Outdrawn

by Deanna Grey

For oldest daughters who have become creatives obsessed with perfection.

Our time did more than overlap—it tangled. I held my tongue about the tangling, because it's too weird to explain how we had gotten close enough to draw in each other's sketchbooks but never exchanged phone numbers. It's too weird for even me to fully comprehend.

Her skin was a perfect shade of deep brown, her round eyes daring enough to be considered siren-like and deadly.

The conflicting emotion I got from seeing how soft she looked versus how hard she actually was would never cease to confuse me.

The softness of her outfits mirrored the feeling one would get from watercolor paintings.

Lots of things made me happy: art, perfectly seasoned rice, bike rides downtown, and now, apparently, making Sage smile because of something silly.

A motorcycle pulled into the empty spot beside me, and I had a hard time swallowing when I realized who was under the helmet. Of course, she had to show up on that thing and look good while doing it.

You deserve to be here. You got a later start is all.

"Can't all make a living doing what we enjoy. Some of us have to claw our way through the real world, survive any way we can. Sometimes, that survival looks like quitting to the outside."

I'd always had a good relationship with loneliness. Lonely had been my safe place. In silence, no one expected anything from me. That lack of expectation meant I could be myself.

"Noah.” I dragged out her name in a playful tone. The syllables felt good on my tongue. Had her name always felt like this? Like something I could repeat and never get bored of?

It was official—flirting with Noah was ten times more fun than arguing with her.

Mutual destruction didn't sound too horrible if, for a moment, I was able to touch her.

We looked good together. Her powder pink top was a pop of color against my black jacket, and her sunshiny smile made up for my frown.

"Can I kiss you?" she whispered. "So we know what it feels like?"

I felt warm, surrounded by art in a dimly lit hallway with a woman who was more beautiful than anything captured on canvas.

“You’re so beautiful—your body and your determination. Thank you for telling me to fuck off,” I whispered.

I wanted more. I wanted her kisses along with sorrows, body along with dreams.

“It’s you,” I groaned into the pillow. “It’s always you. No matter where I go.”

"I can't. There's no other person I want. It's her…Always has been."

"Falling in love with someone who wants everything I do in the art world isn't something I thought would ever happen,"

"I know I want to see your smile and hear your voice every day. I know I want to help you feel seen and heard. I know not a day goes by when I won't work hard to give you everything you deserve. I know that you want me to have everything I deserve. You're never going to make things easy. You'll never sugar coat things. I know when we're together, we are petty assholes, but we're also something beautiful, something far bigger than the art. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Noah, we can be bigger than the art. I know that."

"All I know is that I want to be with you," I whispered. "Even with all this fear, I want to be with you."

I loved this woman. Every hard edge and coarse look. All her mean glares and smug smiles. She poured every ounce of herself into everything she did, despite being lonely while doing it.

"It's you and me," I promised before kissing her. I was going to take care of her with everything I had.

I’d been about to spiral into a full panic before locking eyes with her; she smiled at me in her easy way. What was once pompous was now my lifeline. Without even touching me, she made me feel like I wasn’t alone and reminded me it was possible I’d never be alone again.

“It’s going to be a hard change. It's not going to be overnight or linear. Regardless, I’m glad I get to heal with someone who knows how it feels to be torn apart.”

"I can't wait to give you everything," she said, as if she could read my thoughts.

"We're lucky. Working together is like creating magic," I mused. "You were right, you know? We're bigger than the art. Especially when we're together."

"Noah Eve Blue, what do you say? Will you marry me?" "I asked first," she teased. "And better."

"I love you so much, Sage. So much that I couldn't think of what to say so I drew it." "And that's always ten times better than saying it." I kissed her forehead. "Yes, Noah. It's a yes." She smiled wide and let out a shaky sigh. "Yes, Sage. Forever and always, yes."