blind. | styles (hariana)

LX. Love, Lust, and Desolation

A/N: Hey there reader, yes you! Looking pretty damn good, the light from your screen really brings out your tired eyes. This is a mature chapter, I hope you like it. Please enjoy and vote :) x

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~ Ariana ~

               For the next week or so I woke up earlier than I usually would; strictly at 5 am, no minute earlier or later. I wanted to make Jace and I's contact as minimal as possible, and if forcing my body out of bed every morning at such an ungodly hour will do that, then so be it.

               I changed into a pair of sweats and a hoodie, and combed my hair out before pulling it into a bun. It was Friday today and I was ready for my lazy weekend to begin. All I wanted to do was get as far away as possible form Jace and stay there until I'm given back the sanity I've lost.

               Luckily I'm not the only one who has to deal with Jace. Hunter, my ever so caring roommate, knew exactly how I felt about Jace. I've never spoken to him about it, but I figured by now he's realized that the good boy act Jace displays is nothing but a lie.

               I sighed and picked up my book bag. It was heavier than usual; filled with my art supplies and course books, and of course my trusty Braille portable printer. I wrapped the strap over my shoulder and picked up my walking stick and canvas then proceeded to the door.

               Hunter and Jace were fast asleep, and barely noticed me leave. I exited the building and inhaled the cool moist air of the nature around me. My cheeks burnt against the sweeping wind of the morning as I started walking.

               I didn't stop walking and refused to until something or someone, stopped me. I came to a halt when my walking stick made a light sound as it made contact with something metalic. The loud clink of the metal made me smile as I tapped it once or twice.

               I dropped my things onto the ground and felt around for the metal object.

               It was a bench from my perception. Cool to the touch from the cold winter air.

               I carefully sat myself down and crossed my feet. I picked up the canvas off the floor and settled it in my lap. I bit my lip in thought as I fished for my art supplies that I tucked into my bag this morning. I pulled it out and laid it open next to me.

               I picked up my water colors and felt the Braille underneath their little containers that told me their colors. Black was the color I felt, and I opened it before dipping a freshly wet brush into the color.

               It hadn't occur to me what I was going to paint, but instead I just let my hand make its way across the canvas as I thought to myself, "Paint what you feel."

               Mrs. Powell, the kind lady from the first day of the semester, was my beautiful art teacher. I enjoyed her class very much and although I could not see her, I knew she was beautiful because of her beautiful soul.

               Her passion for art astounded me, and quite often I found myself getting lost in the way she reveled over art pieces as if they were her own children. Unfortunately so she could not bear children, but that didn't stop Mr. Powell from marrying her.

               I remember so vividly how she spoke about her love life with art and her husband. She told us the first day, her story, and it really made an impact on the whole class.

               Her and her husband met in their senior year of university. She was an art major and her husband, although he was a biology major, did not know what his true path in life was. She had her love for art, and he had his love for the human body.