Pulling her key out the lock, Estella closes the front door, searching the living room with superstition, wondering where he could be. She had bags full of groceries in her hands first heading to the kitchen to pull the fresh food out and set them on top of the island. Tonight she had planned to make dinner for the two of them. Sticky short ribs and chicken parmesan stuffed garlic baguettes;
a meal she saw last night on Food Network stuck to her mind and figured she'd recreate it.
"Harry, are you here?" She called for him again, standing in the center of the archway leading back to the living room, phone in her hand as she dialed his contact to check if he had left out. He did tell her he would be home all day. From the distant, she could hear his phone ringing from upstairs, letting it ring to see if he'll answer and to her surprise he didn't.
She decided to head down the basement where his art room had been located, first knocking on the door politely and when she gained no response, she twisted the knob and pushed open the door to see Harry standing near the glass cabinet containing his many bottles of liquor lined up against the wall. His long hair had been pulled up into a messy high bun, broad back bare as well as feet, standing in only black sweatpants that hung low at his waist.
He held an entire bottle of Brignac in his right hand, sipping it as he strolled around the room and grabbing a cigarette and holding it between his thumb and pointer finger, inhaling for a long amount of time.
"I was calling you."
"My phones upstairs."
Clearly something was wrong. His voice was dull and when he showed his face to her she could see the exhaustion displayed on it. Dark circles under his eyes, pupils dilated, and overall frustration.
"I'm lacking inspiration." He flails his hand holding the glass in front of him, almost spilling the liquid on the gray carpet beneath them. He sighed out of his nose, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand.
"You're still working on the project for Kingsley's charity event?"
"Yes, and the events tomorrow and for some fucking reason I can't get it right. I'm losing my fucking mind."
Estella decides to approach him, eyes flickering to the art piece on the steel table in front of him. Harry had built an amazing platform with four sides, sculpture standing at 24 by 36 inches, each side of the square having a different painting—all with the same story of a woman and her beauty. The first painting in the front depicted an image of bright white and blue skies, a man dressed in a cloud-white almost sheer button down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows with matching white skinny jeans. His feet were bare, digging into the soft verdant grass beneath him, a meadow of red roses surrounding a pond of turquoise water, pure white doves swimming effortlessly in circles. Enormous brown trees with vibrant leaves dangled above the pond by either side.
The man's eyes had been fixated on the alluring woman standing inside of the pond, stunning fiery long red hair damp and heavy down her back. Toffee, creamy colored skin, deep-set gray eyes with long lashes, perfectly shaped high arched eyebrows, and soft baby pink downturned lips on her heart-shaped face. Her arms were thin, keeping that slimness down to the curvy shape of her waist. She was naked, water glistening and dripping down her small perky breast that sat on her chest with light brown areolas.
YOU ARE READING
you seem to always think about how the world is against you. how every person surrounded by you consumes the distraught aura you hold, feeling it wrap around your neck like a mans bare hands and strangles you until you feel utterly left of air to in...