Shape Of You

The Artist

The smoke drifted through the room lazily, the light catching it at just the right angle to add a yellow tint to the light gray. It was beautiful- it was art, something George Daniel was very familiar with. This new art captured his attention, his light eyes tracing it as if they were a pencil trying to connect the dots. It gave a new life to the classroom, the one in the far corner of George's old high school where he spent most of his summer mornings, paintbrush in hand and model before him.

She was his muse, his everything. The world seemed dull without her but yet it would barely notice her absence. When it came to life she just floated by carelessly, eyes closed in the bright sun one winter morning when George had first met her, contrasting greatly to this one August morning in particular- the one where his life would change. There was something about this girl that stood out to George. Maybe it was the way her golden locks draped down just past her breast- careless like herself. Maybe it was the way her smile drew men in, much as he had been. She's a siren, that has to be it, George often thought to himself.

The corners of her bright red lips turned up as she watched him watching the smoke, the way he turned back to his painting once it dissolved before him, his eyes momentarily glancing over the canvas nervously at her and then back down to his work.

"How do I look?" Her voice was sweet and teasing, disrupting the gentle music playing from the speaker. It was then that the two locked eyes for what felt like the first time in hours, her large blue ones meeting with his light brown ones as she took another drag from her cigarette.

"Beautiful, as usual." His throat was dry from not speaking at all in the past hour. His back hurt from being hunched over for even longer than that.

"You know it, baby." Her laugh was coated in honey. George could envision it dripping from between her lipstick stained lips and rolling down her delicate chin, much like the sweat dripped down his chest and left a small stain on his white tee shirt.

He remembered spending numerous years in this hot room, but never like this. The wooden tables were always covered with papers and supplies, those papers and supplies covered with even more papers and supplies. Students filled the metal stools, each one with different dreams and different perspectives- even if their assignment was to draw the same object. He hadn't anticipated missing the school but standing there as a recent high school graduate brought some emotion to him. In a few days, he would be on his way to the rest of his life, his first stop being the liberal arts university he had been accepted into. He still had the letter taped onto his bedroom wall.

"Oh, shit," George hissed suddenly, all thoughts of university leaving his brain and being replaced with the shock of his white paint spilling all over the floor. "How the fuck did that happen?"

"George, baby, it's okay." The muse stood up from her sitting position and walked over to him, biting down suggestively on her bottom lip as she placed a hand on his chest.

"This was the last of the white, I can't paint without it."

"Oh well. We have better things to do, anyway."

"Gemma, please. I need this paint, you don't understand." Gemma removed her hand from his chest and placed it onto hers in a mock insulted manner.

"I should be getting off to work anyway," she said, her voice floating right above his head as he watched her take another drag of her cigarette and press it out in a glass ashtray.

George wiped off his forehead with the back of his hand to try and rid himself of the sweat collecting there, succeeding at his original task but in the process, leaving a light pink smear against his wet skin. Gemma noticed this, once she turned back with her bag in hand fully clothed now, but she didn't say anything. She just walked back over and placed her lips against his, sloppy and longer but necessary- she wanted him to need her. No, she needed him to need her. Halfway out the door, she stopped and smiled to herself.