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Twenty-five

Having a tattoo done didn't actually hurt as much as Arthur had expected it to. His skin had been buzzing with anticipation when he sat down on the backless chair after removing his shirt, waiting for the pain to come and shoot through his nerves. After Elizaveta finished stenciling the design on his bare skin, snapped on some latex gloves, and instructed him to rest his elbows on his knees, he had expected a sharp, lancing sensation to accompany the needle as it entered his skin. He'd thought it would hurt the way it did when Gilbert wielded a paintbrush-thin knife and used his body as a canvas.

But it didn't. Well, not quite. It still hurt, but it was more of an irritation — a kind of insistent, shallow probing — than actual pain. The rubbing alcohol that Elizaveta had swabbed on his skin prior to starting had cooled, raising goosebumps along his arms, and now it provided a direct contrast to the hot, scratchy feeling that spread across his back as Elizaveta worked on darkening the outline.

She made casual small talk with him as the minutes trickled past, describing what she was doing and inquiring about his life, pausing every now and then to gently dab away the minute droplets of blood that welled up. Arthur tried to be as coherent and vague as he could in his responses. It was easier in the beginning, when the endorphins had just kicked in and were partially numbing him, but once forty-five or so minutes had gone by, he began to understand Elizaveta's warning from when she had first given him the consent forms. It really wasn't that bad, not in the beginning, but he realized that that was an underestimation. The "pain" from the tattooing was bearable during the first half-hour or so; but as time went on, the discomfort layered upon itself as his skin became more sensitive. Staying still for so long also played havoc on his muscles — first his shoulders, and then his arms, began to ache. Finally, the back of his neck joined in. Arthur was mentally preparing himself for a long period of endurance when Elizaveta sat back and laid her instruments aside.

"Okay, it's time for a break," she said. "You can stand up and stretch, but don't touch your left shoulder blade or your back, or you'll be risking infection. Then you'll really be in for a world of pain." Arthur got up obediently and rolled his shoulders, wincing a bit when the bones in his neck crackled. The site of the tattoo twinged in complaint, but he quietly relished it; he'd gone against Gilbert's will and gotten a tattoo, something that he never would have done a year ago. What had emboldened him to be so reckless and defiant?

Whatever it was, whoever it was, Arthur had no regrets.

At least, I won't until Gilbert finds out. Then I'll probably be sorry for it. But for now, my body is my own and my decision is my own, and I have no reason to bemoan either, he thought, determined not to let the silent concerns circling his mind get to him.

Elizaveta was flexing her hands and shaking out her wrists. She looked up, and seemed to notice the expression on Arthur's face. "Something bothering you, Arthur?"

Arthur hesitated. It would be so simple to just say it: Gilbert might injure me for disobeying him. But for obvious reasons, he couldn't. For one, the thought of anyone knowing about the way Gilbert treated him made him feel small and sick. And even though Elizaveta was already aware the Gilbert was no saint, Arthur didn't want to be the one to ruin their long-standing friendship. Gilbert and Elizaveta were older — if only by a few years — and they shared a history that was beyond him. He respected that, even though he didn't respect Gilbert.

All things considered, Arthur was sure Elizaveta would be a lot better off without his situation troubling her.

"It's nothing."

Elizaveta looked searchingly at him for a moment. Arthur kept his gaze directed downward, at the floor. The silence seemed to fill up the room with its vastness and implications.

"Actually . . ." Arthur raised his head at the change in Elizaveta's voice. "There's something you need to know. There's something I need to tell you." Elizaveta's face was solemn, her eyes bright and determined and a bit distressed, but Arthur somehow felt that he wasn't the cause of it — at least, not directly. "First of all, I want to apologize. I've been — I was — so irresponsible; it's a mistake that I will never forgive myself for. It kills me that I allowed it to happen, especially now that it's irreversible. But I'm not looking for excuses for myself. I'm sorry, Arthur."

Arthur just stared at her as he absorbed her words. "What . . . do you mean?" he asked, confused. "What are you talking about?" Do you mean . . . have you finally . . . figured out what Gilbert is doing to me? And you want to apologize for not doing anything about it, for not trying to help me?

Elizaveta visibly steeled herself and met his eyes, her gaze honest. "I don't know how else to put this except bluntly. I don't want him" — they both knew who she was referring to — "to know. You can hate me for telling you all you want — you can hate me for letting it happen in the first place. I won't hold it against you in any way, because it's solely my own fault and my own responsibility. I swear that I won't ever let it interfere with your life. I just wanted you to know because . . ." She hesitated for the first time, wavered for a second before regaining her bearings. "I wanted you to know because you have the right to know. The potential damage I've caused . . . will affect you the most, if anyone else, especially him, finds out about it."

You want me to be prepared, just in case, thought Arthur. He knew that was what she meant. But for what? What are you trying to tell me? He had a growing feeling that it had less to do with his situation than he'd originally assumed. No, he was certain that that wasn't it. It was something else entirely, another wrench in the works. Ice began to claw its way back up his windpipe.

Elizaveta pressed her hands together, intertwined her fingers. "I'm five months pregnant. I'm sorry."

The words — they sounded well-worn, as if she'd been counting the days since the beginning — hung between them like thin crystal, waiting to drop to the floor and shatter, as Arthur tried to register them and decipher their meaning besides the obvious. He repeated them out loud, slowly, in an attempt to make understanding dawn faster. "You're . . . pregnant."

"Yes."

"You're five months pregnant."

"Yes." Elizaveta sounded patient and a little weary, but her tone had an iron backing. She didn't seem to expect him to forgive her, and it took something out of her vitality, but she was still proving her strength nonetheless. Unconsciously defending herself and her unborn baby.

Something in Arthur's mind settled as comprehension finally began to sink in. His eyes traveled south, to her abdomen, to where she had her arms folded rather protectively over her belly. Even so, he could see the unobtrusive swell of it through her long-sleeved, flowing top. He hadn't noticed it earlier. Or maybe he had, and just dismissed it as gained weight.

"Your child — it's Gilbert's."

"Yes." She looked down at her arms, her long fingers clasping her elbows, and said quietly, "It's a girl. She's his."

Arthur took this in. "How long . . . have you known?" he asked, not knowing if it mattered or not. Wait. It does matter. If she had known since early on, before she was three months in . . . is that right? . . . she could have gotten an abortion. She would have gotten an abortion. Wouldn't she?

"I found out about two weeks ago. After you came in to have your ear pierced." Elizaveta seemed to read his mind. "It was already too late to do anything about it — my doctor told me I was too far along to go through with the procedure without risking my health."

Arthur couldn't blame her for that. He couldn't blame her for any of it, period. He knew how some things were beyond their control — he knew the way momentum worked. He just couldn't entirely understand why. Elizaveta and Gilbert — the way they interacted — the way she always deflected his advances, no matter how persistent he was — why did it happen?

"How —"

And she knew he wasn't asking about the technicalities. "It's the same old cliché," she said, and Arthur heard a trace of bitterness, a touch of irony, in her voice. "People do stupid things when they're drunk, no matter how seasoned they are and how much they're over their exes, and in the end, it only takes once for it to happen. Apparently, I'm no exception. I remember when it was: at Feliks's, during that overnight party. The one —"

"— over the summer. In August." Mirror. Blowjob. Alcohol. Gilbert disappearing into the crowd, leaving me to whore myself out for free in my intoxicated state. Feliciano was there, with Ludwig in tow. He mentioned it at the café when Antonio and I ran into him and he was with Ludwig and with him were —

Elizaveta was watching him, waiting for a definite reaction so she could respond and comfort and apologize again. Arthur composed his thoughts and said carefully, "It's fine, Elizaveta. I really don't mind. I was never . . . like that . . . with Gilbert anyway. We weren't ever that close." Even though they had done dirty, unspeakable things with each other, they had never been anything together. Arthur acknowledged it with acceptance, more calmly than he'd thought he would. Because it was only the truth.

Expression sad, Elizaveta asked tentatively, "Is this something that you'll forgive me for, Arthur?" She had thought he would say no earlier, that much was clear, and now she didn't appear to know where they stood with each other. Even Arthur wasn't sure where they stood, in all honesty. But somehow it was up to him to patch things up.

"It wasn't your fault," Arthur said. It was what she needed to hear, and he meant it. He knew she would never intentionally harm him, not after all the good will she'd shown him over the past four years. Elizaveta wasn't that kind of person; she was one of the few who had shown him true kindness in a world unforgiving in its cruelty. He knew she meant well by telling him, and he knew she meant every word she'd said about never letting her child interfere with his life with Gilbert. He supposed that meant she was going to raise her daughter on her own.

He could envision the hardships that awaited her, but he was glad that she chose that path nonetheless, because no one deserved to have someone like Gilbert for a father.

"Thank you for letting me know. I won't tell him."

Elizaveta softened. "You don't know how much that means to me. Thank you, Arthur."

Just over an hour later, Arthur walked out of the tattoo parlor with his newly outlined tattoo hidden beneath his shirt. Elizaveta had instructed him to come back in a week or so for the shading, and had also given him directions on how to treat the tattoo in the meantime. His skin, reddened and puffy under the cotton, smarted as he walked with his cold hands in the warm pockets of his jacket. It had been well worth it.

Now he had two secrets to hide from Gilbert, though he wasn't sure how long the first one would remain thus.

As he headed back to the apartment through the snow streets, Arthur couldn't help but wonder, over and over, What would it mean for me if Gilbert knew about Elizaveta? Would he choose her over me, and abandon me to support her? Or would he not care, and just continue to live the way he has been, bar-hopping and drinking himself into oblivion with Antonio and Francis and managing my clients?

Either way, what would happen to me?

A/N: I've been banging my head against a wall over this chapter for months, and now it's finally done. I wanted to get the emotions just right. I hope I succeeded.

Okay, I have a bit of a question for all of you. If you want to answer it, just include your response in your review somewhere.

Question: Which moments/incidents in TCOA so far stand out the most prominently in your mind? A list is fine. XD

(And yes, I do realize that those of you who commented before about my flash drive are no longer able to review this chapter. ORZ I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. It works if you review as an anon - although I don't blame you if you won't bother logging out and stuff just to give me a review. I understand. ^^")