The dragonflies tattoist - Freenbecky

Chapter 14

It wasn't like that kiss suddenly made them a couple, or that they were still nothing. They were stuck in that uncomfortable, frustrating middle ground. Right in the limbo of relationships.

"I don't want to paint you yet," Becky murmured as they walked down the hallway, hands intertwined, heading for the door at the end.

"You know that means you won't get to see me naked, right?"

"Yeah," Becky nodded. "And honestly, I don't care," she added with a hint of indifference.

"I can't believe you just said that, Becky..."

"Neither can I," she admitted with a shy smile, her eyes dropping to the floor for a few seconds. "Maybe I'm going crazy," she joked, poking fun at herself.

"You already were."

Becky stopped in her tracks and turned abruptly, locking eyes with Freen. A smile appeared on the painter's lips as their gazes met. When she gently caressed Freen's cheek before pulling her hand away, it seemed almost instinctual.

"You're right," Becky said softly. "Guess I'll need to come up with a better explanation."

Without another word, she gripped Freen's hand even tighter, pulling her into the room that Freen, already knew well.

"So, what are we doing now, Becky?" Freen asked nervously. "If you're trying to move things forward, I should tell you, I'm not ready and..."

"Freen!" Becky interrupted, "I just want to talk. I don't want to sleep with you. I'm not even ready for that myself, and believe me, I used to strip down for the first idiot who looked like they'd make a good subject for my next masterpiece."

"Have you ever even been with women?" Freen asked, sitting down on the bed and instinctively striking a pose she often used during their sessions. It wasn't to tease Becky, but more out of habit. "You always talk about 'him', never 'her'."

"There were a few. Most of them were prostitutes. But it was different with them, because I was genuinely attracted to those women. I regret being with the men, baby, but not with them."

"I get it," Freen whispered, and she really did.

And it hurt, even though those past relationships had been fleeting.

It hurt because someone else had kissed Becky, someone else had held her, touched her, and Becky had liked it.

"The first was Mary, the prostitute my uncle paid for to cheer me up. Later, when I started painting, I'd go to the brothel and pick my models. If I liked them enough, I'd pay double for their 'favors' afterward."

"So, does that mean you've never had a girlfriend?" Freen asked.

"Not really. At first, I went to the brothel every day and always paid for Mary's service. I'd tell her things, and she'd listen, trying to make me feel better. I thought we had something, but one night I saw her dancing for a guy, holding him the same way she did with me, and I realized she wasn't really listening or comforting me. She was there for the money, and I was there for her because I needed to feel wanted somehow. After that, I dated Jessy, a college student who worked at a strip club on Saturdays. We lasted a week. Finally, I was with Isabelle, who also worked at a brothel. I didn't care who she slept with; I just needed to feel like I had someone. She left me for a guy named Peter, who had money and would take her to alleyways. Last I heard, she got pregnant."

"Did you love them?"

Becky immediately shook her head, without a trace of shame.

"I've only ever loved one girl in my life, and that's me," Becky answered with a sigh before sitting down beside Freen, her hand sliding over her leg until their fingers were barely touching.