Page 102 of Tears of Ink

“That bloody hurts.”

With a roll of my eyes I chuckle and give him some space.

I start tidying, trying not to watch him as he walks to the mirror and turns his back.

He gave me free reign. Told me to do whatever I thought would be best. At first, I didn’t have a clue, but then when I put the machine on it came to me.

Eli is two people, two halves, a battle that never ends. Two desires that won’t ever meet. The man in the suit, the guy in the sliders. So I did him a yin-yang made from waves, vibrant with blues and purple instead of the obligatory black.

“What do you think?” I ask when he doesn’t say a word.

“I think it’s perfect.” He comes over, his chest still bare and kisses me, pulling me into his arms. I’m careful not to touch his back despite the longing I have to hug him tight.

“Come, let’s go get ice cream.” I grin at him widely.

“Ice cream?” His eyes widen in shock. “But what about my figure?”

I’m giggling and launching myself around him, my hands in his hair, when the door opens and we both turn to find Dan watching us. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Getting ice-cream.” I laugh, and I never want to stop.

I never want this to end. Because when it does it will all be gone.

We’ve had ice cream, kissed with our toes in the sea, and I’ve done the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. I’ve said goodbye to Al.

“Create something, Faith, always create.” He squeezed my fingers and tears stole down my face, but then I looked at Eli and he captured them all. Al watched us, smiling. I’m glad I left him knowing I was happy at last. Even if it’s short lived.

I didn’t see Dad again, and that I can live with for all eternity.

My tears keep coming and going. Eli squeezes my leg every time he hears me give a gentle sob. The car ride has been largely silent.

When we pull up through the gates at Bowsley, he turns to me, his fingers sliding through my hair. “You okay? Can you do this?”

“I want to. Al wanted me to.”

“You know Steers will be here?”

I nod. It’s okay, the last couple of days have weakened my anger. I know now my anger is at myself, my body, my disgust. He’s just a man who didn’t tell me the whole truth. We won’t be friends again, but I’m not going to throw anything at him—that I know of.

He goes to open the door. “Eli, I…” I trail off. There isn’t a word that can adequately describe how I feel. How grateful I am, how inexplicably shaken to the foundations of my existence I am by his presence and the way he makes me feel.

He nods, and it’s all we need.

We stand by the car and stare at the doors of the house. “I don’t know if I’m more worried about your mother, or the mess of clay they’ve probably all made.”

His hand slips into mine and takes me by surprise. “Let’s take one at a time.”

He holds my hand right up to the front door and into the beautifully decorated hallway with the glass flowers. I try to pull away, but he won’t let me; sending me a wide smile instead that tells me we are in this together, whatever that means.

“Oh my god, the prodigal son returns.” Why does Peter the Arse have to be here now? We step through into the sitting room. I’ve barely been in this pale-coloured room, all the furniture a brocade stripe of pale green. It seems the sort of place I would dirty just by being there.

“Shut up, Peter.” Elijah growls. He’s still holding my hand and I’m visibly sweating. I wish I had his quiet confidence, but I don’t.

Gerard is there, and he jumps up when he sees me, placing down his glass of something short and dark on the table. “Faith, are you okay? How was it at home?”

I nod. “Fine, thank you. How did you get on with the groups?”

He looks a little crestfallen at my stiff answer—but really, what else was he expecting? I’ve been to Brighton for a couple of days, not to Mars for a brain lobotomy. He’s still a lying bastard.