Outside the Lines Read Online Free PDF

am the fire, man. Got anything that can put it out?”
    “Sure, dude. Sure. Hang on.” Rick lumbered his thick, stubby frame over to the locked wall safe where he kept his inventory. It was covered over by one of David’s paintings—an abstract watercolor of blues and greens littered with splashes of vibrant orange. Rick gently removed the painting, then hunched in front of the safe, moving through the slow clicks of the combination lock. A naked woman came out of the bedroom, her hair a wild brown nest around her face. She scratched her ass.
    “Is there coffee?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to her nudity. David felt a stirring in his groin. She wasn’t his type. She didn’t look anything like Lydia. Lydia was soft and blond; this woman was skinny and hard with a bad boob job. Her right nipple pointed off in the general direction of her bicep. He could see the puckered scars. He wanted to screw her anyway.
    “I’m David,” he said. “I’m an artist. The painting that hangs over the safe is mine. Have you seen it?”
    The woman looked at him, blinking. “Nope. Sure haven’t.”
    “That’s Ashley, man,” Rick said as he walked over to hand David a thick joint. David snatched it up and lit it using a match from a book he saw on the table. He took a deep drag and almost immediately his brain cells stopped slam-dancing against each other. “We just met last night.”
    “It’s Angel, actually,” the naked woman said.
    Rick chuckled. “Oops. Sorry, baby.”
    “Whatever,” Angel said. She sniffed. “Coffee?”
    “I’m out,” said Rick.
    Angel dropped her chin to her bony chest and gave Rick a look, like Yeah, and . . . ?
    “I’ll go grab some.” He picked up the keys that sat by the front door and slipped on a pair of Birkenstocks. He looked at David. “Want to come, man?”
    David shook his head. “Think I’ll stay here.” He took another quick hit, held it deep in his lungs. “Keep Angel company.”
    “All right. Cool. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He winked at David, then left.
    David dropped onto the worn leather sofa and set the burning roach on the edge of an already full ashtray. He stared at Angel. “You make it a practice to screw men who don’t know your name?” He opened his legs so she could see the effect she was having on him.
    Angel smirked. “Depends.”
    “On what?”
    “What’s my name?” She slid across the room and stood in front of him, her hands on her nonexistent hips.
    “Fred?”
    “Close enough.” She straddled his lap. She smelled like sex.
    “I’m married,” he said. He thought about Lydia, who by now was surely searching through his things for the medication that wasn’t there. He thought about Eden, sitting patiently in the living room waiting for him to take her out for pizza.
    “So?” Angel said, and then she kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth. Her breath was sour. He didn’t care. Eden would understand about missing lunch. In the end, Eden was always ready to welcome him home.
    Angel hadn’t been worth it. David knew that now, as he drove toward home. But that’s how it was for him. Impulses felt, actions taken, regrets endured. He was disgusted with himself. With his lack of self-control. He was weak and stupid. Why couldn’t he manage himself? He was an adult. An accomplished artist. Well, “accomplished” might be pushing it. Adequate. When he could get his shit together, the booth he kept at the North Seattle Street Fair during the summer typically sold out of his paintings. He taught classes at the community college and a few galleries had even shown interest in putting on a show of his work. But how to get his shit together, that was the challenge. Sometimes he couldn’t finish a single thought in his head. One word ricocheted off the other and his world began to spin. He couldn’t hold down a normal job. He couldn’t support his family. He was a loser. A fucked-up mess.
    He sighed heavily as he turned the