Outdrawn - Deleted Chapter
A deleted date scene from Outdrawn
Note: This is a deleted chapter I removed from Outdrawn because I felt the book was getting a bit too wordy, and some of this chapter's beats had already appeared in previous chapters. Some of the dialogue/set-up was given to other scenes. Apologies for any errors; this scene hasn’t seen the light of day for three years.
My phone buzzed with a text from Sage:
I grabbed a booth for us in the back. Have to use the restroom, so look for my bag if you get here and I’m not there.
Before I opened the bar’s door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the dark glass. I spent a few seconds making sure the sections of my twist-out were properly fluffed. Despite my bad habit of touching my cheeks or picking at my lips, my makeup looked intact. I didn’t realize how tense I’d become until I walked through the doors and smelled warm vanilla chai. My muscles loosened with every breath I took as I scanned my surroundings.
Much like the outside, the Treehouse was wrapped in warm fairy lights. The customers weren’t quiet in corners, but chatted noisily with each other, whether they were sitting together in a booth or across the aisle. I felt as if I were at work with people who were excited about what they were doing. Except, it’s far more comforting than actual work because it’s voluntary. No one will have to stop talking and go back to their desk to create something that will sell. Time feels like it could slow to a halt here. I’m in love with that possibility.
I spot Sage’s old shoulder bag in a corner booth. As I made my way over to it, I was welcomed three times by three different employees. They didn’t wear badges, but they wore smiles and offered to get me something to drink. I didn’t know what I wanted yet, so I asked for more time.
“Weird request,” I prefaced to the last employee. “But could I start a tab? And whenever a girl who looks like this orders something, could you put it on my tab?”
The employee nodded when I showed her Sage’s photo and set me up with ease. I smiled, knowing I wouldn’t have to worry about Sage trying to buy everything. She deserved to be treated, too.
The bar’s booth seats were pale green with embroidered mushrooms. I practically sink into the cushions. Firmness was nonexistent, reminding me of how my grandmother’s old couch would sag beneath its plastic cover.
Once I settled in my seat and did a final makeup check using my phone’s camera, Sage exited the restrooms in the back. My heart had a hard time staying in my chest as I watched her make her way over to me. Logically, I know it’s only natural that you fall even more for someone when you develop a bond with them. Your strings get entangled with theirs, tugging on each other in a gentle war. Our war had developed into one of understanding. And in that understanding, I wondered how I ever thought I wasn’t attracted to her.
From how she walked -- with her shoulders straight and her stride purposeful. How she ran her fingers across the top of her hair as if she was trying to tame stray strands that no one else could see. How did I not know that I wanted to feel that dangerous smile against my lips? Or feel her long fingers gripping my thighs? Looking at her now, that was impossible not to want. Even with our rivalry and all the hate wrapped up in it, I needed Sage’s arms around me. Her kisses on my body, promising she was mine.
“Hey, Noah.” Sage’s smile softened in a way I only ever saw her do for me. I used to think the change was a bad thing. And maybe it had been at one point. That obviously wasn’t the case anymore.
She slid into the seat across from me with grace, not many had when it came to booth seating.
“Glad you came,” she said with the same smile. I’m impossibly horny and swoony. The black tank she wore was skin-tight. There was a cargo vest layered over it that matched her baggy, dark, pockets-for-days pants. She always dressed like a spy. A spy I’d willingly lose everything to in exchange for one kiss.
“Hi. Did you doubt I would?” I asked.
She shrugged and pulled one of her legs up so the knee touched her chest. “A little. Not because you’re not trustworthy. I kind of thought…the other night might have meant something different to you than it did to me.”
Sage fiddled with a pencil as she spoke. The colorful eraser on top was replaced and removed and replaced. I could tell she’d repeated this motion more times than she could count. She was anxious. Not about art. Not about work. About me.
“Define different,” I said.
She continued to pick at the eraser. “Different, like, you saw it as nothing more than something fun to do at the moment.”
My smile faded when she looked away for a second. “I don’t see it like that.”
“Really?”
Her question is too hopeful for someone who hasn’t had at least one experience of being used for a good time. I ached with empathy and memories of people using me in the past. The overlap in our experience makes me feel more open and comfortable around her. Our strings tangle even more.
“Really.” I placed my elbows on the table, leaning in so my hands were centimeters away from hers. We didn’t touch, but the warmth emitting from our bodies is more than enough comfort in this moment.
Sage nodded, relief spreading over her face like the moon’s glow over the ocean. “Good. And in case you didn’t realize it yet, I didn’t see it like that either.
“I figured,” I said, laughing.
“Now, for the hard part.”
Our comforting warmth was only slightly disrupted. I took a breath, lungs filling with trepidation. Like at home, I was quick to pull up my notepad. I reminded myself that the feedback wasn’t on me personally. Sage was here to help me grow. Now that we understood each other, the words wouldn’t be paper cuts…and even if they were, the intent behind them wasn’t to make me bleed.
Sage looked amused as I readied myself for whatever criticism she was going to throw in my direction. She had no idea how big a storm my brain conjured.
“You can stop pinching your mouth like that.” She rested her chin in her hand, staring at me as I got ready for battle. I’m surprised she hadn’t reached for her sketchbook or even a laptop for her notes.
“Like what?” I pressed my lips together, now acutely aware of the area.
“Like I’m about to shit on everything you hold dear,” she said. “The pages weren’t bad.”
All I hear is ‘not good.’ I try to shove down the sadness crawling up my chest.
We’re here to help each other. If it were perfect, you wouldn’t need her.
“But your pacing feels a little rushed,” she continued. “And your composition doesn’t seem thought through.”
Well, that’s because I stayed up all night, drawing as fast as my fingers would allow.
I didn’t confess this to her. I knew I’d get concerns similar to those my friends expressed, and I didn’t need that right now. There weren’t enough hours in the day to ruminate on my shitty hand. Until this competition was over and Leisah’s rebrand was done, I had to be all in. Whatever it took to make sure I was who I needed to be. Who I dreamed of being. Some people looked at it and saw good. I didn’t want to be a work in progress anymore.
Sage reached for her laptop, pulling up the panels she had the most issues with. I put up my criticism armor and leaned in to hear her point of view. We spent an hour talking about the changes that need to be made. As promised, Sage never pulled punches. She wasn’t brash enough to be labeled an asshole like before. But she wasn’t some soft, cushy place for me to land and be comforted.
I didn’t think I’d like hardness in a partner. Life felt too difficult on its own to warrant dating someone rough. But Sage’s hardness wasn’t as cruel as I’d made it out to be. Between all her point-blank opinions was genuine care. Care for the craft and for the creator.
“You need to slow down and put yourself into this,” she told me when I asked if the story felt too weird for a mass audience. “This isn’t Harpy. People don’t come to Inkmic for the stories they can find on the shelves at their mainstream comic store. You don’t have a chance of beating kraken or me if you don’t infuse some authenticity into your story. You’re not better in terms of technique, but your storytelling is where you shine. Use that.”
I nodded and quickly wrote her words down with little sidebars from myself. She watched me write in silence, sipping on her tea every now and then.
“What else?” I asked once I’m done.
She’s quiet for a second before saying, “Nothing else left to do but draw.”
I smiled. In the past, having this many notes to implement would have felt like prepping for the impossible. I couldn’t remember how many times I’d looked at my paper, thinking improvement wasn’t in the cards for me. Four years at the Art Center and eight years spent trying to get a studio to hire me full-time. The confidence Harpy had given me made the paper less scary. More impressively, the confidence Sage’s encouragement gave me made the mountain I had to climb look to me like a small hill.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Sage asked when she saw how quickly I’d started re-sketching my panel.
“I can get it,” I said, looking toward the bar to find the menu.
“It’s fine.” She stood before I could protest. “I don’t mind. What are you in the mood for?”
She leaned against my side of the booth as she waited for me to answer. I swallowed, trying to think straight while she smiled down at me.
“Something sweet,” I said. “With cinnamon, maybe?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m on it.”
I tried to dig up some extra strength to keep myself from watching her walk away. If I hadn’t pulled an all-nighter, I might have been successful. My gaze followed her as she went to the counter. There was no line, so she was able to place her order in a heartbeat. The barista smiled at her as they spoke through the tea-making process.
“You opened a tab?” Sage asked as she placed a mug in front of me. “And told them to charge it for me?”
I smiled. “I knew you’d try to buy everything like last night.”
“What can I say, I like spoiling my women.”
“So do I.” My words made her raise a brow. “You surprised?”
She shrugged. “I’m just usually that person in the relationship.”
From the dip in her tone, I can tell it’s not always her favorite thing. “Glad I can switch things up for you.”
Sage laughed, hiding most of it behind her mug as she took another sip.
“This place seems like a nice spot to get work done,” I noted. “I’ve never heard of it. You come here a lot?”
“I used to come here all the time with my friends.”
“Used to?”
She shrugged and readied her tablet to join me in working. “I spend my nights and weekends at Harpy. Eventually, people stopped inviting me places.”
I stopped sketching, considering her words. “I get the nights. But weekends, too?”
Sage tapped her pencil against her temple. “Yup. I would like to blame it completely on my obsession. But that wouldn’t be fair. I was never that obsessed. I was that self-destructive, though.”
“Self-destructive?” I frowned. Her passion isn’t something I’d ever describe as destructive. It was beautiful. Enviable. Impossible.
“I know, me? With a flaw?” She gasped in mock horror. “Who would have thought?”
“You have many flaws,” I said, deadpan. “None of them pertaining to art -- unfortunately.”
Sage laughed. “God, even you humbling me is sexy now. How did we get here?”
I blinked, surprised and shy at how she studied me. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I can remember a little of the journey,” she confessed in a lower voice. “It started with me pushing everyone away until I was on my own. Then, you came along with your bright colors, circle glasses, and lilac. So much lilac. Is there a reason why you always smell of or have lilac around you? I’ve been dying to know so I can disprove my theory that you’re some escaped cartoon character.”
“My mom works with plants. A long time ago, she said lilac was my lucky scent because she could smell it in the air throughout her pregnancy with me.” I shrugged. “And I’ve been dowsing myself ever since because, as you know, I need luck like plagues need cures.”
“You don’t need luck. Just a chance.”
“How is that not also luck?”
She shrugged. “Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s sheer probability. You keep putting yourself out there time and time again. Statistically speaking, what you want is bound to happen.”
“I guess.” I looked down at my paper, studying my characters in mid-embrace. “Sage, be honest.”
“Always.” She easily fell into my change of mood without any prompting. I looked back up at her in time to see the worried wrinkle on her brow.
“Is it about your hand?” Sage’s eyes flickered down to my hand.
I pulled it closer to me, embarrassed that she’d thought to bring it up. “What? No. Of course not. Why….? Why would you think that?”
My hand did feel a little better compared to earlier. I’d driven my car one-handed on the ride over to give it a decent break. The nerves ache whenever I bend it too far one way, so I made sure not to bend too far. Simple as that.
“You seemed to…” She trailed off when she saw the worried look on my face. “Favor it.”
“It’s my dominant hand, of course, I favor it.” I sounded more defensive than I should have.
“Noah.” A name can’t be wrapped in honey or dipped in warmth. But Sage can make it sound mighty close.
“What?” My clueless act needed work.
“Be for real. I know a repetitive injury when I see one. It’s too common in our industry.”
“It’s fine,” I said firmly.
We stared at each other for a beat before she sighed.
“Okay.” Sage gestured to me with her pencil. “Then, what is it?”
I opened my mouth and closed it as I reconsidered what I wanted to ask. Since kissing her, my head’s been swimming with questions. We’re as close as we’ve ever been, so I have actual hope that she will provide solid answers.
“What happened that made you push everyone away?” I asked. “I see it at work, and now, you mentioned your friends. Was it the burnout or something else?”
I regret the question as soon as it leaves my tongue. I’m asking for too much, too soon, in the middle of a tea bar that could exist in a fantasy novel. No one should be stressed in a place like this. Before I can try to take it back, Sage said,
“The burnout was a big part of it. But to be honest, I started pulling away from people before then. One day everything was fine, and the next, I couldn’t take looking at someone, let alone have a conversation.”
I nodded, trying to wrap my head around the sentiment and failing miserably. Extroversion was practically my middle name. If I couldn’t be around people in person, I was on the phone with them.
“I’ve always been the person who problem-solves for everyone,” Sage continued. “With my family, especially. The frequency increased last year, which led to my breaking point.”
“I’m not…contributing to that right now, am I?” I felt panic rush through my veins as I realized how much I’d asked and expected of her in terms of giving feedback.
“No, not at all,” she was quick to assure.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’d tell you if things freaked me out,” Sage promised. “I’ve been working on setting boundaries.”
“Good. That’s good.”
She nodded in agreement. “It’s harder than I thought it’d be. Especially with my family. But I’m getting there.”
“Your family,” I said in a low voice as I remembered something she said at the carnival. “You said something about helping them.”
Her jaw ticked. This was a huge deal to her. Something that shaped her into the woman who sat before me. It’d changed her from the more relaxed version of herself in college.
“Taking care of them was part of that breaking point.” She mindlessly scribbled something on the edge of my sketchbook. I pushed it closer so she could have easier access. Being able to draw while talking seemed to make the muscles in her face relax somewhat.
“I started working for a grocery store at fifteen. Then I had a bunch of side jobs to help pay the rent. Once I got to college, I took out a few predatory loans because it seemed smart at the time. My folks lived off that until I graduated and landed the job at Harpy.”
“They haven’t been able to get on their feet in the past few years?” I tried not to sound or feel too judgmental. These people were an important part of her life. No matter how much it’d hurt her to help them, I couldn’t see Sage doing all of that for people she didn’t love and care about.
“My mom was in an accident that left her with chronic pain. She can’t lift anything over a few pounds and can’t stay on her feet for more than a few minutes. The disability checks help, but aren’t enough to live off of comfortably,” she explained. “My dad’s…a recovering alcoholic who could never keep a job to save his life. He’s doing better now. At least that’s what I’ve been told. Not good enough for a steady job, though. Sparse paychecks an on-time payment does not make.”
I nodded, my heart sinking at the exhaustion in her eyes as she gave me the rundown. I should have kept my mouth shut.
“My brothers are…” She laughed a little with a shake of her head. “My brothers. They’re a bit more carefree and reckless than I am.”
“Which is wild considering you chose art as a career and ride a motorcycle to work,” I teased.
“I’m as carefree as reality will allow,” she said with a smile. “But I can’t afford their version of recklessness. They job-hop like it’s a career in itself, hoping to strike it big somewhere and make millions in a few weeks. They’ve been delivery drivers, online shop owners, car salesmen, you name it. The dream never lasts long with a new venture popping up every hour.”
“You’re the only one with a steady career.”
Sage’s laugh was looser this time. “Who would have thought that the artist of the family was the most practical? The one who brings home the most money? It’s absurd.”
“They’re lucky to have you,” I said, thinking of how stressful it must be for her to not only make a living for herself but for four other people. The weight it must put on her shoulders sounded so bone-crushing that my body buzzed with empathy pains.
“I’m lucky I’m good enough to make as much as I do.” Her gaze rested on the mermaid’s tail she was shading. She’d drawn one of my OCs within a few minutes. I smiled to myself at how she remembered the small details of the tail.
“If not, I’d be fucked,” she said.
“Non-artist Sage would have found a way.”
“Is there a non-artist Sage?” She wondered, half to herself. “Or does art make me who I am?”
I paused, wondering the same. My gut reaction wanted to say, ‘Yes, art made me who I am.’ Except I felt sad at the thought. If I didn’t have art, then what other parts of me would have to develop to fill in the gaps? Would I be more secure in myself? Or would my self-esteem be worse off if all I had was some day job I did to get through life?
“If you couldn’t make art ever again,” I said. “What would you do?”
Sage looked as lost as I felt about the question. She started to work on another mermaid as she thought about her answer. This mermaid looked like me. Her tail was covered in lilacs.
“I wanted to say die, but that’s too dramatic for someone my age,” she said with a small laugh.
“Why? I was thinking the same thing.”
“We’re both dramatic then.”
“It makes the work better,” I insisted.
“Kind of ruins our psyche, though.”
“Eh, I consider it the price of admission.”
She snorted and put her pencil down. I frowned when she opened her palm and motioned her fingers.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re massaging your hand,” she said.
I looked down, not realizing I was even touching my palm until now.
“Give it here so I can stretch it.”
There wasn’t any hesitation when she asked this time. The last time she did this in the office, I’d been frozen with shock and suspicion. An ulterior motive for massaging my palm didn’t make sense at the time, so I gave in. She’d provided the relief I hadn’t felt in months.
I let her have my hand. I was more interested in the excuse to touch her than the pain relief. Her fingers were warm from her mug. She lined our hands up so she could bend mine back. I try not to wince at the sharp pain that ran across my palm and to my wrist. I failed.
Noah stopped stretching me immediately. Her brow furrowed with concern as she opted for a simple massage, starting with my fingertips and working her way down my wrist.
“Noah--”
“It’s fine,” I cut in and closed my eyes with the brief relief her massage allowed. “Keep doing this for a bit. It feels nice.”
“Okay,” she said. I can tell from her tone that she wanted to say more, but can’t.
“You want to run me through your chapter?” I asked with my eyes still shut.
“I sent it to your email when I got here.”
I nodded, enjoying a few more seconds of the massage before unlocking my phone. Sage worked on massaging my other hand while I read through her chapter. The tension picked up on the ship as the characters got closer to finding the murderer. I scrolled faster than my eyes could keep up. The art was as beautiful as ever, but now, the storytelling matched, too. She nearly stuck the landing at the end. The last few panels fall flat, creating a cliffhanger that feels less like an exciting ending and more like an unnecessary drawn-out tease.
“You have to give them something,” I said the second I was finished.
Sage raised a brow, as calm as ever. She’d finished her massage and was now simply drawing shapes on my palm. “Something?”
“A clue. A character’s backstory. You’re holding too many cards to your chest this late in the competition,” I explained. “You need to give your readers something more than pretty art to fawn over.”
“So you finally admit it’s pretty?”
I rolled my eyes at her knowing smile. “Of course it’s pretty. Anyone with even a minuscule level of sense would know that it’s pretty.”
“Just making sure.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, uh-huh.”
Sage chuckled under her breath and then pulled my wrist up to meet her mouth. My brain malfunctioned for a second as she kissed my pulse. Her lips lingered. The longer she stayed, the more my heart picked up. She knew this and smiled at me before kissing the spot once more.
“What do you think I should do?” Sage asked while staring at the spot she’d kissed.
Fuck me.
I blinked and thanked God I didn’t say that out loud.
“Tell me why one of your characters can’t be the killer,” I forced myself to say in a steady voice. “That way, they feel like they can check people off their list while also developing a connection with a character they can trust.”
“You don’t like the idea of saving everything for the last few chapters?”
“No. Not when we’re publishing chapters weekly,” I said. “Attention spans are too short for you to risk losing votes every week. Have you been keeping up with kraken’s chapters?”
“Not by choice,” she muttered, between kisses on my palm. “By obligation.”
“Well, then you know they’re putting everything on the table.” I swallowed, trying with every fiber of being not to jumble my words from distraction.
Instead of succumbing to desire, I went to Inkmic to get an update on the charts. Sage had been number three for the week. I’d moved down to sixth. Kraken was second with only a hundred or so votes separating him from first place.
“How’s it looking?” Sage asked, absentmindedly tracing the lines of my palm.
“Like we’re in for a hellish two weeks,” I said.
“I’m down if you are.”
I took a breath and nodded. “Definitely. Whatever it takes to get to that number one spot.”
“Whatever it takes,” she agreed as she kissed my hand once more before letting go. “Within reason.”
“Screw reason,” I said, only half-teasing. “I have a prize to win.”
Sage didn’t look as agreeable, but she nodded all the same and pulled out her tablet to get to work.