*Alarm going off*
I groan at the extremely loud noise, smacking my hand down on the stupid alarm clock. My eyes flutter open relentlessly, 6 o'clock on the dot. All these years and I'm still no good with mornings. My feet pad across the soft carpet as I rub the sleep out of my eyes and head across the hall to the bathroom.
It was the same routine every day; wake up at 6, shower, turn the kettle on while I dress, be ready within 5-10 minutes to which my roommate Olivia has already poured our hot water and made both cups of tea - mine to go.
"Thanks Liv, gotta run, and oh- I think Max is coming later!" I shout back toward the blonde on my way past her and out the door. Hurriedly, I make my way down the stairs and about a block down to the subway. After finding a somewhat good seat, I pop in my headphones and lose myself in my drawing.
I love drawing people on the subway, it started as a coping thing to take my mind off him. Now I use it to distract myself. I don't like being alone with my thoughts, not since I left 5 years ago. I don't like thinking about the past, in fact I hate it. So instead, I keep myself busy at all times.
It's hard not to think about him, he changed me. He changed the way I viewed things, the way I admired them. Sometimes, when it's really bad and I find myself missing him more than the usual hole in my heart I'll send him one of my subway drawings. I don't even know if he gets them, last I heard he moved away but I hoped he got a p.o. Box or something that the new owners could forward to. Either way I never got a reply but I also never got a return.
Today was one of those bad days, it would have been his 23rd birthday today and I itched to call him. To tell him I hoped he'd found a girl to not replace but to help void that Rose sized hole he once told me about and that I hoped she'd spend all day sulking him.
Things weren't the same without him. Whenever something good happens in my life - which is rare - he's always the first person I want to call.
I want to lay with my back against the bed frame and have him lay his head in my lap while I ramble about a piece I absolutely loved or one that I absolutely hated. Sometimes I come across a piece and think 'now that one, that one just screams Zayn' and I want to tell him all about it. In fact, I actually bought one the second week of owning my own apartment. I couldn't help it, it was like having him with me.
I know I probably shouldn't think of him so much or miss him anymore especially since I have a boyfriend now and oh there's the fact that it's been 5 years but I can't help it. It's not that I physically miss him - much - but it's more.. emotionally that I miss him. Max - my boyfriend of half a year is great, perfect even but we just never really clicked the way it was with Zayn.
I hate myself for feeling this way and I hate him for making me feel this way.
"Morning Annabelle," Stacy, the receptionist chirps. "Morning Stace," I smile warmly, heading to the same door I head to every morning. The name Rose sorta died the day I watched the boy I loved slowly fade in the rearview mirror. No one was allowed to use it after that so things just kinda went back to the way they were before Zayn Malik.
"Good morning Donna, ready to go?" My job was basically to convince people to buy paintings. It was something I hadn't thought about doing and never even crossed my mind until one day during my dark days, I was sat on a bench in front of a painting - the one that I kept - and a woman not too much older than me sat down beside me and asked why I'd been staring so long.
I simply replied with, "It's us." She obviously was confused so I elaborated, "It's love. It's love in its true form. Not at all clean lines and a perfect imagine, but instead a bit of a messy painting with splattered color." The colorful splattering was the first thing to pull me in, reminding me of the day we splattered each other in his pre-graffiti room.
"The shape of the heart is the perfect conventional love; the love people see in movies and from strangers holding hands in the park, the colors represent the purity, happiness and good things about that love but the splatter.." I trail off admiring how lovely it all was. "The splatter and darker colors are what love actually is; it's what people don't see looking in from the outside, it'sthe downs that come with the happiness, the bad times, because nothing - not even love, is perfect."
Donna offered me a job after that to help with buying her paintings first but soon she introduced me to other people that all seemed to want my view on every painting they saw before buying. Now Donna takes me to galleries all around the city to meet clients that want my honest opinion, good or bad. And some days she'll take me to meet up-and-coming artist - these are my favorite days.
Almost all of them share that same spark in their eye, the one that he always had when talking about painting, drawing, spray painting, art in general. That's how I pick the ones we want to keep in touch with and ones we don't. The ones with the spark are passionate in what they do and I only hope he got his chance too.
I guess in a way I pick those artists because it's almost like picking him, like in some weird way it's him I'm helping.
"I love this place, very .. Unique," Donna whispers to me as we walk around a gallery. It's brand new so all the paintings are covered for the big opening event in a few days. "Well that is why we invested in this event," I chuckle heartedly. She's said the same thing every day since we first agreed to help with the opening.
We've yet to meet the owner or seen any of the pieces but the gallery had a vibe that I could only describe as him. It was the only reason I told Donna we should help and for the past two weeks this has been my solitude. We had a key to the place so late at night when I couldn't sleep I'd come here and engulf myself in him.
It didn't make sense considering nothing in here belonged to him but it was the essence, the almost graffiti like decor with a mix of posh-like furniture. I'd lay here for hours on the floor and close my eyes, finding the perfect image of him and whispering, "There you are."
"So, what do you think? Should we take a peak at the art?" Donna chuckles but I'm not sure she's joking. I remember him scolding me and whining whenever I'd try to peak at his unfinished work. "What's the fun in that?" I reply lightly. There was only a couple days left anyway.
"I'm terribly sorry but mister wont be able to make it today," an elderly posh man comes from the back. "He sends his deepest apologies and hopes to meet you at the opening." I huff. Wow this guy was making it hard to want to help. First no seeing his paintings, then no showing up to our scheduled meeting, then what?
Next thing you know he wont even show up to his damn opening - which we are paying for.
The day goes by in a flash of different appointments all over the city and soon I am being dropped in front of my apartment by Donna's driver. Dropping my keys on a small table by the door, I kick my heels off and head up the stairs. "Liv?" I call out coming back down in my pj's.
Yes Liv as in ex-nemesis Liv. We bumped into each other at NYU and became close, we've been living together about 3 years now.
I grab a freshly baked cookie, spitting it out almost immediately - Liv's been going through hobby fazes, her current one is baking - and skim through the pile of mail on the counter. Bills, bills, advertisement, new pizza place, Liv's, Liv's, Trash- mine. My heart stops, my breath hitching in my throat, my hands slightly clammy as I rip open the envelope with the all too familiar handwriting..
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So that's just the boring intro that is the Prologue, I know I said I wasn't going to post until a week or two but I couldn't help it lol but I am going to hold off on the first chapter or at least try! (I dunno i've already got most of it written already lol)
Oh and I hope you all don't hate me, a lot of you wanted them back together already but yeah they're going to not be together for a good chunk of this story but there's obviously still going to be a lot of Rayn!(:
