The paintbrush was rigid between your fingers as you drag it across the canvas. Stubborn and immovable, even as the trajectory of your piece kept devolving into something quite unhinged.
Another cramp twisted your insides, and you doubled over in your seat with a pained groan. Glared at the red in your palette before taking a massive amount of the stupid thing. Breathe. Focus up.
You braced your feet and swung your brush in one wide arc.
The scraping noise it caused had hidden the sound of the door. Layla's eyebrows furrowed at your anger, mind growing more alert and sensitive to your cues.
Your painting actually looked better with the red line over it. In fact, it could be understood as blue instead, therefore underplaying the theme of anger of the piece as a whole. Or, it could exaggerate the emotion.
An audible sob escaped your lips as you rubbed your temple. You can't fucking decide, and it doesn't match the image you had in mind. Hell, you can't completely remember the full visualization!
Layla's eyes sharpened at the sound. She deliberately, slowly strode into your peripheral vision, so as to not startle you. "Hi there."
"Layla." you sighed, softening. "I didn't hear you come in."
Her brown gaze swept over the apartment exactly once: drafts and sketches, spilled paint mixing into each other, dried paint on the strands of your hair, snacks and water pushed against one corner of the room as far away from you as possible.
"Well, you're trying to focus." she amended. "Can I know about what you're working on?"
Your girlfriend, in all her power and goodness, caring about this infuriating thing you're failing to make? "No, I'm done. I give up."
You all but tossed your palette and paintbrush to your nearby worktable as you stood up. Too quickly, so you lifted your hands to cover your face when suddenly, Layla stood at your side bringing a wet cloth.
She wiped the dried paint from your fingers, and didn't meet your gaze as she asks. "Why?"
"Because..." because if I don't match with the mental image, I can't completely release my anger: my anger can't completely release me. Because I shouldn't have started if I won't finish it perfectly. I shouldn't have committed while on my period because my butt hurts and my back is aching. There's knots in my shoulders and I stopped smelling the paint thinner 30 minutes ago.
Layla's callouses pulled you back into the present, her touch gentle and loving as she cleaned your knuckles. Finally, she met your eyes.
"You used a lot of blue."
You gulped down the growing lump in your throat, nuzzling into her neck. It was not lost on either of you that it was an attempt to hide how your expression crumbled, even as your tears started to fall warm and unbidden against her skin. The familiar scent of amber and driftwood, of her, settled deep into you and through you.
"I hate it," you managed through shuddering breaths. Layla had one hand on the back of your head, the other across your shoulders. "Blue is a more subdued type of anger. As soon as I could focus despite my irritation, I sat down and started. I don't know where the purple came from. There was red everywhere."
You felt her shaking her head, tightening her grip around you. "The purple came from the blue, too."
As her words settled, you forced yourself to feel it later. Carefully, you pull away. A recovered part of the mental image was almost as powerful as missing her touch.
"I have to finish this, Layla. I can do it; it's all I've ever been good at." she wasn't letting go of one of your hands. "Anyone who feels the way I do right now will look at this completed piece and feel at ease. I have to help them get there."
Something broke in Layla's eyes as she tugged you back towards her, and away from your canvas. "You're allowed to breathe, habibti."
"Stop." your pleading shone through your face, and the first tear fell down Layla's cheek.
"No." Layla closed the distance between you, cradling your face in her hands. For eyes so brown, she glared at you with such a fire. "We draw the line if it puts you in danger. That's our deal, remember? If you don't feel well, nothing you create right now will ever satisfy you."
The moment she saw you agree with her, Layla's hands rested on your shoulders. "Take a break, please? With me. Let's have lunch, take a nap. What about a warm bath for your cramps?"
Returning into her open arms was just as painful as how eagerly she embraced you again. "I suddenly remembered how we first met."
Layla chuckled. "Your commissions, the black market, and a necklace shaped like crescent moons. Yes, I remember."
You lifted your head from her shoulder. Layla stared at your face for a moment before kissing the tip of your nose. "So quick to save other people without thinking of yourself. It's a running gag among my lovers."
You laugh against the side of her face, letting her herd you away from the work in progress. "In my defense, you're incredibly endearing."
"Uh-huh. Sure."