When You Break
Jo peeked over her cubicle wall to make sure no one was around before tuning into Daphne’s latest stream. Even after two years together, she still marveled at Daphne and her art. Not just her amazing stories and illustrations, but her whole creative process.
Daphne’s deft fingers swirled paint with her brush, mixing colors like potions on her palette, before touching the brush to her leg. With her long, black hair tied up and out of her way, she trailed a graceful stroke of blue from her knee to her hip, the mix of hues starting as a deep midnight that slowly bled into royal before blending beautifully into azure. It gave the illusion of movement and depth along the sweet curve of her thigh.
Daphne was undeniably talented. Jo could see it as she created an entire riverscape to the video’s lilting music, with blooming trees lining the banks and fairies and nymphs tending to the unbidden garden of wild flowers. It felt like a miracle, watching this vibrant, new world blossom over the smooth, pale canvas of her skin.
Jo’s heart swelled with pride at the glowing comments from viewers in the chat. Daphne worked so hard and put so much of herself into her art; Jo was glad there were those out there who appreciated it.
She remembered when, at the beginning of their relationship, Daphne had first started making videos. How too many of Daphne’s earlier viewers had seen her body — bigger, different, magic — as more of a sideshow than anything. It’d been hard to watch her struggle to find an audience who could admire her art and her as its artist. Jo had been blown away by Daphne’s strength and resilience. Still was.
As Daphne put down her brush and picked up her pen, Jo’s attention was pulled back to the video. In her low, melodious voice, Daphne said to the camera, “Now where did we leave off?” Then she plunged back into the story she’d been working on for the better part of three weeks now, about a mermaid who trades her tail to become a fairy. As she spoke, she penned each word in pretty script in the negative space of her painting, filling the sky and hills with her story.
When she was done, when she’d filled her flesh with as much as she could, Daphne reached for the side of her hip, where a bit of her skin was beginning to peel.
Wincing, Jo knew it didn’t hurt. Not really. As a wood nymph, Daphne naturally shed thin sheets of her outer layers like bark on a birch tree, pulling away in crinkling pages to reveal supple, new flesh beneath. With her broad frame and thick limbs, her body made for a beautiful, boundless canvas. But part of Jo — the part that touched Daphne’s skin each night, from the soft and yielding areas to the fragile bits that felt crisp where they curled — couldn’t help but hold her breath.
Daphne picked at the loosening layer, her prying fingers releasing the painting in one large piece before holding it up for her online fans as their praise flooded in.
Jo had once asked why Daphne didn’t just use regular paper or canvas for her work. Even if the process didn’t hurt her, it seemed easier. Certainly less… intense. But, for Daphne, that was the point. Her art was an intrinsic and intimate part of her. It, in every way, came from her. Poured from her, stained onto her and, when she put it out into the world, it should feel like she was being laid bare before it.
And, even as an observer, it did feel like that. Being one of the few people who actually got to hold Daphne’s work in her hands, Jo knew that you could feel her passion in her art, as if her soul had seeped into the page. She supposed that was what people loved about her work. And, as long as Daphne loved it as well, Jo supposed that was all that really mattered.
*
Daphne stared at the email and grinned. She couldn’t believe it. She’d submitted to Ovid Publishing’s call for illustrated book pitches, outlining what kinds of stories she wrote and where they could find her work and videos as well as a brief summary of a story she wanted to write. And they’d actually liked it! She could hardly believe it as she reread the acceptance letter and the unexpected promise of a sizable advance.
She couldn’t wait to tell Jo. Sure, Daphne made some money through her art with her videos and had even sold a few of her finished works and commissions to fans, but nothing like this. It wasn’t as if the advance was even that much money, certainly not a life-changing amount or anything. But this felt official somehow. Like the first step into making her cute, little hobby into a serious profession.
She sat back at her desk, letting the moment wash over her. This felt amazing. And terrifying. Like an awesome pressure. Suddenly, she couldn’t stop thinking about the story she wanted to write and the pictures she’d paint. She could already imagine a rich, lush world and all the fascinating characters who would live there. Her fingers itched to hold her brushes. When she shut her eyes, all she could see was a beautiful medley of lines, shapes, and colors. In her head, the potential story strands began to slowly weave themselves together. Her body buzzed with possibilities, making the spots beneath her clothes where her skin bowed into bark tingle.
She jumped at her work email’s notification, reminding her of the department meeting she still needed to prepare for.
With a sigh, she shook her head and reminded herself that she was at work and had a million other things she needed to concentrate on. As much as she might want to explore the world brewing in her mind, she still had to live in the real one.
As a wood nymph, her coworkers already thought she was flaky, made more for nature preserves than the corporate jungle. And being a fat one just made it worse, conjuring images of indolent and indulgent deities at gluttonous bacchanals. No matter how hard or well she worked, she had a difficult enough time being taken seriously or trusted by her bosses and peers who never seemed convinced she fit in.
And they weren’t even all that wrong. Because of who she was — a fat, lesbian, nymph artist — she had a different way of looking at things, a different way of doing things. Which made a lot of the conventional office expectations difficult. Office politics, rushed deadlines, set workshifts, it all too often seemed like arbitrary nonsense built for a system meant to exclude her. Most of her coworkers seemed driven by pay raises and promotions. Her boss would constantly ask her where she saw herself in five years, career-wise.
Truthfully, when she imagined what kind of future she wanted, it never involved an office. All she really wanted, needed, to be happy was her art, her home, and Jo. In her fantasy, she imagined what it would be like to make a living on the art she loved to make. To be able to work all day on it, instead of stealing hours before or after work. To have more time, if only she didn’t have to sacrifice eight to ten hours a day in a cubicle, to spend on other things, like cooking, cleaning, gardening, or even just relaxing.
She thought about what it would be like to have more time and energy to spend with Jo. Daphne loved her and wanted to build a life with her, but there just never seemed to be enough time. Sometimes, it felt like she spent so much time making a living that she never had time to truly live.
The dream of being able to do all that — as impossible as it seemed — made her smile. Yet, as she closed her personal email and the acceptance letter that still sat like a hopeful promise in her inbox, that fantasy didn’t seem quite so out of reach.
*
Jo pushed open the tall, wooden privacy wall’s gate and entered Daphne’s backyard. When they’d first met, she’d been amazed that someone their age owned their own house already. Most of her friends and peers, especially the still single ones, weren’t ready — financially or otherwise — for the commitment of homeownership.
But Daphne needed it. She needed a yard. As a nymph, she couldn’t live without a place where she could feel the earth beneath her feet. She needed to feel trees and flowers and plants growing around her. She’d sacrificed and saved just to get it, often still putting aside fun or even food for its sake.
It’d seemed strange to Jo at first to give up so much instead of renting like everyone else but, seeing Daphne here with her paints spread out around her on the grass, it made perfect sense. This was where she belonged. For the rest of her life, whenever Jo imagined Daphne, she’d picture her just like this.
Daphne looked up when the gate’s heavy metal latch shut. She blinked blankly as she slipped out of whatever imaginary world she was in and into this one before smiling warmly at her. “Jo.”
Jo blushed and clutched the bags in her hands. “I thought you might be hungry enough to take a break with me.” Ever since Daphne had received Ovid’s acceptance letter, she’d been working non-stop, going straight from the office to the yard to paint and write before barely making it to her bed to sleep before hurrying off to the office to start all over again. Jo couldn’t be sure, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the only time Daphne ate was when Jo brought her food.
Knowing Daphne couldn’t move, covered in still drying paint and ink as she was, Jo knelt down in the grass next to her girlfriend and reached into the bag. She fed her vegetable stir fry and blueberry pie, while Daphne asked her about her day.
And, when they were done eating, Jo helped gather and put away all her supplies, as Daphne carefully peeled each mostly dry sheet off her body. Together, they pinned each piece to her basement walls to dry completely.
Jo touched the hung-up pages. They were stunning, some of her best work. Out of order, she couldn’t quite tell what the story was yet, but the imagery, filled with dark, desolate landscapes juxtaposed with sublime edens, was breathtaking.
She stopped to stare at one of the close-up drawings of one of the characters, some spectral woman made of shadows and bone. She should have looked horrifying — and she did, while the flowers around her wilted — but she was also… sad. There was something heartbreaking in her black eyes and in the tender way she touched the dying petals. Jo didn’t know who she was or what her story was, but she instantly wanted to.
When they were finally done putting everything away, Daphne took Jo’s hand in her still paint-flecked one and squeezed, her calloused grasp strong but gentle. “I know I’ve been busy lately and I’m sorry I haven’t had much time for you.”
Looking at her girlfriend yawn, Jo frowned. Daphne looked exhausted. She had bags under her sleepy eyes. Her usually strong, steady shoulders were slumped as if her bowed body was too heavy. And even the stripped spots of flesh, where she’d taken her latest piece off her forearm, belly, and thigh had lost their usual suppleness, looking dull and worn. Instead of peeling in neat curls, the bark that should have naturally pulled away and shed from her skin seemed to fray.
Daphne stretched, the movement looking strained. “I swear, once this is done, I’ll make it up to you but, for now, thank you.” She leaned in to kiss her. “For everything.”
Jo kissed her back, knowing Daphne would. Daph had been there for her when Jo had lost her job and had even helped her find her new one. She’d been there when Jo got terrible food poisoning, nursing and coddling her back to health. She was always there for her, making her feel better on her bad days, celebrating with her on her good ones, and managing to make her feel loved every day.
And it wasn’t as if Jo didn’t understand why Daphne was working so hard. Her art meant so much to her and Jo knew what this opportunity could potentially change for her. There weren’t many artists, human or magical, who did what she did and even fewer publishers who were interested in that kind of not-easily-reproducible work. From her style to her voice to the medium she worked in, Daphne was unique and not everyone appreciated that. But someone was giving her a chance and she deserved to take it.
But what she needed right now was some rest. So Jo squeezed Daphne’s hand back and led her upstairs to bed. “You’re always welcome.”
*
With a frustrated shout, Daphne threw her pen across the room. She didn’t understand it. The story wasn’t going at all how she’d planned.
This was a simple love story. A plague maiden and a garden sprite fall in love, but they can’t be together without the plague maiden killing all the sprite’s plants, which she needs to live. It sounded like such a straightforward story. Your basic star-crossed lovers. But, at the end of the story, the lovers need to come together.
Daphne just didn’t know how to do that. She’d been working on this for two months now and all she had was an interesting concept, complete with epic landscapes and gorgeous characters, but no actual story. And, of course, a deadline she couldn’t afford to miss.
Then, to top it all off, it was raining outside. Normally, Daphne loved the rain. As a wood nymph, she needed to stay hydrated, so her shedding bark didn’t tear or damage the skin beneath. On any other evening, she’d sit outside and just soak up the rain.
But she needed to work, and paint and rain did not play well together. She’d already come home late today. After a meeting with her boss about adding even more to her workload, since a coworker had gone on sabbatical, had run late, she’d missed her bus. So, much as she wanted to take a break, she couldn’t afford to and likely wouldn’t be able to for a while.
Daphne sighed and looked down at the page she’d been working on. She’d thought that maybe the maiden would build the sprite a glass greenhouse. She’d like the idea of them touching, palm-to-palm, on either side of the glass. And the image did look beautiful, lovely and longing. But, as soon as she began to write the story, it felt more like either the sprite was being kept in a pretty prison or the maiden was being locked out of paradise. Either way, it didn’t feel like the fairytale ending she was looking for.
With a shake of her head, Daphne tore the page off her thigh. She needed to try again. She turned to the other side of her thigh, but the skin there looked dry and was a darker ginger color rather than her usual smooth, pale apricot to faded lace hue.
That wasn’t good. The color change meant she was damaging herself. Taking too many layers off too quickly. Without enough rest or replenishment in between.
Crumpling the page in her hand, she shut her eyes and groaned. She did not have time for this. Shaking her head, she shoved those thoughts aside. She’d worry about that later. When the book was done, she could rest. She could take better care of herself. She could breathe.
But, for now, she needed to work. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass by. This was what she’d been dreaming about, what she’d been working toward, for so long. She couldn’t falter now. She just needed to finish.
If only she knew how. What kind of artist did that make her? A storyteller without a tale to tell.
From the floor, she looked up at all the pages she’d done — thought about all the time and work that had gone into them—and worried it was all a waste of time. She had no story. No plot. No substance. Just pretty pictures that, very likely, wouldn’t look or feel the same when reproduced digitally or mass printed. What was she doing, trying to sell her work? Who would ever want this? Want her? What made her think she was — could ever be — good enough? Feeling like the worst kind of failure, she worried that all the years she’d spent writing and painting was a colossal waste of time.
Of her life.
*
Jo turned her key and entered Daphne’s house. She closed her umbrella and shook it out before closing the door. Despite the umbrella, she was still soaked, since she’d looked for Daphne in her garden first. Usually, Daphne would be reveling in the rain, but she wasn’t out there.
“Daphne?” She kicked off her shoes and looked around. Jo put the food she’d brought on the kitchen table and headed down to the basement.
At the foot of the stairs, she looked around and gasped. “Daph?” Her brow furrowed as she saw Daphne on the floor with all her pages scattered around her in a mess. They all looked out of order. Some were crumpled, others were even torn in half. “What happened?”
Daphne gazed up at her from the piece on her right forearm that she was furiously working on, looking overwhelmed and lost. “I can’t make it work.” Digging her nails under the barely peeling bark, she tore at her arm. Only a thin strip — down the middle — pulled up, ruining the still wet painting. Jo cringed at the pained, frustrated sound Daphne made before she scratched and clawed at the remaining image. “No matter what I do, nothing works.”
Jo stepped over the scattered bits of Daphne on the floor and knelt next to her. Frowning, she cupped her girlfriend’s arm, seeing the reddened, raw flesh revealed between the rips. There was more just like it on her other arm, her legs, and her belly. Jo had never seen Daphne like this and it scared her. She turned Daphne’s arm in her hands gently. “Does it hurt?”
Daphne snatched back her arm. “It doesn’t matter; I need to finish this.”
“You need to slow down.” Jo leaned in. “Look at yourself! You’re so dry, you’re not shedding bark; you’re tearing skin.” Daphne needed to hydrate so her body could produce the sap necessary to protect her.
“I can’t!” Daphne shook her head. “I don’t have time.” She picked up the torn strip off the floor and glared at it. “This isn’t working. I’ll probably have to start all over.” She tossed it aside. “Except, I can’t because I pitched them this story, so — somehow, some way — I have to make this work.” She groaned and slammed her hand down on the surrounding pages.
“I’m just saying—”
“Just saying what?” Daphne shouted. “What do you have to say that could help right now? Can you tell me how this story ends? Cause that’s what I really need right now. Not rest or food or talk. I need an ending.”
Jo frowned, not knowing what to say. She didn’t even know what the story was, much less how it should end. She wasn’t a writer or an artist or a storyteller. Much as she wished she could give Daphne what she wanted, she couldn’t. And they both knew it.
Daphne shook her head. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t take this out on you.” She clutched her tense hands in her lap. “I’m sorry.”
Poor Daphne, she looked so guilty, so tired and ashamed. Sighing, Jo grabbed Daphne’s hand and tugged. “C’mon.” Maybe Jo couldn’t give her exactly what she wanted most, but there were plenty of needs she could take care of. “Take a break with me.”
Daphne shook her head. “I can’t. Really, I wish I could, but I have so much I need to do.”
Not relenting, Jo pulled Daphne to her feet. “You already said that nothing is working. Staring at it — much less destroying it all — isn’t going to help.” She shrugged. “I mean, it hasn’t so far, right?”
Daphne frowned but nodded reluctantly.
“So take a break with me. Come out into the rain and clear your head. Then we can come back and see what we see together.” She rubbed the back of Daphne’s paint-dappled palm. “Okay?”
This time, when Daphne nodded, it looked as if a huge weight had been lifted from her. She stood a little straighter and gripped Jo’s hand tightly with a small but grateful smile. “You’re right. Okay.”
*
It was amazing what a difference even twenty minutes could make. Despite the fact that the sun had gone down, Jo had led her out into the garden and, for twenty glorious minutes, they’d danced and laughed while droplets fell and soaked their skin. They’d chased each other through the rows of herbs and between bushes as grass and mud squished beneath their soles. Wind had pulled some of Jo’s long strands free from the hair tie she’d bound it in, letting them whip about her face like wild rays of sunlight in the night’s shower. She’d looked like a miracle just when Daphne needed one most.
Daphne stared at Jo now as she dried her hair with a towel, her cheeks still flushed and damp. It was amazing what a difference she could make. Daphne felt… freer, as if the rain had washed away the stress that had clung to and constricted her.
Making sure her hands were dry, Jo sat on the floor and picked up several pages. Carefully, she began laying them around her in order. Daphne felt her stomach clench and anxiety begin to creep in again. Daphne opened her mouth to say something. To make excuses or apologize for the story. But she stopped herself. This was Jo; there wasn’t anything Daphne couldn’t trust her with. So she silently watched her girlfriend puzzle together the remains of her unfinished, broken book. Jo pieced together ripped pictures and gathered all the balled-up pages.
Suppressing a sigh, Daphne frowned. She shouldn’t have wrecked her work. However frustrated she might have been, the pages had been beautiful and now… Well, they were obviously ruined.
Yet, Daphne tilted her head as Jo carefully unfolded the crumpled litter, the colorful images seeming to bloom in her girlfriend’s hands. There was something oddly interesting about that. Spread out around Jo, there was a whole separate story being told in the cracks and folds of those pages. The way they refused to lie flat, but instead curled and crinkled upward as if they were sprouting up from the hardwood. Sitting in the middle of her basement, Jo looked like the flower sprite, willing an impossible garden where one shouldn’t be able to grow. Like some kind of miracle.
Grabbing a pen, Daphne began to draw on her thigh.
Jo sighed and started to stand up. “Daph, I thought you were going to take a break until your skin recovers.”
“No,” Daphne said, holding out her hand, “don’t get up yet. I want to sketch you, just as you are, before I forget.” She shook her head. “I swear, no painting and no peeling until I heal.” So she’d wear the ink sketch for a few days. Daphne smiled as she drew. She kinda liked the idea of living with Jo’s image on her body for a while, letting it and its budding story threads grow on her.
By the time she was done sketching, Daphne had filled every usable inch of herself with what certainly felt like the rest of her story. Sitting back, she set aside her pen and smiled.
Jo let out a surprised laugh as she studied Daphne’s drawings. “Is that an origami garden?” She moved closer to touch the image on Daphne’s arm, showing a shadowy figure folding tens — hundreds, thousands — of tiny paper orchids, roses, daffodils, and lilies.
Daphne nodded. “My plague maiden may not be able to live in my flower sprite’s garden without killing it and my flower sprite may not be able to survive in my plague maiden’s poisoned palace, but maybe my maiden can make a beautiful place for them to be together. Sure, the sprite can’t create there, but my maiden can’t destroy it either.”
“It’s a place for them to simply be.” Jo smiled at her, making her breath catch. “They may not get everything they want, but they can give each other what they need.”
Daphne looked up at Jo and nodded. “Exactly.”
Jo turned Daphne’s arm to gaze at the image in awe. “It’s amazing.”
*
A few weeks later, Daphne invited Jo over. Which was a little strange, since Jo usually spent most evenings and weekends at Daphne’s house already. But, this time, Daphne had specifically called to ask her to come over.
What did that mean? Was it a celebration? She’d been working really hard on her book, after taking a break for a bit, and Jo knew she’d been near the end last night. Should she dress up a bit?
What if it wasn’t good news? What if something else had happened? What if her publisher didn’t like the ending? What if she needed to start all over? What if they decided not to take her book?
Jo hadn’t thought Daphne sounded sad or angry or frustrated on the phone. She’d sounded like she always did. But, then again, Jo hadn’t noticed exactly how stressed Daphne had been until she’d already begun to break.
Jo shook her head and tried to get a grip. There was no point in stressing herself out. Whatever it was, they’d handle it. Together.
So she got dressed — a little fancier than she normally would, since she figured it couldn’t hurt to go in with optimism — and headed over.
The sun was just starting to set when she arrived. Knowing Daphne would probably be outside, she headed to the backyard. When she opened the gate, she saw Daphne had strung twinkle lights all over her garden, lighting a path toward the blanket laid out on the ground with a delicious picnic spread.
But what had Jo’s eyes widening were dozens of paper flowers scattered all over the space. Folded blooms decorated the blanket, of course, but they also peeked out of already blossoming bushes and were placed among the herbs. They were everywhere! It must have taken ages to fold them all.
“Do you like it?”
Jo turned to see Daphne standing behind her a bit nervously. Jo took her in slowly. It’d been weeks since she’d seen Daphne without even a speck of paint on her pale, gleaming skin. Her dark eyes looked bright and alert and, though a bit anxious, she seemed much more like herself. Dressed in a flowing dress the color of the first budding leaves of spring, Daphne made Jo’s heart skip a beat. She smiled. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. I can’t believe you did all this.”
Daphne nodded, looking more relieved. “I just wanted to thank you for always taking such good care of me.” She grimaced a bit. “Even — and especially — when I don’t do so myself.”
Blushing, Jo shrugged and looked down. “Of course.” That was what partners did for the ones they loved. It felt odd to be thanked for it, but also really nice to be acknowledged. She opened her mouth to say so when she noticed what Daphne was carrying. Her eyes widened. “Is that the book? It’s done?” Excited, she looked up at her girlfriend. “Can I see it?”
Daphne awkwardly nodded before handing it over. But, when Jo tried to take it from her, her hands tightened on it. “I haven’t sent it to Ovid yet. I want to sit with it a bit before I do.” She glanced up at Jo. “You’re the first person I’m showing it to.”
Jo nodded, understanding the amount of trust being laid before her. Sure, she’d seen most of the pages, had even helped in the creation of a few, but this was the finished piece. And she was the first person to hold it, to look at it. She felt humbled and honored.
They sat down on the blanket and, while Daphne poured them both wine and served them both food, Jo read through the book, taking her time and immersing herself in the story. Taking a sip of her wine, she finished the last page. “It’s great, Daph. Really. The story is sweet and longing and lovely, showing how, even when things seem impossible and even if they may not be perfect, love finds a way.”
Daphne grinned and looked at Jo warmly. “I like to think that, even when it’s hard, you find a way for the person you love.”
Jo leaned in and kissed her. “Exactly.”
Daphne kissed her back. “Did you read the forward?”
Jo shook her head before flipping to the front of the book. Reading aloud, she said, “‘To my Jo, thank you for always being exactly what I need, even when I don’t know what I want.’”
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