The dragonflies tattoist - Freenbecky ☆𝆬

Chapter 13

The dragonfly on Becky's back looked like it had been done by the terrible artist Freen used to be years ago, before she started her art lessons with Danai. It was a complete disaster. It was the one tattoo she was most embarrassed about. And yet, Becky told her she loved it.

They went to Becky's apartment in total silence, Freen's eyes glued to the young woman's left wrist. She wondered how Becky had endured the pain, if she had thought twice about what she was doing. Had the sensation of the blade cutting through her skin given her a sense of release, or had it plunged her deeper into a dark place where the pain only got worse?

More importantly, she wondered why Becky had done it.

"Becky..." Freen needed to know.

"I know what you want to ask, Freen. I'd be asking the same thing if I were you." Her eyes seemed to be fixed on the road, though Freen wasn't sure if Becky was really seeing it, or if her mind was somewhere far away, lost in meaningless worlds like Howe used to describe. She wondered if Becky was driving carefully, or if they were both just moving forward out of habit.

"I've never felt so disgustingly dirty, Freen," Becky started, and while her body was present, the tears rolling down her cheeks showed that her memories had taken her back to that night. "So many men had used my body the same way Ratree did that I thought one more time wouldn't matter. But it did. That night, I didn't just scream from the pain of the glass cutting into my skin. I screamed because I remembered those guys, what they did, how I never said no. I felt like an idiot. I felt like an object, something to be used and discarded. And when I looked in the bathroom mirror that night, after Ratree left, I saw my eyes, my nose, my lips, and the rest of my body..."

She fell silent for a few seconds.

Freen wondered if Becky realized she had left her story hanging or if, in the small corner of her mind where she was torturing herself, those seconds felt endless.

"Do you remember when I told you about my kiss with Ying?" Becky continued with a sigh, not waiting for Freen's response. "I told you that in that moment, I realized I had myself. And after I confessed I was in love with you, I said I was scared of losing myself again."

"Becky..." Freen called her softly, running her hand over one of Becky's thighs through the dark fabric of her pants, trying to offer some comfort. "Do you still have yourself?"

Becky didn't hesitate to answer.

"I have myself, baby," she replied sadly. "I haven't lost me. But that night, when I looked into my eyes, I realized who I was. I realized how dirty I felt and how much I'd lost. My first kiss, my first encounter... I have myself, Freen, but I'm a mess."

"Becky, you're not a mess," Freen tried to reassure her, and she truly believed it. 

Becky wasn't a mess. 

Becky was human, making mistakes.

"I love myself, Freen," Becky said with a sigh. "I love myself even though I know I'm a mess. Admitting your mistakes doesn't mean you hate yourself. A girl can love herself even if her eyes are too far apart, or her waist isn't small, or she doesn't weigh what society thinks she should. I love myself, even knowing I've acted like a slut since I was fifteen. And because I love myself, I'm trying to get better. I don't want to see myself suffer."

"I don't get it," Freen whispered, frustrated. "Why would you hurt yourself if you don't want to suffer?"

"I felt like they were in my blood, Freen. Ratree, Keaton, that blonde guy whose name I can't remember. I felt like they were inside me, running through my veins, and I needed them out. I needed to be free of them. It hurt, but I think I would've suffered more if I hadn't done it."