Bad Habits

36

I stand comfortably on top of the gel mat lying on the bathroom floor just after you step out of the tub. I hold the fluffy towel loosely around my body as I swivel inside of the warm steam encased inside of the bathroom from the hot water. The now cold droplets of water escaping my drenched hair roll down my body disappearing beneath the material that is shielding my nakedness from anyone's view.

I finally step toward the small sink inside of his bathroom moving my free hand in a circular motion against the glass mirror to clear the sticky steam that has gathered against it giving me a foggy visual of my now freshly washed self. I first look at the wet ringlets that are all pulled over my right shoulder, I move my eyes to my prominent collarbone making my way up my neck and to my eyes.

My eyes are different. Changed. It's not necessarily a bad change; it is a matter of being more enhanced, more alive and colorful. There is a sense of life behind them instead of a more day-to-day robot like manner. All I can think of is Niall. He is the one behind it all, the one who is bringing life to my world. This change is good.

My hips begin to move from side to side as the beat of the song playing becomes much more prominent. I look throughout my overnight bag looking for the top that I packed. I pull out the thin white material pulling it over my head and adjusting it over my bra correctly. I quickly run my fingers through my semi-wet ringlets brushing them out to create some sort of volume. I ignore pulling on my jeans wanting to avoid the confinement of the annoying material for as long as possible. I move to start making the messy bed covered in blue sheets whole, and neat as before. I sing a long to the lyrics freely as I place the pillows back into place.

"Desperado,

Why don't you come to your senses?

Come down from your fence and,

Open the gate.

It may be raining, but

There's a rainbow above you.

You better let somebody love you,

Before it's too late."

I smile at the homey music, grateful that Niall has a wonderful selection with a working record player. There is just something beautiful and old fashion about the way music sounds coming from an old school record. A shelf to the left of the room catches my attention when I see a few frames set up messily. I walk over to it, curious of who is inside of the photos. I pick up the one closest to the back recognizing the little boy instantly.

When I was a little girl, I would sit on the porch and watch the infiltrating storm clouds. The thump of my heartbeat would quicken to level up with the pace of the loud sound of the wind chimes that evolved more frenzied with each passing second. As the gusts flare up passed me, trickling along with it the scent of fallen leaves and the smell of rich dirt and rain, I would stare in awe at the strength and beauty of the convulsion before me. Shielded by the roof over my head, I imagined myself at the center of an entwining cyclone, watching the world tremble at the sight of the great unknown.

Looking into his eyes, I am reminded of that distant memory, and once again envision myself inside the eye of the storm, my heart a sea of serene inside this raging hellfire, while all around me, the world bends and shakes at his beauty.

I would recognize his eyes anywhere. Niall.

I take note of how old this picture must be. He looks to be between four and five; the cutest little thing I'd ever seen. His beautiful bright and free spirited smile outshines his dirty overalls and red worn sneakers. His original dark brown hair looks good against his light complexion bringing out the blue in his eyes.