A Kiss For Your Freedom
Chapter 1

POV Emma

The needle continues to pierce my skin, unaffected by the burning I'm starting to feel. I know what that means, I'm already on my fifth session and after this one, it's almost over. Lying on my stomach, I try to focus on the music she's put on for me. Every time, she does everything to relax me. I close my eyes, it's already been over two hours since I stepped through the front door. The pain starts to get a little stronger, my skin is raw as she tirelessly goes over the same area to fill it completely. I still have to hold on, I didn't do all this for nothing. I control my breathing, calm my mind. Just a few more minutes, just a few more minutes.

My cell phone rings, breaking my concentration and the monotone of her t*****e device. She withdraws the needle as I reach out to see her name on the screen. I don't feel like answering her, not now. The truth is, I feel less and less like answering her, but I can't let go of that either. Still, I turn my cell phone over, turning off the ringer so I don't have to listen to him, even though he'll be on my answering machine any second now. I sigh, settling back down. The pain has finally moved from my back to my heart, reminding me of the reason for this umpteenth t*****e session.

- Go on," I say.

- Okay," she replies as the needle replaces its way back to my skin.

I already know that it's not going to stop here, I've known her since our first day at nursery school. I can almost count down in my head as I see the cogs in her brain at work.

- Seriously, it's the same every time. That's not what a relationship is about, Emma: seeing him, talking to him, it shouldn't be an ordeal. You're not happy with him. Leave him, live your life, sweetheart.

- I can't do that. You can't understand.

- That's for sure. I certainly can't understand why a pretty girl like you would lock herself up in a relationship that's slowly killing her with a guy you don't even like.

- It's not about who he is, it's about what he represents. I need him, I need this.

- Can you hear yourself? This guy isn't an object. He has feelings, you can't do that, you can't use him to heal your wounds. He's not a Band-Aid, he's a human being.

- Do I pay you for the psychoanalysis when you get out?

- Ha Ha, very funny. Seriously, it's up to you, but I think it's disgusting. He loves you and you love him not. What's the point of dangling a future in front of him that you have no intention of sharing with him? -Once again, thank you for your support.

- What do you want? We've been having sessions for three months now and every time it's the same thing: he calls and you don't pick up. I'm not judging you, we all have wounds, but that doesn't give anyone the right to use another person to heal them. - There are dozens of other tattoo artists in the city, but no, I had to choose my best friend.

- Because you know it's an important project for you, even if you don't want to tell me about it. The size of the room alone proves it. It's been a long time since I've tattooed an entire back. I've been tattooing long enough to know what it means, because it always means the same thing, my dear.

- I'm the one who suffers, I know exactly what it means, thanks for reminding me," I say coldly.

- I'm not doing it for pleasure, I'm doing it for you. You know it's not fair, I know you well enough to know that, but what I don't know is what's driving you to do this, this tattoo, and to lock yourself into this pseudo-relationship.

- I adore you, you know that, but if I don't talk about it, it's because I don't want to, so can you go on a bit longer or shall I make another appointment?

She speaks to me with kindness, I know, but there are times when you just don't want to hear certain words. I know what I'm doing, at least I was convinced of it at one point anyway. Anyway, I've got no choice but to keep going so I can stop thinking. I close my eyes as she continues, she won't say anyth ing else for the rest of the session, I know I've upset her, but she doesn't understand that every time she points this out to me, she rekindles a little more this wound that doesn't seem to want to heal, no matter how much time passes.

Half an hour later, I'm seriously starting to wince, my body reaching its limits. No matter how hard I try to control myself, I can feel my breaking point approaching.

- We'll have to call it a day," I huff and puff.

- OK, two more sessions and we're done," she replies coldly.

- I'm sorry about earlier. It's just that I've made a choice and I have to stick to it.

- What's the point? To end up miserable? To give up hope because you'll end up letting this relationship destroy you. You may have made a choice, but that doesn't mean it was a good one. There are always other possibilities, other ways to take your mind off things. Leave him and have fun, live your life before you replace the right one, but don't take the first one in desperation. Believe me, he won't be happier than you in the end. It's not good for either of you.

I know she's right, she knows me better than anyone and even if she doesn't know anything about what drove me to make this choice, she knows that for the last year I've been a shadow of my former self.

- Well, I know it's up to you but frankly, leave it, there's a great festival in a week, over four days, I can guarantee you that there you'll replace plenty to take your mind off things.

- Do you really think that's what I need, to dance and drink for four days?

- It couldn't be worse than going home to a guy you don't want to see and who you'll end up hating.

She gets on my nerves when she does that, even though she hits the nail on the head every time, but if I do that, it means I'm giving up, giving up and running the risk of falling back into those ways, into that suffering he's managed to get me out of, because yes, I don't love him, but for all that, he's been there, close to me. He's able to tell me that he loves me for hours on end, that in his eyes I'm just the most wonderful creature alive, that his life without me would be meaningless, whereas for me, things are different. Even waking up in his arms doesn't give me the pleasure I'd like to feel. He's reassuring, nothing more.

I sigh, she's right and I hate it when that happens, I hate it when she takes that superior little aire that means, so you see, for as long as I've been telling you. She applies an ointment to my back before applying a protective film.

- Think about it. I'm sure you'd like it. A good atmosphere, cool people, good-looking guys, a bit of booze and music to complete the picture. The festival takes place in the center of an old hotel complex. So we'll have a real bed to sleep in. I swear it's worth the trip. - Yeah, yeah, I'll think about it," I huff.

She won't let me down and in a way I'm really glad to know I've got a friend like her. Who cares enough to push me when I need it, to push me to my limits, to be able to tell me what no one else would dare. As I start to put on my tank top, she observes my back. - It's going to be beautiful," she says. I think it's the most beautiful piece I've ever made.

- I hope so, because I'd be upset if you told me it was a total fiasco.

- No risk, it's perfect. A little more filling and a few shading additions to make it more realistic. But it's already perfect.

In these eyes, I don't doubt it for a second, but for me, it's above all painful, and that's what counts. It's as if this t*****e I'm inflicting on myself is only meant to make sure I never forget. I finish dressing and look at the clock. I should probably go home now. He'll probably wait for me, but then again I don't feel like it.

There are times when I feel really miserable, he has everything a woman is looking for. He's sweet and thoughtful and he's probably cooking for me by now. When I get home, I'll have nothing to do, and he may even have bought me a bouquet of roses, which he'll have arranged in a vase while waiting for me. He has everything, everything to make any woman happy, but in my eyes, he lacks the essentials.

-I wouldn't say no to a drink," she asks.

Of course I would. As long as I don't go home now.

-- Okay," I say. I'm up for a drink.

She smiles tenderly at me, knowing full well that I'm putting off the fateful hour when I'll be standing in front of him. She quickly slips on her leather jacket before turning off the living room and closing it. Then she puts her arm around me and lures me into a nearby bar.

It has to be said that she has established herself in a lively neighborhood. Here, half the night, the music is in full swing, people come to have fun, to decompress over a beer. That's probably why she chose these hours. Her salon doesn't open until 4pm, but stays open until 8pm.

I'm really proud of her, she's built herself up. It's her talent that has enabled her to realize her dream, and I have to say I've never seen her so happy. She talks happily. She intends to show me a good time, as we used to do before all this. I leave it to her, after all, maybe it's just what I need. A drink with my girlfriends.

As soon as we walk through the door of the bar, the atmosphere hits me hard. The music, the people chatting and laughing, the glasses emptying as quickly as they fill up. How long has it been since I've done this? How many months has it been since I just walked through the doors of an establishment like this for the simple purpose of having fun, relaxing?