Page 59 of Monarch
“I still like mine,” they say, again surprising me by speaking first. “My X. It’s one of my favourite tattoos.”
“But not because we got it together.”
“No, not because of that,” they say, their voice quiet. “I like seeing it. I never realised how much you look at your own hands until I got that tattoo. And all the others on my hands.”
The needle grazes over a rib that pushes up against my skin. I grimace openly. They’re not looking at me, so fuck it.
“Is it hurting?” they ask, and I freeze. How did they…
“No,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“Is that why you covered it up? The X. And the others I did on that arm. Because of me?”
I can’t tell if it makes it better or worse that they’re still not looking up at me as they lay these accusations.
“I still have plenty of the tattoos you gave me,” I say, and I wonder if Mari realises how expertly I’ve dodged a direct answer. “On my back.”
They look up again, the needle held less than a centimetre off my skin. “Where you can’t see them.”
I don’t say anything, but I hold their stare until they break it. The mask covers half of their face, and yet their eyes tell me so much. They always did.
“How’s Roos?” I ask, so desperate to change the subject, I mention the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t when I sat down in this chair.
“She’s…” Mari sits up but keeps their eyes down. They wipe my tattoo with a paper towel and study it. “She’s good.”
“You’re still seeing her then? Dating? Fucking? Whatever?”
They blink at me, and their eyes look colder than before. Emptier. “We play together. At QISS.”
It’s not the response I expect, but it doesn’t surprise me. It’s also not a complete answer. There could be so much more to it or nothing at all.
“We know that you came.” Mari bends back over my arm. “One night, some months ago. That first week I was in Amsterdam.”
“Joel,” I explain it to myself with a wry smile they don’t see. “He’s a loyal fucker.”
“Why did you come? You wanted to play?”
“Sometimes I go to play, yes. But other times, I like to watch.” My honest reply surprises them as much as it does me.
They glance up again. “And you watched that night?”
“I did.”
“Because it was Roos?” Their eyes are somehow steady and searching at the same time.
I swallow before I speak. “And you.”
Their eyes change colour, like a wave crashing. And then they hood them again, looking down.
“You stayed away from Roos?” they ask, and I can hear how they’re trying to make it sound casual, but of course it comes out as anything but.
“I haven’t been in touch, no,” I answer honestly. “But not because you told me to stay away.”
“Oh, of course not,” they scoff.
“I had to…I had to focus on my work. On myself. It wouldn’t have been fair to try and start something with her. She deserves more.”
“Finally, something we agree on,” Mari mumbles.
