Ink and doubt

My eyes locked onto his wrist, a shockwave rippling through me. The tattoo was stark, fresh, and undeniably bold—my name, etched there like a promise I wasn't sure I was ready to accept. "Dom, you're absolutely insane. We've only been dating six weeks."

He simply smiled, a calm, unwavering certainty in his gaze, as if the brevity of our relationship meant nothing. "We're going to last forever."

An unexpected laugh bubbled up from me. "Are you genuinely aware of my rather spotty dating history? The last two decades of it?"

He nodded slowly, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm well aware. Which is precisely why I'm only 99.99% sure we'll last. And if we don't," he added, his tone surprisingly light, "I'll just cover it up."

I stood there, unsure whether to laugh or be utterly shocked, caught off guard by the profound weight hidden beneath his joke. He must have seen the shift in my expression because he quickly clarified, "Hey, I meant that as a joke, but I'm dead serious about the forever part. Sweetie, if it doesn't work out between us, I wouldn't cover up the tattoo."

I turned away, my heart tightening into an uncomfortable knot. "Go home," I said, my voice barely a whisper, far quieter than I intended. "Joking about our demise after six weeks—and then about covering up a tattoo you clearly have no intention of covering up—isn't the funniest thing in the world. I'm sure you meant nothing by it, but until now, I've been happy with you."

He sighed, a long breath laden with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher. "I'll let you know when I get home."

"Don't bother," I retorted.

He leaned in, trying to kiss me goodbye, but I recoiled, leaving the space between us charged and unresolved.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, the silence of my apartment pressed in, heavy and suffocating. I sank onto the couch, my fingers trembling as they traced the cool edge of the coffee table. His words echoed in my mind—the certainty and the joke inextricably tangled, a knot I couldn't untangle.

A tattoo wasn't merely ink; it was a statement, a risk. And in six weeks, Dom had already taken that risk but then hedged it with a poorly made joke. I ran my hands through my hair, a maelstrom of frustration and doubt swirling within me.

I wanted to believe him, to trust the "forever" that had made my chest swell moments earlier. But that joke… that careless line about covering it up… it felt like a significant crack in our nascent foundation.

Perhaps love was never about certainty. Perhaps it was about daring anyway. Still, I began to question my decision to date Dom, and whether I had been too quick to abandon the comfort I found with Vince. They were, undeniably, two very different men—both great men, at that—men I deeply cared for. However Vince would never have gotten a tattoo six weeks into a relationship, nor would he have joked about a breakup so early on.

I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over his name. I wanted to call, to hear his voice, to somehow mend the tension that now stretched between us. Instead, I let the night swallow the silence, left to wonder what tomorrow would bring—for him, for me, and for the tattoo that wouldn't fade.

I went to bed early and without dinner, not as a punishment, but because my appetite had simply vanished. I had genuinely hoped for a long relationship with Dom; I was happy with him, happier than I'd been with Vince or Randy. Being with Dom just felt natural and I didn't want it to end because of a poorly made joke, but it very well might have. I had shut down, shut him out, and sent him away when all I truly wanted was to be in his arms.

The next morning, I dragged myself to work at 6 AM. Sleep had eluded me, and I desperately needed to focus on something else. I turned on the office lights, headed to my desk, and texted Tara to let her know to not let her uncle in my private office. She immediately replied that she wouldn't and that they'd spent most of the night before in a bar talking about what happened. She said that she stood up for me, sided with me and told him to bring me coffee by the gallons today. I replied back that if she needed to come in late to take care of her headache, I'd understand. She said she'd be in bright and early however it was her uncle Dom that needed help with his headache.

Tara and the rest of the staff arrived around 8:30 AM. Instead of bombarding me with greetings or questions, everyone left me alone. Thank fuck for Tara—she'd texted me while getting her coffee, letting me know she'd told the staff I was dealing with a "personal matter" and needed my privacy today, just in case I had any incoming calls from family.

She and I both hated lying – especially to the amazing staff – but the less that people knew, the better. Around 11 am, Tara knocked on my door but I didn’t respond so she walked in and found me asleep on the couch. She left a note for me telling me to head home to get some sleep and get something to eat. I eventually woke up and read her note….I fully agreed with Tara, made a note on my desk to give her a raise and left for the day. I was grateful that Tara takes better care of me than I take care of myself.

When I got home, I unpacked my stuff, showered and ate a banana. It was good to eat something though small. For once, a banana tasted better than a cup or three of coffee. I found a book that I had temporarily misplaced – aka I forgot where I put it – and plopped on the couch to start reading.

Since I like reading in pure silence – background noise such as music or tv playing lightly in the background is distracting – I heard something slide under the door. I knew that I should get that gap between the floor and the door fixed. Seconds later, I heard a car leave. I got up and found a note in Dom’s writing. I opened the envelope to read what he wrote:

DeppGrl,

I want to offer you a sincere apology for the pain I caused with my so-called joke. I realize now that what I said wasn't funny, and it ended up hurting you—something I never intended. I take full responsibility for how careless and insensitive my words were, and I am deeply sorry for the hurt they caused.

I know that saying "sorry" can't take back the moment or undo what you felt. The last thing I would ever want is to bring you pain, especially over something so thoughtless. You and our relationship mean more to me than any joke or fleeting comment ever could.

I am committed to learning from this. I will not make light of our relationship again, and I promise to be more mindful of how my words might affect you. I hope you'll allow me the chance to show how much you mean to me—and to rebuild your trust, one step at a time.

Dom