Fix You (Sequel to The Arts)

Chapter 5

           

Camila's POV

A shiver runs up my spine. As his warm breath hits the exposed skin of my back, the hairs on the back of my neck rise and leave me in goosebumps.

"Zayn!" I moan. I feel his hands grip my waist to keep me down. At this point, I was getting impatient with him.

"It's not my fault you're ticklish!" he chuckles deeply.

It was his idea to make a painting with my back acting like the canvas. We've done it before but only with my arms or legs. Even my face at one point but that was because he thought it would be funny to make me into a clown.

Then today, after a rather steamy encounter because I was home alone, he requested to use my back for a bigger surface. Soon the small traces of his fingers against my bare skin turned into the delicate strokes of the bristles tatting me up.

He lifts the paint brush off my back and goes to dip it into a palette beside him. Mixing endless combinations with his one weapon of choice, he only comes to bring it back down to finish the masterpiece he visualizes. That, and making me squirm like hell because the feeling was so odd.

I lay on my stomach on some pillows we set on the floor. He sat cross legged beside me as I read Catcher in the Rye for the hundredth time. Eventually he requested for me to read it to him in which I had to flip all the way back to the first chapter so he could join me on the experience together.

"You know, it'd be a lot easier if you didn't sing the Friends theme song under your breath," I chuckle, dropping the book.

I crane my neck to see over my shoulder. With a hand covered in dry paint, he uses a finger to remove the hair blocking my face.

He looked calm. The strips of light coming through the blinds spill across his face, highlighting random features in the most glowing manner. His flattened hair radiates gold, his pink lips form a crooked smile.

"What?" he quirks an eyebrow up at him. His teeth flashed broadly whilst he caresses my cheek.

I let my head fall atop my intertwined hands. Bashfully I say, "I love you."

He leaves the brush on my back, just like that and crawls towards me. He gives me a kiss. He allows his lips to linger for a few moments, leaving that memorable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Can I see it?" I look to him with hopeful eyes.

He shakes his head at my impatience and gets up. Stretching and cracking every bone in his back in the process, he tramples over to my nightstand. He collects the camera I got him then comes back to straddle my butt.

I lift my head from my hands and go to pick up the book again, but he only yells at me.

"No! No! Go back!" he whines.

"Jeez, okay baby Zayn damn," I snigger before I lay my head against the back of my hands. "Please don't tell me you painted another Spongebob cartoon. Or Mr. Krabs," I plead.

I hear his deep chuckle. "No, actually."

I hear him take a few photographs, some with the flash off and some on. Knowing him, he's taking a million different angles which of course will wound up printed for his portfolio.

I remember Dinah making fun of how I'm somehow connected in every piece he creates. My mom argues that I'm his muse and it's cute, but Dinah still jokes of his 'obsession.'

I here the sound of my polaroid camera going off twice. Then, he gets up from me and carefully helps me get up, moving my hair out of the way so I do ruin the art on my back.