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He smiles. “Oh, that’s why, then.”
Over the last few years, I’ve decorated my body the way that I always wanted to. I pierced my eyebrow and double-pierced my lip, and it does feel good when Devon pulls it through his teeth. My hips and thighs are completely covered in beautiful art, and the scars aren’t noticeable unless you know exactly where to look. I can wear a bikini now and feel proud of my body, of who I am, and of what I’ve overcome.
The things that happened to me changed me, but they don’t have to be the sum of who I am. I can be etched in ink instead of carved in scars. I can be happy; I’m worthy of love. I can tell my story. I can bring joy to others through my art and try to make a difference in small ways for someone else when it matters.
We walk back to our spot on the beach, hand in hand, and sink into our chairs, grateful to be under the shade of the umbrella. Devon reaches into the cooler and pulls out a couple of beers.
“You want one, Ally?”
“Yes, please,” I tell him.
He removes the bottle cap and hands it to me, leaning in and kissing me when he does. I thread my fingers through his long-again hair and deepen it, sliding my tongue into his mouth before remembering we’re not alone and breaking away.
“What about you, Kate?” he asks my mom. “Do you want a beer?”
“Mine is still full,” she tells him. “Thanks, though, Devon.”
She did end up getting out of jail in time to buy me a drink when I turned twenty-one. She’s endlessly proud of me, and I gave her her first tattoo at age thirty-eight. She and Devon both have my name etched into their skin.
Which is fitting. Because they’re never getting rid of me.
Hours pass just like this before we pack up and head home. The one-bedroom duplex was great for the first couple of years, but now we rent a three-bedroom house just outside town. A small sunroom off the back makes for a perfect art studio; it gets the best light in those early morning hours. There’s a backyard with plenty of room for our dogs to run around. We have only two, not seventeen, and even that seems excessive with their energy at times. But the shelter said they were a bonded pair and couldn’t be separated; they needed to be adopted together. I told Devon that’s what we were, too—a bonded pair—and we brought them home.
On our way home, we drop my mom off in front of her building. She stayed in the guest room for about six months but recently moved to a small apartment near downtown. She got a job cleaning a nearby office building and helps us out around the studio whenever we need her.
It was nice having her around, but it’s nice having the place to ourselves again, too. Someday, we’ll fill it with small people. But for now, we’ll take full advantage of this space we’ve made ourown. When we get home, we fuck on the kitchen table while we wait for Uber Eats to deliver our food and then again against the shower wall before bed.
We don’t bother dressing afterward. I climb under the covers, and he wraps his body around mine. He’s etched in ink, too, from both shoulders down to his wrists, and I’ve started on a piece that will cover his back.
And in the morning, I know I’ll wake up with his hands and mouth on me, and it will be okay because it’s him—and it will always be him. There is no version of me happy that doesn’t include Devon West.
Etched in ink or carved in scars. It’s us. Against the world.
