The dragonflies tattoist - Freenbecky ☆𝆬

Chapter 27

Freen thought she would never see Rebecca Armstrong again after that night at her apartment. Becky had promised, after all, and despite how much it hurt, Freen had started to accept that their lives were moving in completely opposite directions.

But life had other plans, forcing their paths to cross once more.

Freen was sketching a design for an affluent client when the chime of the front door echoed through the studio.

She didn't look up; she'd long since stopped expecting anyone.

Then she heard footsteps approaching and lifted her gaze to find Chanon standing there, his expression heavy with sadness.

And behind him were the lifeless green eyes of Rebecca Armstrong.

"You're going to tattoo her," he said softly, his voice tinged with melancholy.

He had noticed it too—the change in Becky. The sickly pallor of her skin, the oversized dark clothing that once fit her perfectly, the way she avoided meeting anyone's gaze.

"I..." Chanon stammered. "It's time for me to go."

And just like that, he left. And even though Becky stood there, Freen felt the crushing weight of loneliness.

"I know I promised you wouldn't see me again," Becky whispered, her steps slow as she moved toward the wall covered in graffiti and sketches. "But I need a tattoo, and you've done all of mine, Freen. I don't trust anyone else."

Her voice cracked, and a couple of tears escaped despite her best efforts to hold them back.

"Why are you crying?" Freen asked gently.

"The dragon and the unicorn... they're still there," Becky murmured, her voice trembling as she stared at the drawing Freen had made—a symbol of their relationship before everything fell apart.

"The dragon and the unicorn will never disappear..." Freen replied softly.

"That's what you think, Freen."

And in that moment, it was Freen who let a tear slip down her cheek.

_____

Freen asked Becky to remove her jacket and shirt to make the tattooing process easier.

Without a word, Becky complied.

She didn't throw out flirtatious remarks or shower herself with compliments. She didn't do anything to make Freen believe that the old Becky was still there.

The tattoo artist covered her mouth, trying to suppress her tears when she saw her.

She could clearly see the outline of Becky's ribs, and her skin had an even sicker tone in the areas untouched by sunlight. Her collarbones jutted out sharply, a stark reminder of how frail she'd become.

And both arms, from wrist to shoulder, were lined with scars of varying sizes and depths. Some old, some fresh, but all of them were wounds.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Becky?" Freen asked softly.

But the painter didn't answer.

_____

The last spot on that long column of dragonflies ended at the bone of her tailbone. Freen gently touched the area, feeling how much it protruded compared to before.

She also felt the urge to run her hand over Becky's ribs, just to confirm if things were as bad as they looked. But she held back. It wasn't appropriate, not when there was almost nothing left of her.