Savior

The Girl with Paint

I would be done for –easily annihilated.

The smallest flick of her wrist, snap of her fingers and the fire she had started in my heart would be extinguished.

Gone without a mere flicker.

A sudden knock on my door pulls me out of my sullen thoughts and I trudge over, my mood suddenly dampened.

But, when I swing open the door and am met with fiery hair and jade eyes and a bright smile my heart flutters wildly in my chest and that same grin graces my lips again.

"You're such a dork, you know that?" But, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are soft and she is biting a smile back from spreading on her face.

And almost impulsively, without even thinking about it, I am bending down and swooping her up into my arms, swinging her around the threshold and reveling in the squeal that falls from her lips.

It's only been three days since I last saw her face, but it feels like a lifetime.

When I finally set her back on the ground, she sways slightly, shoving my chest lightly and laughing, "What in the world was that for?"

"I just missed you is all."

She tucks her hair behind her ears and glances up at me, eyes growing soft at the excited expression on my face. A small smile tugs at her lips and she places her hands on my shoulders, standing up on her tiptoes.

So softly, I almost don't feel it, she presses a light kiss to my lips. But, even when she pulls away, a light blush on her cheeks, I can feel still feel them there.

"Hi."

"Hi," I breathe, closing the door behind her and tracing every inch of her face, "What are you doing here?"

"Eliza let me off early and... Well, I missed you, so I came here."

Her eyes dart down to the floor instantly and her ears tinge pink and my heart flutters wildly at her bashfulness. But, they quickly turn to sharp stabs in my chest when I remember what I have to do today.

"I have to paint today... I promised a client one of my pieces by tomorrow, but it's not finished yet."

Her smile only falters for a second before her eyes light up, "I can help you or just watch or whatever. I don't want to leave..."

"Are you sure? It's not exactly entertaining."

She smiles up at me, eyes crinkling at the corners, "As long as I'm with you I'm fine."

And I actually almost choke on my own spit and my heart squeezes painfully in my chest at her shocking words. Layla isn't one to really be this affectionate and open. She doesn't often tell me how she feels about me.

My heart swells in my chest and I wish I could record her saying it again so I can replay those warm words whenever I doubt her feelings.

It's not the three words I long to hear, but it's enough.

My excitement turns into nerves when she begins to lead the way towards the door I always keep closed when she's here -a door leading to something I'm not sure how she'll react to.

"Wait Layla," I clasp her hand in mine and tug gently, but she only glances at me over her shoulder, "Before you go in there I should-"

But, her hand grasps the doorknob anyway and I practically fling myself against the door to stop her. She staggers back in shock, shaky palm to her chest. I sheepishly apologize for startling her, but she continues to look at me as if I'm crazy.

There seems to be a theme here...

"I just... Uhm..." My face is as hot as an oven as I try to think of something to say, avoiding Layla's curious gaze, "Remember that sketchbook I gave you?"

Her eyebrows raise in suspicion, eyes narrowed, "Yes... Why?"

"Well, you see," I laugh awkwardly trying to hide my blush, "It didn't... It didn't start there... There is... Uhm..."

I'm stuttering wildly until my words just die in my throat and are reborn as nervous chuckles, unstoppable and embarrassingly high-pitched.

Layla bites back a smile and much too fast to stop her she is reaching beneath my arm and shoving the door open in a flash. I stumble back and allow her in squeezing my eyes shut as tight as possible when I see her make a dead stop as soon as she enters.

I don't see her, but I can hear her light footsteps on the tarp I laid over the hardwood as she makes her way around the room.

I try to put myself in her shoes -try to imagine what she would feel or look like as her eyes take in the canvases on the wall, the ones stacked in the corners, the half-finished ones on easels.

Some of empty rooms with dusty furniture, some with mundane objects, some with abstract worlds that make no sense.

But, most... Most of her.

Just her eyes staring straight at you -the green leaking out of the canvas, just her silhouette against her balcony railing, a portrait of her face half-distorted -one side laughing and the other crying.

But, when I peak open my eyes she is stopped at the half-finished one on the easel.

Coming up from the bottom of the canvas is an inked arm with a hand that is grasping a hand belonging to the much fairer and freckled arm coming from the top. The focal point, though, is the red and angry burn on the inside of her palm.

It feels like that same hand is around my throat and grasping tight and I really didn't think this whole thing through.

"Layla..."