Art is Love

Jean McAvory was a loner, she wasn't great with people; especially boys. So she draws the boys in which she dreams of dating, befriending, and merely talking to. One day she's sucked into her drawing, and the boy she drew resembles the jerk of her High School but here in the world she created he's sweet and sensitive. What happens when she can't return to reality?

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3. Decision Making

 

 

 

 

 

I sat on my bed--or the bed that I had envisioned and drew.  Tears sprouted in my eyes and I was worried that they would ruin the pencil like lines that surrounded me. For being a grayscale utopia--it was so colorful here. The only thing I usually colored were eyes...and the thought of Tate's eyes made me cry fresh tears. It was 9:35 am according to the clock I had drawn the night before. I had to make a decision. Stay or Go? Did I stay here to be happy with this Tate forever,and have the choice of returning anytime I wished...or did I choose to return to my miserable life and have the opportunity of loving someone else? But also not knowing if I could ever return? I had nothing I could throw in my frustration. This decision wasn't getting any better...or easier to make as the hours ticked by.

 

Before I knew it, the church bells tolled...it was noon. I had to make a decision now. I went to open my bedroom door, and I was faced with my decision before I wanted to. Tate stood there in front of me, a rose in hand--the rose had no color, it was pure black. 

 

"What's your decision?" Tate asked me. His eyes, the only color in this world were glazed with unshed tears...how was that possible? Sketches can't cry...

 

"You made us more human than you realize Jean. I can cry--I can feel."

 

"If I decided to leave...how would you feel?"

 

"I would feel empty but sooner or later I would become void of everything and become just a sketch." I didn't want that. How could anyone want that to be the future for someone they cared so deeply for? 

 

"I don't want you to suffer. I also don't want to be stuck here in case you get tired of me."

 

"I'd never get tired of you Jean--I love you."

 

"You hardly know me! You think you love me because you think you have to because I created you! You love the idea of me. I love you because you are the Tate I have hoped for since the real Tate changed. You are the old Tate. Tate changed for the worst after his parents died...I could never hate the real Tate, I hate what he's become and you aren't Tate, not really and you forcing this decision on me isn't fair...none of this is fair or normal." I exclaimed pushing him away. Tears flowing down my face like twin water falls of grief and hysteria. "You're expecting me to leave my parents, my friends, and have them believe a-a lie! I'm not really in a coma for God's sake! I'm in a wonderland of my own creation because my reality sucks, it literally is disappointing and miserable and something I don't want to return to, but if I stay here, there is no one else for me to run to, for me to love. I don't know whether I'll be able to return or not--and I don't want to take that chance,

But I also don't want to take the chance that I could never return to my family."

 

"Jean--"

 

"No, Tate, I need more time..."

 

"Don't leave--"

 

"You can't stop me if that's what I decide."

 

"You didn't let me finish, don't leave without saying goodbye." fresh tears sprouted in my eyes as Tate disappeared again. I shut the door, and slid down its surface. My hair falling in my face as I placed my head on my knees. 

"I can't stay." I whispered to no one. Tears falling down my face. "But I can't leave either." I whispered again, letting my head fall back, hitting the door harshly. But it didn't hurt. There was no physical pain here. Just raw emotions, because that is what art was...visual emotion. I wished someone was here to help through this decision. I wished I could send a message to my parents. 

 

Wait.

I.

Was.

In.

My. Sketchbook.

 

I could send them a message if I truly wanted...but it was doubtful they'd look at it...but I had to try. I visualized a clean page in my sketchbook, and visualized what I wanted to say, the words scrawled in my clumsy script.

 

Mom, Dad

  I'm fine, truly I will be alright. I just need time to figure somethings out. Whatever you do, do not discard this sketchbook. Think of it as my lifeline, alright? I love you. I will return to you when I can. I promise.

             Love, Jean.

 

"Tate?" I whispered. I heard a knock on the door moments later--I would have to ask him how he could teleport place to place. I stood slowly, and opened the door.

 

"Is this goodbye?" Tate asked.

 

"No. This is hello." I whispered, leaning in and closing the distance between us. For now, I would stay...and later I would find a way home. I didn't have much to return to, and for that I supposed I should thank the real Tate...because without him, I would have created this Tate.

 

"Does this mean you'll stay?"

 

"Yes, I'll stay."

 

 

 

 

 

Sorry this is so short. I just wanted to update and give my readers Jean's decision....I hope you like her decision.

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