Colorful || Zayn Malik

16

 

“You’re sure you’re up for this?” Hunter asked me as I slid into the passenger seat of his truck.

“Yes, definitely,” I said with a devious grin. I felt so defiant knowing Zayn would never approve of this. Hunter’s face mirrored mine as he nodded.

“Alright then.”

As soon as I shut the door, he was off. I didn’t know exactly where we were headed, but I knew it would be fun. Way more fun than anything Zayn had ever showed me. Why? Because Hunter was going to teach me how to paint high up. Just like I’d always wanted to know how to do.

“So what’s the deal with you and Zayn?” I asked curiously as we drove. I was partly asking to fill the silence, but a part of me really wanted to know. Hunter sighed.

“He’s never been my biggest fan.”

“But why? Did you do something to him?”

He shrugged. “Not really. We used to be tight. One night during the summer a few years ago we were out tagging that billboard by the highway. We got caught, and I ran. I guess he wasn’t fast enough. Got taken in and eventually bailed out.” He said this as if it was no big deal.

“Wouldn’t you try to both escape together?” I asked. Hunter scoffed.

“That’s not the way things work around here. You take the risk as individuals, so if you’re caught as a group it’s your job to escape as individuals. There’s no time for that ‘no one left behind’ bullshit. It’s every man for himself.”

“Well that’s a terrible system,” I muttered.

“It’s the way things are,” he shrugged. I decided not to overthink this concept as he pulled over on the side of the road.

“Where are we?” I asked as he exited the truck. I did the same, and he looked out over a bridge.

“The greatest place in this town for street art. Come look at this,” he said, waving me over as he walked closer to the ledge. “Hope you’re not afraid of heights,” he joked. I rolled my eyes.