Page 217 of Sweet Nightmare
Not yet.
She continues studying my arm, her eyes moving over the ink.
“And the letters?”
Her fingers hover just above the tattoo, not quite touching.
And my heart?
That stupid bastard starts pounding like it’s trying to break free of my chest.
Those pretty eyes of hers lift to mine, curiosity shining in them, and for some reason, I don’t mind telling her.
“Those mean something.”
“Well, that’s helpful.”
A small smile tugs at my mouth, but it fades as I look down at the tattoo.
For a moment, I say nothing. Some doors stay locked for a reason. Some memories are easier to bury than to explain. But Artemis is sitting across from me, looking at me like she actually wants to know the man beneath the music, the tattoos, and all the fucking noise.
I want her to know me.
So, I reach for the handle and open the door. I let her in.
“My Ma used to say surviving isn’t the same as living.”
Artemis leans forward to show me that I got all her attention.
I continue. “She told me that when I was young. Back when I thought getting through the day was enough.”
My thumb brushes over the ink.
“She wanted me to understand that staying alive and actually having a life weren’t the same thing. She wanted me to find something worth waking up for.”
I swallow.
“Something that made me want to see the next day.”
The words hang between us.
“I got the tattoo on the anniversary of her death.”
Artemis freezes mid-bite. Slowly, she lowers her chopsticks beside her plate, her eyes never leaving mine.
“She died when I was nine.”
Artemis doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t interrupt or give me that awkward look people get when they don’t know whether to offer sympathy or pretend they haven’t heard something painful.
She simply listens.
And fuck, somehow, that makes it easier to keep talking.
“I don’t remember everything about her anymore,” I admit quietly. “Sometimes, I hate that.”
My throat tightens.
“I remember her voice. The way she smelled. How she used to run her fingers through my hair when she thought I was asleep.”
