𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐫𝐭 || 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘴 ✓

8

an unexpected rainstorm ruined my plans, as it is now six pm and it is pouring non stop.

the constant heat of the past few days did a pretty good job.
it being a summer storm, it will probably be over in a bit, but even then it will be too wet to walk properly outside without risking to ruin my clothes and my sketchbook.

“there go my plans for the day” i say “time to finish that show i guess”

i plop on my bed and bring my laptop with me. i find the episode and hit play.

~~~~

almost two hours have passed and i am still watching.
i am about to put on the next episode when the doorbell rings.

“who could that be” i say to myself and look out of the window “man, it's still going”

i lazily walk up to the door.

whoever it is, they are hitting that bell like their life depends on it.

“who is it?” i yell as i reach to grab my keys.

“it's victoria, marissa please open the door”

vic??

judging by her tone, it must be urgent so i unlock the door.

“oh lord” i gasp.

here she stands, right in front of me, a victoria soaked to the bone. her once perfect eyeliner is now smudged all over her cheeks and her hair is dripping.

“get inside” i order her and she falls right into my arms. her wet clothes are staining my pajamas, but i don't care.

“i'm sorry” she mumbles through my t-shirt.

“you will get to explain why you are sorry later, we need to get you dried up first”

she tries to protest, but i drag her into my room and quickly pull out a clean towel and some clean clothes and give them to her.

“you can change here, i will wait for you outside”

she just nods, but she doesn't wait for me to get out of the room and she starts changing.

i turn with my back facing her, my heart beating too fast inside my chest, but i don't make a step further.
it's like my legs have frozen.

“i don't mind you looking” she says.

i don't move, but i am aching to turn around.

i don't know if it's the artist inside me or the fact that i am in love with her, but an inner force made me turn around. 

she is already halfway dressed, only missing a shirt.

“damn” i manage to say.

“i know right?”

“you are beautiful” the words are forming by themselves.

“bet you are too” she says and takes a step closer to me.

“no” i say “you are on a different level. you are a work of art”

.

.

.
that last line is pretty poetic im feeling very high class rn