“Nothing. Just nothing. Life is stupid, that’s all.”
“That it is, indeed.” They trailed off into silence for a long moment. It was unexpectedly comfortable. “Are you going to tell me why you were sitting here beneath a tree in a cemetery, weeping, princess?”
She debated telling him. But her goal was to be less crazy, not more. She shrugged. “I’m just frustrated. I feel like I don’t know what to do. Or how to get better.”
“Did you sleep last night?”
“No. I tried. I meant to. It just didn’t happen.” I’m afraid because a psycho priest broke into my apartment two nights ago and he might come back. Or he might not be real. I’m pretty sure he is, but who the fuck knows? I’m insane.
“That’s all right. Go to bed early if you can. Take your medication and rest. You look wrung out.” He sipped his coffee.
“The hallucinations are happening more often. Closer together, and they last longer. Sometimes when I come out of it, I’m somewhere else. Or I’ve…drawn things I don’t remember drawing.” She looked down at the sketchbook in her lap.
“Perhaps they are clues.” He held out his hand to her, asking for her sketchbook. “May I?”
She never showed her drawings to people. Nobody. Not even Harry, and he pestered her constantly, especially ever since he learned she had drawn him once or twice. She chewed her lip again and began nervously bouncing her leg.
“You can trust me. I am not going to judge you for anything I find.” He smiled at her tenderly.
“What if I’ve drawn you naked and in ridiculously compromising situations?” She shoved the images out of her mind. I bet he’d look good tied up and—no, bad! Bad Maggie!
He laughed. “Then I’ll be extremely flattered, I promise.”
“At least now you’ll be disappointed.” She smiled half-heartedly. Showing someone her art felt…personal. She had never let anyone see her sketchbook. Even when she was sitting in the coffee shop and drawing, she sat with her back to the wall to make sure nobody peeked. With a shrug and a sigh, she handed her sketchbook to him. Crossing her legs, she forced herself to stop fidgeting.
Carefully, he took the sketchbook and began to leaf through it. She watched his expression for anything. Any sign of disgust, or humor, or…honestly, she didn’t know what to expect. What she got from him wasn’t anywhere on the list of things she was waiting for. It wasn’t anywhere close.
He smiled. But there was still that tenderness—a softness—in his eyes, that left her watching him, almost afraid to breathe. Suddenly, something else washed over him. It was a profound…sadness in his expression. No. Not sadness.
Longing.
He traced his fingers over the edges of one of her drawings, careful not to touch the pencil marks. “I didn’t know you could draw, princess.”
“I mean…I doodle.” Her cheeks went warm. She shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket. Suddenly, she was aware of how frumpy she must look sitting next to a man in an expensive suit—in the grass, no less.
“These are beautiful, Maggie. Astonishing. Absolutely astonishing…” He shook his head. “I honestly had no idea.” He flipped the page and found the drawing she had done of him, sitting in his chair, writing in a pad. His expression split from one of wonder and fascination to amusement. “Hardly the lewd display I was promised.”
Yup, her face felt like it was on fire. She must be entirely crimson. She ducked her head. “Thanks.”
“I…would love to have this, if you would be willing to part with it.” He wasn’t looking at her, only down at her drawing of him. At least he might not notice she was blushing. “I think I would like to frame it.”
“You want to frame a drawing of yourself? Little egotistical, don’t you think?” she teased, not knowing what else to do.
“Hm. You clearly don’t know me very well yet.” He smirked playfully. “I have an enormous ego, my dear princess.”
“You’re sitting in the grass in a three-piece suit. I think I know enough.” She sipped her coffee. “Which, now that I mention it, aren’t you going to get stains?”
“It’s black. It’s fine.” He went back to the sketch book. The lines of his face smoothed again. Something about her drawing of him touched him, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It was a tangle of emotions that roared up in her like a tumbleweed smacking into her on the side of the road.
It wasn’t a bad tumbleweed. It made her feel good, but the rest of it she didn’t understand. She looked away and forced herself to talk. “You can absolutely have it, by the way.”
“Thank you.” He smiled again, a thoughtful and wistful expression, before turning the page. And there, heavily scratched into the paper, using most of the lead from a pencil, was the monster from her dreams. The floating creature with the long, tattered robes. The jet black, shining claws. The silver rings that hovered around his wrists like bracelets. The wisps of long white hair that trailed out from under a hood. White eyes that glowed from the darkness. “Well, now.”
“That’s what I see in my hallucinations. That’s my monster.”
“And this is how I appear to you?” He huffed in mock insult. “Now I’m offended. How ugly.”
She laughed. “No. You’re not ugly. But—” She realized she walked into a trap with that one. Her face was on fire. She must be blushing twenty-seven shades of crimson. “I mean, yeah. Okay. But—but you also appear in them like…normally. Just vintage.”