invasato [h.s]

18

Elaina Basset

I've always found the color blue fascinating to paint with.

The different shades can mean different things. One shade of blue is not defined by the others.

Navy blue—sadness, mourning, sorrow. 

Sky blue—brightness, hope, gleefulness.

Baby blue—softness, happiness, relaxation.

It's not restricted to a single emotion, and that's why I love painting with it.

So here I find myself, standing in Zayn's backyard, painting what will turn out to be an ocean filled with shades of blue and white.

It's been three days.

Three days since I caught them at the gallery. Three days since I found out I was being lied too.

No part of me has come to peace with what happened, mostly because I don't know what happened. I've just been trying to focus on my painting while waiting for the Art Institution to write me back about my entry.

If I get in, then I don't have to worry about what happened here. I'm off to Paris to see my work get hung in a museum. That's the dream. I'll be satisfied then.

Right now, I just have to push through these current events.

I haven't spoken to anyone apart from Zayn and that's only because we share the same villa. As for Angela or Harry or any of the guys, it's been radio silence. Yesterday, I saw Harry for a brief moment as he came here to grab something from Zayn and left shortly after. Not a word was spoken between us and he barely batted an eye at me.

Harry has this grudge against me that's existed since before three days ago. There's something about me that he doesn't like...and yes, I don't like him either...but I have reasoning.

He's an asshole, and now he's a potential criminal.

It's hard distancing myself from Zayn and Angela, because they're both people I care about. I just feel so betrayed, though...and it makes it hard to bring things back to normal.

Milan was my escape from what haunted me in Denver. Now, I don't know where I belong or where I'm supposed to end up. Paris is my next goal, but for how long? I'm supposed to have this all planned out by now, aren't I?

Maybe I've just always been daydreaming and now I'm finally facing reality.

As I stand out in the grass in my paint splotted denim overalls and white t-shirt beneath them, I hear the back door open. My head turns, and I see Zayn dressed in sweats and a hoodie coming down the steps of the back deck.

I turn my gaze back to my canvas, knowing he was approaching me and feeling the dread in my throat grow.

I'm not ready to talk. Not yet.

I dip my brush in the white paint and go over the tips of some waves, adding highlights where needed as Zayn gets closer to me.

"What's this piece for?" his voice speaks quietly, referring to my painting.

I breathe through my nose, not looking at him as I touch up some parts with the fine tip brush.

"This ones just for me." I murmur in response.

"Mm." he mumbles, his hands in his pockets. "It's nice."

I press my lips into a small smile but remain looking forward. I know for a fact that he didn't come over here to talk about my painting. I'm just waiting for the ball to drop, dreading every second until it does.