Marry Me, Mr. Sanders!

TATTOO

SAM

"That's it, Sam! Very good," the photographer said. I had a shoot for a swimsuit magazine. All eyes were on me, admiring the shape of my body. Most of the crew were members of the LGBTQ community, so there was no malice in how they viewed what I was wearing. I was already used to the heated stares and the fantasies that I could be claimed. This wasn’t new to me because of my job.
The shoot lasted three hours because I had to wear ten sets, and everything turned out great. I’m really impressed with the team, from the makeup artists who handled me to the assistants.

“You were amazing, Sam,” Cindy said, my personal assistant, sounding impressed. She’s been my PA for a long time. Other than Lance, Cindy knows a lot about my life. Sometimes, I even confide my problems to her. But we hadn’t seen each other in a while because she had returned to her province for almost two months. Cindy was the one with me at the hospital when I had my accident, and she stayed with me until I was discharged, but she suddenly went home when her father passed away. She knows nothing about Knoxx and me, and I have no plans to tell her just yet, especially now that I’m slowly returning to my usual life and work.

"An agency called me earlier. They’re inviting you to a fashion show in Dubai," she said excitedly. "Are you available for a meeting?"
“I’ll think about it,” I replied with a shrug. We were in the dressing room, and she was organizing my stuff while I sat in front of the mirror, removing my makeup.
“This is a great opportunity, Sam. It could even lead to the Paris fashion show. You’ll get to walk alongside world-famous supermodels,” she said, trying to convince me. Actually, I have thought about it, but it’s hard to balance my personal issues. My company's problems are still unresolved. I’ve hired investigators to look into the shady dealings of my uncle. But yes, it’s a great opportunity. It’s also been my dream for a long time.
“By the way, when are you going to have that scar on your back removed?” she asked. “You can't keep covering it with concealer for every shoot,” she added, sounding a bit disappointed. “You went to South Korea for surgery, but you didn’t get it removed.”
I wasn’t annoyed by her remarks because she’s like an older sister to me, and I owe her a lot for always helping me.
“Do you know a good tattoo artist?” I replied.
“What???” she exclaimed loudly.
“Cindy, please, you're going to burst my eardrums,” I said seriously.
“Are you for real, Sam? Is that why you didn’t get it fixed? You want to get a tattoo?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Yes, I’m damn serious, Cindy. I’ve thought long and hard about this, which is why I didn’t get it removed. Call me crazy, but I want to remember the events in my life because of that scar. It’s the reason I keep fighting despite the challenges life throws at me.” I wanted to cry, but no tears came. Maybe my heart has become immune to the wounds life has given me.
“So, what do you want to put there? A dragon?” she asked, laughing, hands on her hips in front of me.
“Just answer my question—do you know a good tattoo artist?” I replied.
“Yes. I have a friend who’s great at it. Luckily, she’s a woman. If it were a man, I wouldn’t recommend it,” she said, finally giving in.
“You’re still shy around men,” I teased her with a laugh. Despite the nature of my work, I know she's just concerned about me and doesn’t want me to be disrespected. “Let’s go. Aren’t you done yet? I’m starving.”
“All done,” she said, carrying my things. “Where are we eating?”
“Anywhere.”
As I drove to our favorite restaurant, she scheduled me with her tattoo artist friend. We’ll go tomorrow afternoon. She said it would be quick since the artist is highly skilled. I have no appointments in the next few days, so I’ll be able to recover before my scheduled shoots.
It was late when I got back to the penthouse after dropping Cindy at her apartment. I still hadn’t told her where I’m staying now. She’d definitely have a lot of questions if she found out. As usual, it was dark when I opened the penthouse. I live alone. A week had passed since my last encounter with Knoxx. Yes, an encounter, because by the grace of God, nothing happened between us. I felt like a leech that disgusted him.

“In your dreams, Portman. Did you think I’d go for you? You disgust me. You’re lucky you even got a taste of me. I hate you more than you’ll ever know! To hell with you!” he shouted, slamming the door. A moment ago, my whole body was heated, but now it felt like I’d been doused with cold water. His shouts echoed through the penthouse. I weakly sat on the bed, hugging my bent knees. I thought I was used to his hurtful words. But it’s even more painful to be repulsed by your own “husband.” I don’t even know how long I sat there, staring blankly outside. I couldn’t cry, and I don’t know why. It hurt, but I couldn’t express my feelings.

I still feel like my chest tightens every time I enter my room. But there’s nothing I can do since I live here now. It’s better to stay in my room than risk running into him again. I might go crazy the next time; I feel like I’ve developed trauma from what happened. It’s better to avoid him. I don’t stay in the penthouse much anymore. I usually eat out.

It was already midnight, but sleep wouldn’t come. So many things were troubling my mind, including Knoxx. He hadn’t come to the penthouse for a week. I got up and went to the kitchen for some milk when I saw the beer in the fridge. I grabbed it and drank three sips. I couldn’t taste the bitterness anymore because life’s events were far more bitter. I finished three cans and was starting to feel its effects. I sat in the living room, gazing at the city lights. I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep until morning came.