Torn

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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*****

I woke up feeling better than I had in weeks. Finally, I was able to sleep without the stress that was weighing me down for so long.

When I accepted both marks, both men, it just clicked. We clicked. And they started to help with my burden. It was refreshing.
Both men were absolutely crushing me, hugging me so tightly that I could barely move, but I didn't care. It felt so nice, to be encased with the men who cared for me.

But I did want to get up. Something was teasing my mind, an image that I wanted to bring to painted relief.

So I took both sets of hands off me as gently as I could. I untangled my legs from them and inched myself off Dean's chest and away from Mason, who was plastered against my back.

With the lifted strain, I was able to see with an artist's eye again. I wasn't blocked anymore.

My mind suddenly had it's muse again.

I could see what I wanted to bring to life. It was in my mind in brilliant color, begging to be released on paper. It was a simple design but beautiful.

And it was perfect.

I took out one of my sketch pads, flipped until I got to a clean page, and started to bring the picture onto it. It was a picture of two wolves. I'll let you guess who's they were. But they were standing in that creepy clearing that didn't have one inch of bare earth. Dean's wolf was gently helping a flower grow, urging it up with his muzzle. Derrick, Mason's wolf, simply looked straight at the view, having those puppy eyes that I found irresistible.

It was beautiful and tugged on my heart. What better image to kick start my creativity? They were the reason I was finally able to reach for my passion again.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked sleepily. He turned over in his sleep, searching for me and finding me curled up in an armchair by the door, watching them both. He scanned me once to check that I was okay and his eyes drooped back down, still very sleepy.

I didn't say anything, only because I knew he would doze back off without any effort. He seriously hated mornings. But asking his question was enough to make Mason wake up. He yawned and scratched himself before getting out of bed. He walked over to me to give me a kiss and noticed the sketch pad.

He didn't say anything but I could feel his own relief that I could draw again, that I could release my own tension and stress without having to rely on them too much. I hated not being able to draw, to paint, to sketch, to create. And he knew it. And he was happy that I was happy.