Tied by Doodles.

Marker garden

She would sit there, drawing on her arm. She always was a good artist. She drew flowers, butterflies, and these weird sort of vine like things. All up and down her arm.

He would sit there watching his left arm everyday at 3:00pm to 3:10. When the amazing drawings of what seemed to be a beautiful garden crawl across his arm.

She would hide words in her drawings, ones you had to really look for to see. But once you knew they were there, they were obvious.
Words like 'love' and 'hope'. Usually happy words.

He caught on to the words after a while, and after the drawings stopped appearing on his arm at 3:10 pm every day, he'd write stories about it, connecting the words.

She didn't feel like drawing on her arm today. Or ever again. She didn't like them. They sure as hell didn't like her. She instead looked at the marks they'd given her.

He grew concerned when there was nothing appearing on his arm. Since he couldn't watch today, he would just look at what was already there.

She drew on her arm again today.
But it wasn't the same. The flowers and vines were wilted. The butterflies were dead. They really didn't like her.

He became really worried. Instead of positive words in happy drawings, it was negative words in sad drawings. He still added it to his story. He felt he had to.

Today, instead of drawing, she decided to trace her bruises and scars, labelling the date she got them and who gave them to her.

He couldn't sit back and let this happen. He didn't know who it was, or why it was happening, but it wasn't pleasant to watch.

She tried to look on the positive, but it was hard to draw around the disfigurements they'd given her. She still tried though.

He was gonna find her. He'd never met her, he didn't know what she looked like, sounded like, or even her name. This wouldn't stop him.

Once again, she was upset, and went back to tracing the disfigurements. She didn't think about what she was doing to him. She figured there wasn't a him.

He was getting bullied from the marks she was tracing onto his body. He tried not to let it bother him though, he had a mission, and he was going to save her.

She wasn't drawing again, she couldn't. She wasn't in the mood. She still tried though. She hid the word sorry in a wilting flower.

He looked all around to find her. He needed to wear a hoodie though, so no one commented on the marks he had.

Today she sat under the tree, and drew. Just a flower that was smiling. It was a little cartoonish compared to the realism in everything else, but that's okay.

He couldn't help but smile back at the flower on his arm. At least she was okay now. He still needed to find her, and help her. Save her from whoever was doing this.

She looked up from her drawing one afternoon, and saw him. He had the exact same drawings on his arms. The marks she'd traced, the words she hid, he had them all.

He was wearing short sleeves, so his arms were visible. After a short while, he caught her eyes. She had all the same marks. She had the pen in her hand, she must be it.

She stood up, keeping her eyes on him. She didn't know how to feel. She just ran to him, she had a feeling he cared about her, even though they'd never met.

He was surprised when she ran and hugged him, but he hugged her back. He found her. The one. And he was going to protect her from now on.

She was crying. Tears of joy, tears of sadness, she wasn't sure. But she knew somehow, that he'd be there for her from now on. The fact that she had a he, filled her with happiness and relief.

He would make sure no one hurt her again. He swore by it. He ran his fingers through her amazingly soft hair. He was so happy that he'd found her that he never wanted to let go.

Neither did she.