She was shaking, her eyes wide, her skin blanched, so I opened my arms, and after a fraction of a moment, she stepped into them.

She did not put her arms around me, but crossed her palms over her breast and pinned her forearms between us. She was trembling still, so I made soft noises and stroked her back.

Like a bird in my hand she trembled as her art was touted and flouted and torn apart by icy judgments.

I held her completely, our bodies touching from the crown of her head tucked under my chin, to her feet, shuffled in between my own.

And still she shook, and still I murmured.

~

I opened the door to the artist's lounge. She was moving towards the door, and started when it opened, then looked guiltily away.

"Hey," I said, letting the door swing shut behind me. She really was a tiny woman. It made me feel protective.

"Look," she said, visibly mustering her courage and putting her flat palms between us like a shield. "Look, I'm not going to sleep with you."

That was certainly not what I expected her to say.

"What?"

"I'm not going to sleep with you," she repeated, a little easier. "I just want to make that clear."

I half laughed. "I don't want to sleep with you," I said, and her eyes flicked up to mine, her face paling in embarrassment.

"You...what?"

"I don't want to sleep with you," I said. "I'm straight."

Her face, pale moments before, flushed red and she looked away, suddenly busying herself with papers on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry," I said, unsure of what else to say. "Are you offended?"

"Well," she said, not meeting my gaze. "Frankly yes."

I shrugged, helplessly. "I'm sorry."

~

I have the weirdest dreams.

.

Rosie.

Before&After