One Direction One Shots 3

Beautiful Soul (Zayn)

She walked into his room quietly making sure not to step on any wet paint. For the time being she was alone and didn’t know when Zayn would be finished with his shower. Flipping through this artworks she found an array of different styles from surrealism to landscape. He’s more into art then he lets on, she thought.

As she looked through his work she came across a sketchbook on a shelf. There was paint splattered all over in an array of colours. It was simply titled her, written in chalk.

She began flipping through it. It was filled on every single page, along with a multitude of added pages, of who she assumed was the same girl. The girl wore different outfits and was in different positions at different times of day. In some, well most, she was naked sitting on the floor, bed or standing by the window.

 “Who is this girl?” she mumbled to herself.

Looking around the room she realized that all the scenes were around her. She desperately wanted to know who this girl was. It was clear that Zayn had an obsession. The only thing that truly confused her was that the girl didn’t have a face. She knew Zayn could do faces, but how come not this one?

She continued to thumb through the pages when she felt a hand wrap around her waist and stopping just under her left breast. The hand was accompanied by a warm breath at her neck.

“You know…artists don’t like people looking at their unfinished work.” He said with a smile as he powdered kisses along the back of her neck.

She smiled, enjoying Zayn’s warmth and the fresh smell of shampoo and soap. She leaned into him and he in turn pulled her closer, this time with both hands resting on her stomach.

“Zayn, why doesn’t she have a face?” she asked, softly.

“Well, you see,” he whispered faintly in her ear, “I can’t seem to get it right. No matter how hard I try it just doesn’t compare to the real thing.”

“Who is she?” She asked, but Zayn didn’t answer. She continued looking at the drawings. “Zayn?” but he still said nothing. He was occupying himself with her neck.

When she got to the last page her breath caught. It was the same girl. But this time it was her bare back. Her hair up in a messy bun. The girl’s shoulders were calm, but what made her gasp was the scar on the lower left side of the girl’s back.

The girl in all of Zayn’s pictured was her. She traced her fingers over the drawn scar as if she were touching her own back.

“Do you know who she is now?” He said, smirking against her neck.

“I only showed you once, and remembered exactly what it looks like.” She whispered in dismay.

He lifted her shirt and ran his fingers over the scar on her back. He thought about the story she told him. When she was little she used to climb all over her swing set and one day she slipped and cut herself badly. She had to be taken to the hospital and got thirty-eight stitches.

“How could I forget something so beautiful.” He quietly asked.

She quickly flipped back through the pages back to the image of the bay window. She stared at it momentarily and mentally asked herself if she wanted to do this. Yes, she thought, I’ve wasted too much time just waiting for him to make the move.

“I want you to finish this one. I know you can draw my face. ” She began unbuttoning the oversized flannel shirt she was wearing.

She stepped away and faced him; unbuttoning the remainder of the shirt. Slipping it off.

Seeing her stand there in only her bra and shorts Zayn froze. They both did, he had never seen her bare skin before, even if it was slightly marred by a dark purple bra.