Until you came (Zarry) /English Version

18. Jealousy

Zayn

A new morning, new headaches and a miserable mood. Could this day get any worse ? How is Harry doing? Is he awake yet? Is he sitting in the garden? Damn, I don't want to think about him again and yet I can't get him out of my head. From the window I look directly into his garden. The curly head sits at the terrace table and writes. He's probably working on his novel. So I stand here for quite a while. I never get tired of looking at Harry. From time to time he puts his head between his hands, the curls fall over his shoulders and he rests. I want to run to him, hug him and press a kiss on his sweet lips. I can hardly bear the idea that he broke up with me.

The place on the terrace is empty. Minutes later he comes out of the house. He looks up at my window. My God, he has spotted me. Frightened, I back away. Nevertheless, our eyes meet. We look at each other silently and longingly. Harry does not stand the gaze any longer and turns away.

I want to scream out loud. My whole body hurts. I miss him.

If I feel bad, I'll paint. I pull the huge cover down from the easel to continue my most recent work . It's a portrait of Harry. I paint the man of my dreams in oils and only from my memory. After the work is done, it will be covered again. I don't want anyone to look at it. Harry is mine. 

For the tenth time I mix the green color for his eyes. Somehow I don't hit the hue. I see his eyes clearly in front of me. Sometimes the green colour is too bright, sometimes too dark. Harry's eyes have a special green. It's not pure. It's light green with a hint of gold and I want to hit this colour absolutely. I am obsessed with this work. That reminds me of Oscar Wilde. Suddenly I feel like the painter Basil Hallward, who portrayed Dorian Gray. Harry will never see his portrait and it isn't for sale. It's my work and I'm keeping it from strangers' eyes.

In the afternoon, Harry has company - a man is visiting him. The two are quite relaxed with each other. The young man is well-built, has brown short hair and a rather loud voice - too loud for my liking. I see him from time to time putting his arm around Harry or burying his chin in Harry's curls to look into the manuscripts from behind. Is that his publisher? Why is he so close to Harry? Is something going on?

Like a tiger in a cage I walk back and forth at the window and watch the two of them. Harry is in a good mood. He laughs all the time. I feel my anger is growing. I'm sweating, my heart is beating and I can't concentrate on anything, except the hustle and bustle of Harry's garden. They're drinking cool beer. Again and again he glances at Harry and I notice exactly how he looks at him. At some point I can't stand the situation any longer and storm to the neighbouring house. Think of something. If he ask, make up some story.  I encourage myself. I need to take a closer look at this man so I can better understand the situation.

My heart is pounding off my chest as I stand in front of the next door. I can hear their amused laughter. I'm boiling with rage and sweating with excitement. I press the bell button and then I hear Harry's footsteps. I'm hot and cold at the same time. For the first time in my life I am so excited and insecure. The great Malik is insecure and desperate.

"Look who decided to show up? Zayn?"

 Harry is surprised and would probably rather slam the door.