“What does your tattoo mean?” We have just finished another rough round of the best sex I have ever had. New rule, any man I sleep with must have the trifecta of vaginal bliss. When the steel of his base piercing hits my clit, I can see angels singing in the heavens.
He is relaxed on his back with his arm slung over his head, and the tattoo I haven’t noticed before is on full display. I have been running my fingers softly over the ink for a few minutes, watching his skin prickle with every stroke. I’ve never seen something so simple be this moving, breathtaking. There has to be at least twenty small black birds that start at his hip and fly around to his back where I assume they end around his shoulder. Intertwined in the birds are the words ‘Free Yourself, Gracefully’. It can’t be a coincidence the only part written in an elegant script is the word ‘Grace’.
He brings his other hand over and absentmindedly runs his fingers over the last word on his ribs. “It’s for my sister, Grace.”
He doesn’t say anything else, but continues to trace his fingers over her name.
“How long ago?” I don’t need to say more; he knows what I mean.
“Almost ten years.” He rolls on to his side and props his head onto his hand. “I was overseas when I got the call.”
“Jesus… I’m sorry, Greg. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but trust me when I say I know how you feel.” I don’t talk about my sister. Not even to my mother who knows exactly what I feel. I just haven’t been ready. Even now, almost two years later, it still crushes me to know that she won’t ever be there again.
‘Beauty,” he says, running one of his fingers down my face. “I have felt the pain of losing her for so long now, and not once have I met someone who could feel this. Want to give me more than that?”
“Not really… but I will,” I rush to get out when I see him start to pull back. Not physically. No physically, he is very much here but his eyes lose the light. “My sister. I lost her coming up two years ago.”
I flip to my stomach and move my hair out of the way. In the center of my shoulder blades is a single feather with a bird flying out from a fracture in the tip. Underneath the feather in tiny script are the words ‘Take this broken wing and learn to fly’.
“Kind of weird how close our ink is.” I say, trying to lighten the moment, but really, how can you make light of this shit.
“Grace would have loved you. Not many people would give me shit.” His lips ghost over my ink before I feel him move away. “She was only twenty-five when she died. I didn’t get the call for almost a week, a week she was gone and I had no clue that my other half…” He stops talking and visibly composes himself. “I felt it. People are always skeptical of the twin connection, but I felt it. It was almost like the string that connected us had snapped. Didn’t know it at the time, being that I was in the middle of a battlefield but looking back, I felt it.”
“How did she pass?”
“She was murdered.” I gasp, the sound echoing around the room, but he doesn’t even look at me. He is clearly lost in the memory. “The bastard she was married to fucked with her car. The only peace I have is that she didn’t suffer in the end. Married to that piece of shit for almost five years and I didn’t have a fucking clue he was beating her until it was too late.”
“What?” I whisper, shocked at the sound of my own voice. I sit up swiftly and just look at him, “What did you just say?”
“Fuck, I didn’t mean to get heavy, babe. Really. It’s been so long since I talked about her, I just lost myself for a second there.”
“He hurt her?”
He sighs deeply. “Yeah, Beauty… he hurt her.”
“Fia, my sister, her husband… her husband hurt her too. Only difference was I knew; I knew and I didn’t do shit because she wouldn’t let me!” His arms wrap around me and pull me close to his body. I know I haven’t dealt well with Sofia’s death. Brushing it under the rug and marching on seems to be working, and who am I to mess with what works. My strong exterior has become who I am but deep down inside, I just want to let it all out. Scream, yell, and freak the hell out that I will never see her again.
I tried, for years to get her to leave that bastard. Every time, she would just brush it off. Then she had Cohen and nothing would get her to leave. I begged, oh how I begged. “She kept saying she was okay! How is your husband beating you o-fucking-kay?”
“You never dealt with this shit.” Not a question. I go from sated to fucked up in the blink of an eye. Hello! Poster child for fucked in the head, right here!
“You know what’s fucked up? I begged her, I begged her, and in the end, she fucking shot the bastard. She shot him, but not before he got to her first.” He goes solid under me for a few seconds but I am too far into my memories to even process what makes him tense up. “Cohen was asleep upstairs.”
“Cohen?” His voice sounds off, almost strained.
“My nephew. Coolest kid in the world.”