Page 58 of Monarch
I don’t know if I have nothing to say to xem or too many things to say, but no words come out as I open my mouth.
“Of course, say the word” – xe touches the butterfly sketch with a telling look – “and I’ll walk away right now.”
In many ways, it would be the smart thing to do. I don’t want to do this tattoo. I don’t want to touch xir skin or trace the lines that xe drew, to have my ink on xir body. But to safeword out would be toacknowledge just how much xe still affects me. I know enough about kink to know that using safe words is not a failure or a weakness – quite the opposite, in fact – but for whatever right or wrong reasons, I don’t want to safeword out of this. Perhaps, if I’m being honest, I don’t need to safe word out. I know I can do this tattoo. It’s beautiful and just the right balance of easy and challenging. And if I do it, I can prove to Lex how little xe affects me.
“Fine. Go through to the third chair.” I gesture with a backward nod to the corridor behind me. Lex has been here before, so I assume xe knows where to go.
I expect a smug smile, another self-righteous stare, but I don’t get that. At least not immediately. For a beat, Lex looks surprised, a little taken aback, but then xe composes xemself, and xir face goes blank but for a slight upturn in xir lips. Xe walks past me and down the corridor without saying another word.
“Fuck,” I grunt. I can’t believe this is happening. Three months I’ve managed to avoid xem. Three months I’ve managed to make a new life for myself, completely independently, even separate from Roos who I feared I’d use as a crutch. But as I gather my things, refill my tea with hot water, and finally pick up the sketch Lex left on the counter, I feel like I’m back in xir art studio being lectured by xem.
“Fuck it,” I say, and I pull out my phone and find my text conversation with Roos.
I type and send feverishly. I’m staring at the screen expectantly when a reply pops up almost immediately.
A flame of triumph lights up inside me, although it feels fake and flimsy. So what if Roos and I have scenes together now and then? That doesn’t mean I have any more of her heart than Lex does. Fuck, I don’t even know if they’re still in touch. They could be living together again for all I know.
I push those possibilities to the back of my mind and focus on the fact that regardless of what happens for the next few hours or so with Lex in my tattoo chair, I am going to be playing with Roos, fucking Roos, loving on her in my own torturous way, come Sunday night, and Lex will never be a part of that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lex
If I close my eyes, I could be back in Kay’s Tattoo Studio, aged seventeen or eighteen. The buzz of the gun, the distant mumbling of other artists and their clients, the scent of jasmine tea and eucalyptus – of Mari – rising above the smell of antiseptic and coffee that most tattoo studios universally smell of. The warm touch of their gloved fingertips on my skin, stretching it tight as the needle works its magic. But going back there isn’t a romantic stroll down memory lane. It’s not just Mari and their mum giving me some of my first tattoos. It’s not just us giggling together over too many things to remember. It’s not just me daring them to do a freehand doodle when Kay isn’t looking, turning me on as much as I am full of pride for them. It’s not just nice nostalgia; it’s also a glimpse into a darkness I’ve long put behind me. It’s people and places and pain I don’t want to relive.
So I don’t close my eyes. I keep them wide open as Mari starts to add shading to the Monarch butterfly. They’re bent over my chest, closer to the tattoo that now spreads across my upper chest than I think they need to be, but this position means they can avoid my eye contact, and I know it’s deliberate.
They’re nearly finished, relatively speaking. Maybe only twenty more minutes to go. We’ve barely said more than five words to each other since she started. At first, this annoyed me. But then I relaxed into it. I found a strange comfort in it, in fact. In silence, and with their head bowed over my body, I could pretend this was the Mari I fell in love with. Or the Mari I was friends with for years before wekissed. Or the Mari I used to stare at, disbelieving that they loved me back.
Sure, it’s borderline delusional, but it makes a nice change from having them scowl at me like I’m dog shit on their Doc Martens.
It’s also nice to see Mari at work. I knew ten years ago that they had talent, but it’s clear how much more they have learned and how much more confident they are with the gun in their hand. That said, I’m very aware of how differently they move around me. When they used to ink me before, they would press as much of their body up against me as they worked. They didn’t think twice about physical contact. If anything, they’d chase it, want it, maybe even crave it like I did. But today they’re practically contorting their body to avoid pressing their ample chest against the side of my body as they bend over it. I can’t figure out if I’m relieved or saddened by this.
“Why did you cover up your arm?” they ask out of nowhere, eyes still downturned, their expression impossible to read.
“Oh, you know, blackout sleeves were all the rage a few years ago,” I lie.
“You covered up the X.” Still, they don’t look up. They don’t give me the gift of their face, especially with the surgical mask they’re wearing.
I can’t see their X either, covered by her black disposable gloves, but I know they still have theirs. I’ve noticed it. Took a mental photograph of it.
“I didn’t need it,” I say. Another lie. “You only have to take one look at me to know I’m totally genderfucked.”
“Genderfucked,” they repeat with a snort.
“Oh, you like that?”
Finally, they look up at me and lock their ocean blue eyes on mine. “I didn’t say that.”
“And you,” I venture. “You’re still…”
“Genderfucked?” They switch their focus back to my chest. “Yeah. But I still prefer the term genderfluid.”
“Well, we still have that in common, I guess. Our mutual middle fingers to the gender binary.”
Mari shakes their head but doesn’t say anything else. The buzz of the gun fills my ears instead.
