The dragonflies tattoist - Freenbecky ☆𝆬

Chapter 26

Becky and Freen walked silently to the painter's car.

Freen couldn't be sure, given the dim light from the streetlamps, but she thought she saw no dents or scratches on the car's exterior anymore.

Becky didn't open the door for her, but Freen slid inside without saying a word.

How could she ask for anything? Becky was broken, and when people are shattered like that, they forget to do things like opening doors.

She was surprised to see that the interior was spotless—no paint stains, no crumpled fast-food wrappers.

In fact, Freen couldn't recall ever seeing a car so impeccably clean.

"Is this a new car?" she asked, glancing around as if taking inventory. It wasn't an exaggeration to say she didn't even remember the original color of the upholstery.

Becky only gave her a faint, hollow smile -the most forced smile Freen had ever seen- and shook her head slowly.

Freen nodded quietly, and just like that, a silent drive began, leading them back to their usual restaurant.

Neither of them had anything left to say.

They didn't sit at their usual table in the middle of the room, nor the one they used to share with Eve, or even any of the surrounding spots. Instead, they chose the table in the far back corner, where they were practically invisible—even to the waitstaff.

Becky's suggestion, of course. And it didn't seem like she picked the spot to do anything 'bad.'

"I can't stand being looked at," Becky whispered faintly.

Freen felt her already fragile heart shatter further, because the Becky she had known would never have uttered those words.

They ordered the same meals they always did, though Victor, their usual waiter, wasn't there—his shift must have ended.

Becky no longer ate slowly or savored every bite like it was crafted by the gods themselves. She ate quickly, hastily, and left more than two-thirds of her plate untouched.

"Please, eat a little more," Freen begged softly.

But Becky crossed her arms and shook her head.

No matter how many times Freen pleaded, Becky refused.

Freen simply pushed her plate aside, called for the check, and left the restaurant with Becky.

"You should've eaten that... You'll get sick," Becky muttered, not looking at her as they walked to the car.

"So will you."

"I don't matter anymore."

Freen wanted to yell right then and there that she did matter—to her, at least. But she didn't.

_____

Since Freen had agreed to spend the rest of the evening with her, Becky decided to take her to her apartment.

During the drive, they finally allowed themselves to talk.

"Were there... others?" Becky asked softly as the light turned red.

"No," Freen replied.

She was startled to see a flicker of disappointment in Becky's expression.

"You deserve to be happy, Freen," Becky said quietly, sadness laced in her voice. "Forget me... forever. Please."

"Why do you ask for the impossible?" Freen shot back, because forgetting Becky was just that—impossible. She was everywhere: in her thoughts, in her heart, and now even in art exhibitions.