“Yes. Don't worry, you can still move. This is more of a candid drawing anyway.”
She nods and just sits; she doesn't move an inch and I find it peculiar, but I begin drawing regardless.
I use my right hand to begin drawing an outline and the left to smudge anything I find undesirable—I prefer to use both hands when I draw as I like to be fully immersed.
As I continue drawing, I can't help but notice all the little details that encompass Adaline. Her shaped, thick eyebrows, the way her button nose is upturned, and how long her jet-black hair is starting to grow. Usually, she keeps it shoulder length, but clearly, she's too busy to cut it.
Her cheeks are so animated that even the slightest movement causes her dimples to pop out instantly. Then there's those eyes, those jade green eyes that I can't do justice to, with just a drawing. There's a swirl of something in there—something so hardened, but gentle at the same time.
As enchanting as her appearance is, I'm having a difficult time continuing to draw because of how rigid she is. All I can seem to focus on is how pretty she is because she's like a frozen statue.
I need to breathe some life into her, so she doesn't look like a repressed robot scared to even move an inch.
“Why are you so stiff?” I question, pausing my movements.
“I'm not,” she protests, narrowing her eyes and a pink tint overtakes her cheeks.
“Yes, you are. It's painful to watch.”
“I've just never done this before.” She gestures to the canvas with her hands.
I would hope she hasn't done this before. No one else gets to draw her. No one.
“What's your favourite movie?” I ask abruptly and that actually prompts a movement; her shoulders drop for a moment.
“What?” she questions, furrowing her eyebrows.
“I'm helping you relax, just answer the question,” I tell her gently.
“I’m not going to satisfy your curiosity,” she says in a smug tone. Is there another human this difficult?
“Why? Because there’s nothing more to you than being obsessed with chemistry?” I goad.
“Biology,” she corrects, already looking pissed off and I smirk inwardly.
“Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.” Finally, some emotion I can use to draw.
“You’re not refuting my point.” I point out and she looks visibly annoyed, maybe even a little embarrassed.
“Mean girls,” she says instantly, like it's not even a competition.
“Really?” I ask, astonished.
It's not like it's a bad movie, far from it, actually it's just not something I expected from Adaline.
“It's a classic,” she says, glaring at me like I'm a fool if I don't think the same. Her eyes are asking me why I didn't expect her answer.
“I just expected you to name some science fiction movie or something.” I explain in an amused tone.
“No way. Sci-fi movies suck.” She looks offended at my words.
I take note of the fact that she is moving her hands and her shoulders are relaxing tenfold. Instinctively, my hands begin drawing again, but I don't stop the conversation.
“No, they don't!” I retort, offended. “Back to the future is technically sci-fi and those movies do not suck at all.”
Back to the future is my favourite movie of all time. I could watch it a thousand times. In fact, I actually have. I remember when I was a child, my mother used to ban me from watching it if I was ever being a petulant brat. It worked, because the threat of not seeing it again snapped me back into being a polite, little child.
