Page 29 of Monarch
“Which one?”
Xe looks up at me. “All of them.”
I look at Lex for a long time. I see things I’d almost forgotten about but remember with a rush of delight, and frustratingly, love. The darkness of xir eyes – a deep, dark brown that melts into an obsidian black when xir gets turned on – the perfect point of xir chin, the cupid’s bow in xir lips, and how all xir features are beautifully on show because xe never wears make-up, save for occasional thick eyeliner that only darkens xir stare further. At some point, xe returns my gaze, and we hold eye contact for many moments.
I should break it. Iwantto break it. Because the longer I look into xir eyes, the more I feel xe is trying to communicate something to me without words. The more I become convinced that there is more to this story. There is more to Lex’s story.
“And why was I different? Why did you leave me? Didn’t you want space and freedom and to be somewhere else then too?”
Xe drops xir gaze, and in a single bat of xir curled eyelashes, I feel xe puts up a tall, thick wall.
“I had to work,” xe says. “I had commissioned pieces to deliver. A collection to finish. Being in Amsterdam wasn’t helping. I needed to find…inspiration.”
I snort. “And you couldn’t explain this to me, you know, in words? Face to face?”
“You know what I’m like,” xe says, still not looking at me. “When I get called to go create, I have to go. There’s no stopping me.”
I nod to myself. That’s right. Xir fucking muse, or calling, or inspiration, or whatever the fuck it is. When it strikes, nothing else matters to Lex. Xe just finds a place to make art and that’s all xe does.
“You still could have called or texted. Or answered my fucking calls and texts!”
“They were distractions,” xe shrugs and picks up xir mug. “You know I can go offline for days – weeks, sometimes. It’s not personal.”
“It felt personal,” I say sourly.
Xe inches a little closer to me. “But it wasn’t. Didn’t I say as much on the bathroom mirror?” Lex smiles at me like the memory of this should warm me, not haunt me. “Like I said, you know what I’m like.”
I do know what xe is like. But I also don’t. I feel like there’s a whole other layer, or maybe xir very core, that I don’t know. That I’ve only had hints of, little crumbs. But as soon as I get close enough to touch it, taste it, really get to know it, xe pulls it away from me.
“I promise not to do it again,” xe says out of nowhere, and while I can hear the tension in xir voice – like the words were hard to form and push out of xir mouth – I am still stunned that xe actually just said that.
“You promise not to do it again?”
“I promise that if I need to disappear for my art again, I will tell you before I do,” Lex says.
Any sane person would take this as a huge red flag waving right in front of their face. It’s the bare minimum someone should expect in a relationship. But a relationship with Lex has never been a normal relationship. Even with our shared preference for non-monogamy and our tumultuous history, the time I spent with Lex was extraordinary because it was xem. It was xem and xir wild mind, free spirit, and passion for life, for the big and the small, and for me.
God, I miss that passion. God help me, I miss xem.
“You promise?” I ask, more for further clarification than anything else.
“I promise,” xe says, xir treacle eyes holding mine.
“Okay.” I take a sip of my tea and let myself enjoy its perfect flavour. “That’s a start.”
Chapter Twelve
Mari
Icame here for the tattoo convention, I tell myself. I did not come to Amsterdam to get caught up in a messy liaison with my ex.
And yet, when Roos texts asking to see me that evening, I find myself immediately agreeing and suggesting she come to my hotel. Sure, I am comforted by the fact that meeting Roos at the hotel means there’s next to no chance of Lex showing up again, but I’m not even sure that would have put me off completely. Because I’ve found myself thinking about Roos constantly since I left her apartment.
Roos, and, if I’m being honest, Lex.
As I walk through the long rows of exhibits and stands, my eyes are constantly pulled in one way or another at someone’s ink or piercings or simply what they’re wearing. All this visual stimulation – my favourite kind – is no match for memories of Roos in my arms last night. And the sight of Lex standing in front of me.
I swing from feeling hot and horny as I recall a noise Roos made or how her hands felt on my hips, to enraged and incensed with Lex for showing up, and showing up looking so fucking good.
