Deception

Chapter 32

38 days before

Okay, this was no time to be mad. These were the final hours. Well, final weeks. A little more than a month remained and I hadn't gotten the opportunity to talk things out with Louis, not that I believed he would listen. But it was worth a shot at least. I mulled over the possibilities and the cons of the turnout. Panic rose in my chest slowly, quickening the already rapid pace of my heart. I'd forgotten Alex, ignoring the sound of her voice singing in the shower across the hall.

Niall's arms had wrapped around me some time in the night and his nose was buried in my messy hair. I soaked the feeling in for a few seconds before I stood and stretched. I slid my notebook from my bag before I tiptoed out of the room and down the hall. I realized I was heading the wrong way when an open balcony met me instead of the stairs. I turned around, ending up face to face with Alex, her face a bit too close to mine. She waved at me with the hand that wasn't holding up her towel, a wide smile on her face.

"We probably got off on the wrong foot." she broke the silence when I didn't wave back. I shrugged, offering a half smile. "Just so you know, he talked about you the whole time." she nudged my shoulder with hers and gestured for me to follow her. I hesitantly followed her to her room and sat on the bed pushed against the wall. I kept my eyes glued to the door as she dressed herself going on about what he had said.

"With all those hours on the phone for the last two months, I was positive he'd met the female Jesus. The boy wouldn't shut up about you." she groaned, holding up two shirts for me to choose from. I pointed to the one on the left, looking away again when she switched it with the white tank top she had on. "And the morning after he first slept with you I woke up to like fourteen texts." she laughed.

I looked up just as she finally got the shirt down without it touching her wet hair. "He told you about that?" I felt my cheeks flush as she sat on the opposite side of the bed.

She chuckled, running a brush through her hair with one hand as the other sprayed something from a purple bottle. "Oh, I've heard a lot about you. He has vivid descriptions." I laughed as she pretended to gag, the dislike for her inside of me vanishing within seconds.

"Like what?" I asked, turning to face her with my legs crossed in front of me. She mimicked my actions, still laboriously pulling the brush through her curls. She thought for a second, staring at me.

"Let's just say I have a pretty accurate mental image of how you look naked." She waited for me to stop laughing, adding "Not bad." I raised an eyebrow at her, the dull ache that accompanies laughter growing in my stomach. "What's that?" she reached forward, snatching the notebook from my hands.

She was too quick for me to stop, flicking through the pages before I could offer a word of protest. Her eyes widened in awe at the most recent drawing, done at four this morning. She traced the strokes of my black pen. Her red nails traced the thin, detailed eyelashes I had taken twenty extra minutes to get just right. She turned another page, her eyes widening at a similar drawing then another.

"You can almost hear his laugh when you look at this." she laughed lightly, closing it and handing it back to me. "How long have you done this?"

I shrugged. "Ever since he first kissed me." I admitted. I remember trying my hardest to mix watercolor pencils to capture the blue of his eyes only to find they would change the very next day. My latest addiction was drawing him when he was asleep, looking perfectly peaceful except for the crinkle in his brow when he felt me moving. I hadn't been sleeping as well as I should and drawing him somewhat calmed me.

She was silent for a while, still staring at the leather bound book like it was anything more than a battered notebook that I had written in at least once a week for four years. The pages were full of writing in different colored pen ink and random sketches. I frequently read it, trying to determine my mental state in each passage, coming up with the same result each time.