Page 125 of Rivals

I finish her lips and set the sketchbook to the side. The weight of not telling Revna that people want our art for fear of snapping her cage shut is heavy on my heart. It has been since I woke up this morning. I need to tell her, but It could make her close up on me again. “What?” she asks.

I school my expression, and she sits up. “What’s going on? Are you ok?” she asks.

I rub my thicker beard and sigh. “I have something to tell you.” I wince. I shouldn’t have said it that way.

The blood drains from her face, and she distances herself from me. “No, don’t do that. It’s not bad, but…” I reach over and pull her ankles to drag her to me. Her dress bunches around her waist, but she doesn’t notice. She hesitantly lets me place her on my lap.

“I got emails for five commissions from people who have seen our work.”

“You mean a commission for you?” I shake my head.

“For me?” she asks.

I chuckle. She doesn’t believe someone would want her art after all of this. She doesn’t seem able to believe it. “No, babe, for us. People want something from us.” She makes a face.

“Why?” she asks.

“I don’t know, they just do?” I reply.

“That means people are starting to notice us,” she says quietly as if she didn’t want it to happen. Even though it’s all we’ve worked towards for years, alone and now together.

“Now that people want our work, it kind of scares me,” she whispers. I pull her into my arms, and my heart calms a little. It scares me, too. When people look at you and your work, they are one and the same. If they don’t like it, then it feels like they don’t like you. Revna and I’ve only ever sold something after the fact. No one has directly asked us to make them something because they like what we’ve done in the past.

“We can say no,” I offer. She shakes her head.

“This is what we’ve been working towards.”

“What do you want to do?” I ask her.

“We should do it,” she nods like she’s trying to convince herself.

“Alright, I’ll tell them they have to wait until after the competition.” She nods again.

“Are—does this scare you too?” she asks. I nod as my heart pounds in my chest.

“I hate that it scares me. I’ve wanted this for so long, and now that people are paying attention to us, it makes me nervous. It feels like I have further to fall. The more eyes on it, the more room for judgment.”

“What if I’m not good enough? There are so many artists who are better than me. I don’t want to drag you down with me,” she whispers.

“Together or not at all, right?”

“Yeah,” she rasps.

“For now, we need to focus on the competition.”

“I feel like this is the same song and dance we do every time. I don’t want to feel so last minute and…” she trails off.

“And you don’t want to use drugs to force it,” I say, looking at her. I look for any sign or indication that she’s using again. She’s been clear lately, dare I say overly cranky.

“I don’t,” she mumbles.

“So, that means we need to spend every waking moment thinking of something.”

“Yeah, I would think so,” she mumbles.

“Not to change the subject, but I have a question,” her eyes flick to mine quickly.

“What is it, little bird?” I ask her gently. I can tell she’s nervous. I don’t want to push her, but I’m also kind of hoping she will tell me where she is on Thursdays.