Beautiful Disaster (H.S.)

19

I woke with the sun shining into my eyes and the soft vinyl of the new Bruno Mars song. It was almost peaceful the smell of paint and old photographs flooded my sense as I stretched out onto the pillow top mattress. I remembered last night being amazing. Zayn and I talked about everything and danced like no one was watching. I actually had fun making a fool of my self. His smile and goofy character were refreshing since everyone at Kingsley is so up tight. He actually talked to me about his friends and his business. He devoted his life to art and he’s done very well with it. New York hires him to spray paint wall murals so that the graffiti can be a selling point of New York. I laid back and looked out the short long window that spanned Zayn’s bed that looked over the buzzing streets of New York. The window was cracked a bit letting the chilly fall air in. The contrast of the warm sheets and the cold felt amazing.

Then I remembered I was in his bed.

I crawled to the end of the bed and peered over the edge of the loft that overlooked the main floor of Zayn’s apartment. He was dancing around as he looked at a easel with a canvas resting on it. It had crazy colors splattered all over it. I kept watching Zayn as he danced once the chorus came on he would jam all over his apartment and throw his paint brush towards the canvas letting the paint splatter onto it. He had a huge tarp behind the easel protecting the rest of his apartment from the unruly paint.  The walls of the loft were lined with paintings. His apartment was cozy as I laid in his soft bed in my Halloween costume that showed entirely too much skin. The loft was only three feet tall and if I tried to sit up I would hit my head without a doubt so I just laid on my stomach and watched Zayn. He was a free soul and it was energizing. Once the song was closing Zayn flung his paintbrush back so far some paint even hit me in the face. I made a startled noise and Zayn turned around his cheeks became crimson when he realized I had been watching him.

“This is why I don’t have a room mate.” He stuck the brush in a large cup of hot water and looked up into the loft. “How long were you watching that?” He smiled up at me as he disappeared behind a wall.

“Not long.” I yell to him not knowing how far the apartment went back.

“Coffee?” He called.

“No thanks.” I said as I climbed down the small iron spiral staircase that lead to the main floor from the loft. The whole apartment was covered in tarp.

“Oh god. Let me clean up real fast.” Zayn rushed in and set his coffee cup down on a wood grain table he uncovered. His coffee cup read, ‘decaf is for pussies.’

“Oh you don’t have to. You can finish.” I smiled.

“I’m done.” He shrugged and began tearing down the tarps. His apartment was filled with photographs and books. It was actually amazing. He had tall bookshelves lining one of the walls that were filled with books. They were so tall he had a rolling latter attached to the top.

The rest of his apartment was paradise. He had a large burgundy fabric chesterfield couch and two worn tan leather chairs. More bookcases, smaller ones, which were filled with records, surrounded his TV. The sky lights casted light from the high ceilings into the living room. Paint cans were scattered about, tubes of acrylic sat on his beat up coffee table. He had a very small bookshelf in the smallest part of the apartment under where the loft sits. The shelf was littered with all types of cameras from big to small.

“This is amazing.” I ran my hand over the chesterfield it was worn but soft.

“Really? You think? I don’t bring people up here often it’s kinda my hideaway.” He laughed as he put the painting he had completed with a bunch of other canvass against the wall. I looked back into a corner of the apartment and saw a small kitchen and bathroom.