The Rebel's Plot

Chapter 9

I wake up the next morning with a dull ache in my ear, shoulder, and wrist—a constant reminder of yesterday's tattoo session. The ink is all there: an iris, a phoenix, and Biscuit's paw print, with a semicolon tucked neatly into the centre. Each design holds its own meaning, but the paw print, both literally and figuratively, strikes the deepest chord. I've carried those traces of Biscuit's paw for five years, keeping it tucked safely in my pocket since I first pressed it into ink. Now, it's etched into my skin, a permanent reminder of the bond we shared, always close to my heart, in more ways than one.

I wander over to the mirror and take a seat, feeling as if I'm gazing at a new version of myself. Do I genuinely desire a change, or is it even a change at all, or merely an illusion of what change might be?

I stretch, feeling the sharp tug of soreness from my fresh tattoos. I start by carefully peeling the bandage from my shoulder, tossing it aside once it's free. Next, I grip the wrap on my wrist, pulling it off slowly and relishing the cool air against my skin. Finally, I turn my attention to the bandage on my earlobe, removing it with deliberate care. With all the tattoos now fully exposed, I take a moment to examine them closely.

Yes, I do want to change—I mean, moving on from George and getting to know Maude.

I stare at my reflection. This redhead with those green eyes, everything about her, seems oddly alien to me, as if I were to meet this girl somewhere else, I wouldn't recognise her. It's rather unsettling.

I glance at my phone. A message from Pierre pops up: "How are you holding up, love? Don't forget to follow the aftercare instructions."

I can't help but smile at his overbearing concern. I tap out a quick reply: "Surviving. Will do. Thanks for the reminder."

I make my way to the kitchen, where the morning sun filters through the blinds, casting soft patterns on the floor. The warmth feels oddly soothing against my sore skin. In the midst of preparing a simple breakfast of toast and marmalade with a steaming cup of tea, and with Tin Tin's Toast and Marmalade for Tea playing faintly in the background, my thoughts meander back to Sebastian. His nonchalance about my choices—especially the inks I showed him yesterday—has been both comforting and disconcerting. I can't help but wonder if his casual attitude is just a façade, masking deeper, unspoken feelings.

A knock at the door jolts me from my reverie. I open it to find Sevi standing there with a box in hand, Oliver behind him, waving. "Mom told me you were here, and Percy thought you might need a bit of distraction." Sevi steps inside with a grin. "I've brought some books and a few films from him. Figured you might be a bit bored."

"Cheers, Sev." I take the box, a twinge of guilt nagging at me—Pierre has been distinctly uneasy about Oliver's involvement. "Hey, Ollie! Come on in, you lot, you're just in time for brekkie. Got a fresh pot on and a few bangers sizzling."

Oliver's face lights up, and he doesn't need a second invitation. Sevi follows, already eyeing the table. The box is heavier than it looks, packed with Peirre's thoughtful bits. He always knows what I want, and I beam at my brother and Ollie's efforts to bring his gifts to me.

We plonk ourselves on the sofa after a quick breakfast, popcorn at the ready, while my brother, Sevi, gets the telly sorted. "What are we watching then?" he asks, digging through every DVD case in the box like it's a treasure hunt.

"Did Pierre pick up The Parent Trap?" Ollie chimes in. "I haven't seen that in yonks, and I proper love it."

"Yeah, it's a classic," I nod in agreement.

"Me too. Let's have a look," Sevi nods.

Just then, my phone buzzes again with a message from Pierre: "Just a quick heads-up — don't go pushing yourself too hard. Make sure you get some rest and keep your tattoos all spick and span."