Davide

Draw me, Jack.

It was late at night and we had just finished making love again. It was dark and I could tell from his breathing that he wasn’t asleep yet. “Hey… why do you wanna marry me?” I whispered into the dark.

He shifted and I felt his warm arms wrap around my waist pulling me closer. I turned around and faced him. He brushed the hair out of my face and smiled at me. I loved that I could ask him stuff like this without him getting irritated.

His voice was low, almost a whisper- but incredibly confident, “I need to marry you because I have never met anyone else like you, and I never will again. You are perfect. You are everything. You are so funny, smart, thoughtful, sweet, and strong. At the same time you’re gorgeous, sexy, and naughty. You are everything to me babe. When I think of living without you, I can’t breathe. I need to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. There will never be anyone else for me.”

I felt myself melt into his embrace. I’ve had such a hard life, but when I’m in his arms… I feel like I can do anything and that he’ll always take care of me. I don’t need someone to take care of me, but it’s nice to depend on him sometimes.

“You’re beautiful.” he whispered into my ear. I smiled at him and kissed his nose.  “I wish I could see myself from your eyes. You believe in me so much, you make me feel like I can do anything.” I told him. 

He rolled over, and started rummaging around in the night stand on his side of the bed. Then he handed me his sketchbook. 

Quick Backstory

Davide grew up painting. His mom is this incredibly talented painter. She does it as a hobby. Mostly of the Positano cliffs. Some of the vendors actually sell her work to the tourists. She’s amazing and so is Davide.

He considers himself more of a seaman than a painter. Just like how I don’t consider myself a writer- but I can’t help but scribble words everywhere I go. We tend to bring out the artistic side of each other, which I love. Even so, I love when he paints and sketches, he gets the same look on his face as he does when we’re in the ocean.

He usually only works with paint but lately I’ve been catching him sketching. Only he’s been really shy about his work and wasn’t ready to show me it. I don’t push it and generally give him space whenever I see him sketching.

The Sketchbook

Davide turned on the light while I opened to the first page.

The first page showed a familiar yet strangely different face. It was me, I could tell from the eyes. But everything else… it was like it was me if I was painfully beautiful. Everything about his work captivated me. The wild hair in my face and the grin on my lips. He made me look like a model. Is this what it’s like seeing yourself from someone else’s eyes?

He flipped to the next page. This one was of my naked body. “Holy shit” I murmured, I looked incredible. He captured the curve of my hips to a tight waist and definitely drew my tits more generiously than reality. My abs looked downright sexy. 

As he flipped through the rest of the pages, I realized every single drawing was of me, it was all of me. Sleeping. Smiling. Playing a guitar. Laughing. Dancing. Reading. Lounging in bed.

Some where just parts of my body. A hard nipple. My hands. My ass. My neck. My lips.

Others were clearly from memories. Me on his boat. Sitting on a bridge, clearly from our time together in Venice. Me laying out in a bikini on a lake- it looked exactly like Lake Como. One with fireworks, from the night he proposed. In the dress I wore to my uncle’s anniversary party in Kauai when he wanted to elope.

In each one… it was like looking at this stunningly beautiful model-version of myself. I looked beautiful, strong, and so incredibly happy. I didn’t look broken. All the flaws I see when I look in the mirror were gone. Seeing myself from his perspective, was one of the most incredible gifts I’ve been given. I felt so damn… loved and confident.

He explained to me how he started drawing them when we were broken up. He was sad and I haunted his dreams. So he started drawing me so he could get me out his head and go back to sleep. Then it became to document his favorite memories of us and my body.

He let me pick one picture, so I could frame it. But said that the rest needed to stay with him. He needs them when he misses me.

I couldn’t help but jump into his lap and kiss him senseless. 

Now I keep teasing him by quoting that scene from Titanic “Draw me like one of your French Girls, Jack.” I love seeing him blush.

About Monica

Living in Newport Beach and Kauai. Survivor of crippling Anxiety and Depression. When I'm not cuddling my adorable dachshund puppy, surfing, or reading, you'll find me on here writing about my love life, loss, and everything in between.

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