Love Drought | z.m ✔️

19*; lonliness, inspiration and masturbation.

•HER POV•

// FIVE MONTHS LATER. //

I've been lonely before, I never minded being lonely.

For the last 5 months I've been in my house. And not the one I used to live in.

Though, as Zayn promised me, he helped me setting up a gallery for my paintings, he didn't attend though. it was successful, I sold all of them and I got money to get my old my house back, but it reminded me too much of Zayn, so I bought a little cozy flat in NewYork, somewhat to be closer to him.

Supposedly I should be happy but I'm not. I've been depressed. I've been feeling awful —awful beyond all— but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me...or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I've never been bothered with because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. It's being at a party, or at a stadium full of people or whatever else crowded place.

It's stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I've never been bothered with the need to rush out into the streets and see people's faces. I kept on hiding in my house, I'm the best form of entertainment I have. Let's drink more wine!

I pour some more wine into my glass and continue to paint.

Painting has seemed to be my only distraction -not really since I end up painting Zayn in most cases- but I still love painting the same, it even grew more.

There is something beautiful about a blank canvas, the nothingness of the beginning that is so simple and breathtakingly pure. It's the paint that changes its meaning and the hand that creates the story. Every piece begins the same, but in the end they are all uniquely different.

Breaking my thoughts stream, I look at the piece I just made, i painted him ..again. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours.

I groan. I miss him so much.

I feel empty without him, I miss his affectionate moments, they were little but I miss them, I hate waking up and not finding him there. Some people are afraid to go to sleep alone. I'm afraid of waking up, never knowing whether the new day is going to greet me with an empty bed, and no one there to hold me.

I fear that I'll never be over him, but to hear that he's doing good is enough for me, yeah he's not with me but he was never with me to start with.

Heard he's in NYC currently, He looks happy with Valentina, I'm content for him. but it hurts me every day.

I huff and shake my head, I decided that's it's enough painting for today, Imma take a shower and sleep.

*****

After showering, I set on the bed and pick up the new magazine I got today in the mail, Zayn was on the cover of it. He looks absolutely gorgeous. the sight of his dark, disheveled hair, eyes glinting with longing, a deep smirk oh his face that been craved by God himself, the gorgeous spread of his shoulders, tapering down to the sexy narrowing of his hips, it all made my ovaries ache deep in my belly.

I feel a tsunami of desire swamp me. I track the outline of his body on the piece of paper, imagining his muscular body pressing hard against mine, I move my hand over my mound, pressing my thumb into my abdomen, the same way Zayn would do it, fingers moving lightly and slowly as they move; teasing myself the way Zayn would.