become my apprentice. The pay will be even worse, butdamn.” She’d picked up the iPad whilst we were both goggling over the tattoo, and was admiring whatever Arthur had drawn.

“Can I see?” I asked, looking to Arthur. There was a moment’s hesitation, but then he nodded and stepped aside to allow Sophia to pass the device to me.

The drawing on screen seemed to copy much of Sophia’s style—just black and white with criss-cross shading, but held a more contemporary feel. Two boxing gloves, both pointing opposite ways. But they weren’t held together by string. It looks like a traditional love spoon, criss-crossing over itself in the shape ofa heart, binding the gloves close. “You drew this in an hour?” asked Sophia.

“Half,” confessed Arthur. He swiped over to another picture, this one a crude pencil sketch: one figure hunched over another, tattooing lines into their skin.

“This is me?” I asked.

“Who else?” Despite the short time he’d had, it was beautiful.

“You’re so talented. I can’t believe you’ve let this lapse.”

“I’ve not…” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“How? You have a hobby that you’re good at and enjoyed, a hobby I’ve not seen you touch in three years. How is that complicated? Why is it complicated?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Arthur said matter-of-factly. Before I could respond, he was turning and walking out of the room. A second later, I heard the little tinkle of the shop door to confirm he had walked out onto the street.

“Go,” said Sophia, hastily smearing moisturiser and wrapping my tattoo in plastic. “I’m not a relationship counsellor, but I’m not having a man break up with you the minute you finally get your commitment to him tattooed on your skin in a language he understands. Laser is more painful than the tattoo.”

“Thanks, Sophia,” I said, handing her back the iPad. “And thank you for your work today. It really is beautiful.”

She smiled and held open the door. I walked through the front of the shop and out to the street, where Arthur was leaning against the car door with a sour look on his face.

“I’m driving,” I said. “Pass me those keys.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but threw them to me anyway. He knew what was coming.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“About?” Arthur wouldn’t even look at me as he got into the car.

“You know what. Why you’re not pursuing hobbies, things you love. Maybe this is on me, but I’ve just realised that I don’t know what you like to do. All I’ve ever known you to do is your job.” I turned on the ignition. I already knew in the back of my mind where we were going, and it wasn’t back to my parents’ house. Not yet.

“I watch films with you, I cook.” Arthur’s tone was pointed.

“All in service ofme.Of your job. Are you telling me you stopped drawing because I’m just so overwhelming? Am I working you too hard?”

“Bradley, I think we’ve established that I chose to sit down with you every night was because I was harbouring a crush the size of Belgium.” Arthur looked out of the window as we made our way out of Bristol and onto the dual carriageway that ran through the city. “I worked for you nine to six. Any other time was my choice.”

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