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“What's the story?”
He jerks, her question startling him.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your tattoo. What’s the story?”
He laughs nervously, looking embarrassed.
“Uh, no story,” he says, clearly fibbing.
Rey puts her tool down.
“Look, if you’re getting it removed, what does it matter? Can't you tell me?”
A look of irritation crosses his face.
It wasn’t a bad look, to be honest.
“Maybe it’s none of your business,” he says.
Rey looks down, her cheeks burning with contrite.
“I’m sorry…my boss says I have a habit of talking too much. He…gets angry when I speak to customers.”
Her eyes subconsciously drift to the bruises on her arms and she thinks about the other bruises, in places she’s able to hide by her long shirt and leggings.
He follows her gaze, and frowns at the dark purple stains on her tanned skin.
“Did he do that to you?” he says, a note of anger pulsing through his words and expression.
That was interesting.
Was he angry for her?
Rey shook her head.
“Maybe it’s none of your business,” she says back at him, although more sad than accusatory.
He says nothing, just clenches his jaw.
Rey gets back to work.
“I was about twenty-three,” he says after a while, in a monotone that suggests he’d rather talk about anything else.
Rey is silent, letting him speak.
“I guess you could say I’d fallen in with the “wrong crowd”, as it were. I didn’t really know what I was doing. Not really. I was…lonely, maybe. These guys offered companionship. Even a steady income. It was all I could have asked for.”
Rey bites her lip, listening hard and dangerously not paying attention to her task.
He continues.
“But then, they started asking of me strange things. Things I would never have done on my own. I began to feel turmoil, conflict. I felt an urge to leave, leave it all behind. The idea, though—of leaving, that is—terrified me. I didn’t want to be alone again. So, to renew and motivate my resolve, I had one of them carve this—”
He gestures to the ink Rey is working on removing.
“—Into my flesh. I thought it would serve as a reminder why I was there. Why I joined. To keep me on the path.”
His eyes were filled with memory and remorse, their depth ages older than the man himself.
Rey felt a shard of empathy cut through her.
She’d never seen this man in her life.
Yet she felt his pain.
She knew his pain.
It was reminiscent of her own.
“And?” Rey whispers.
He looks up at her, dazed, as if he’d forgotten she was there. He seemed not to notice the pain of her work on him.
“What?”
“Did it? Help you stay on the path?”
He’s silent for a moment, watching her small hands move.
“No,” he says finally.
“It didn’t. The call to leave was too great.” He hesitates.
Rey waits.
“So I ran,” he breathes, as if the words were like knives in his soul, as if they were physically painful to utter.
“Where?” Rey asks, as softly as she could.
“Nowhere. Everywhere.” His expression lifts a little.
“Now I’m here,” he says, with a touch of—not joy, perhaps contentment, or a sliver of satisfaction.
“Oh,” Rey says.
It is enough.
He smiles at her shyly, then falls silent, observing her work without comment.
Rey wants to ask him more, but dares not.
It is not her place to probe deeper, to intrude into a part of this stranger’s life that was obviously painful.
She works quietly, aware of his steady gaze on her.
She likes it.
It’s warm, and friendly, not cool or antagonizing.
It soothes her, lets her know she’s not alone.
It’s nice.
Rey finishes within the next few hours, her hand pleasantly sore and her wrists stiff.
“Thank you,” he says, when she’s putting away her tools.
She grins up at him as he stands, his height somewhat deemed insignificant by the grateful smile on his face.
“You’re welcome,” she says, a touch bashfully.
“Listen,” he says, his smile fading a little, and he shuffles his feet, nervous.
Rey waits.
“If you’d like, I can tell you more.”
Rey blinks.
“Of the story,” he elaborates, blushing a little.
Rey swallows, her heart thrumming as fast as her thoughts.
What?
“Um, sure,” she manages, her voice unsteady.
“Can you meet me tomorrow? For coffee?” he asks hopefully.
Rey nods, not trusting her voice to obey her.
“Cool,” he says awkwardly.
Rey stares at him, his eyes seeming to envelop her in their soft depths.
He stares at her, her eyes holding him fast.
“What’s your name?” he whispers.
“I’m Rey,” she barely mouths, but he still somehow hears her.
“Ben,” he returns.
“Okay, Ben,” Rey smiles, taking a breath.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?"
"Okay."