salvia. [h.s. AU]

Chapter Nine

Harry Styles

I keep my eyes down, glancing over the messy binder filled with different recipes and notes from endless cooking books.

As I flip through the pages, her passion about cooking gets even more obvious. I mean, to be honest I didn't have to look at her rushed handwriting with notes about the psychology of food and how different tastes can even change the levels of serotonin release for some people, to know she loves being in the kitchen. All I have to do is watch her, the way she moves around with the ingredientes, mixing, tasting, seasoning, chopping, baking. It's fluid, natural, as if the pans and utensils on her hands are extensions of her body, somehow linked with her soul, not only her fingertips.

She looks like a fairy.

I don't know what it is about Maria that entrances me this much. At first I thought it was solely because she reminded me of... Her. God, it's been 4 years and just to think about her name hurts more than I can handle. But as I watch Maria walking around the kitchen, sometimes muttering something to herself, I realise there's probably more to it that I understand.

I'm still trying to  wrap my mind around the dream I had the other night. Even though it's a little blurry, the feeling is still printed deep in my bones, simply because I don't think I've felt my heart racing that damn much in 4 years. I know Maria was part of that dream, I remember feeling her skin under my fingertips, and it felt like heaven, soft, warm and inviting. It has been years since I've felt like that, and even though it was only a dream, I woke up so mesmerised about it, I was inspired enough to ignore the massive hangover and go straight to the studio, to paint.

I've spent the whole Sunday, and today mostly painting and painting, ignoring my sore throat and the shivers running all over my skin. I haven't been able to paint those green, blueish eyes for so long, but for some reason I felt inspired enough to do it now - and surprisingly enough, the results are good enough for me not to want to destroy it, even though usually I simply want to burn the whole world to the ground.

I'm still not sure where I am going with the painting upstairs - is not exactly realism because I'm not following any kind of photo reference, but there's some substance to the shapes I'm adding. I don't have a lot so far, just a pair of feminine eyes, entranced with some flowers. I can't exactly say the time, I'm drawing and panting it all by memory. I'm feeling like making somewhat of a cheerful background, with tones of pink, yellow and tangerine, which is definitely not like the dark colors I've been using in all my unfinished pieces.

Maybe that's why I feel like I'm finally going to finish this one.

"Fuck!" Maria's voice pulled me from my loud mind and I snapped my face up just in time to see a white liquid smeared all over the balcony.

"You okay?" I asked, frowning.

"Yeah, just... added a little too much force on the whisk." She explained quickly while cleaning the balcony with a cloth. "I'm so sorry, I'll have to use more of your heavy cream and yogurt..."