Elaina Basset
Milan, Italy: 2019
"Fucking bullshit!"
My words of frustration leave my mouth as I drop my paintbrush to the ground, red paint splattering on the green grass.
I rub the back of my wrist over my forehead, shutting my eyes and letting my cheeks puff as I huff in aggravation.
I can't get this stupid piece right.
I feel a presence walk up behind me and there was no questioning who it was, so I didn't react. They stand behind me.
"Frustration is the beginning of many great things."
I throw my head up to the blue sky and roll my eyes.
"For god's sake, Zayn, spare me the words of wisdom."
I hear Zayn laugh under his breath before he bends down to pick up my paintbrush, then walks in front of me, between my body and the easel.
I keep my eyes away from him but he stayed looking at me, holding my paintbrush out.
"Try again."
I shake my head as I reach out for the brush. "I should just give up."
"Elaina, you're a talented painter. You've been talking about this for weeks." Zayn tries to lecture. "Imagine your work in a museum—a museum in Paris. I'm not letting you give up, so get to it."
"I was stupid to think that my work could end up in one of France's biggest museums. I mean who do I think I am?"
"You're Elaina Basset. A soon-to-be world famous artist." Zayn keeps on urging, "Now, get a new canvas and start over."
I scoff, "Just because you're my friend doesn't mean you can spring unsolicited pep talks on me like this."
His lips curl into a smile and he steps out of my way. He was working on his own piece behind me.
"I need a snack break or something." I say, setting my brush down...more gently.
I walk through the flourishing backyard and back into our villa.
Being in Italy, I stuck out like a sore thumb. But being here brings me closer to Paris. There's a sort of contest happening, where one upcoming painter will have their work hung in the Rodin Museum.
It's a far fetched dream but Zayn was the one that encouraged me to try.
I've known Zayn for a year and a half, met him here in Milan while I was on a tour of Europe, and then ended up coming back three months ago to stay with him.
He's well off. He owns this villa by himself and lets me stay here.
I walk into the natural lit kitchen, the sun flooding the stained glass windows. I scrounge the cupboards and pantries as well as the refrigerator, trying my best to put together some sort of edible meal. I'm not a cook. I can barely make toast correctly.
And Zayn—for some reason—is against 'pre-cooked' or 'from the box' meals. He's the type of person that makes everything from scratch...and I'm not.
I chop up some strawberries, dousing some sugar over them and then grabbing a wine glass, pouring some rosé in.
My denim overalls had paint stains all over them, and my white shirt underneath got its fair share of splatters as well. I was smart enough to put my hair up, thankfully.
I sit at our little table that gave us a view out the window, biting into fresh and sweet strawberries as I try to soothe my busy mind.
"You're meant to eat cheese with wine." Zayn speaks as he enters the kitchen, washing his hands clean of paint and patting them dry on his oversized white dress shirt.
He grabs his own wine glass and comes to sit next to me. I sigh as I put my chin in my palms, my fingers holding my own cheeks as my bottom lip sticks out a bit.
I just felt...defeated.
"Zayn, maybe I overestimated myself with this whole thing..."
He shakes his head as he pours the wine into his glass. "I hate when you do that. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you're talented and you need to start accepting that."
"I have to have that painting ready within the week. It's impossible."
"It's not."
I sigh and look out the window, at the sun that was now setting. "I already had my hands full when I moved here."
"Yeah, but you can handle these things." Zayn replies. "I've seen it."
I stay quiet, biting my bottom lip. Today was discouraging, and my mom would probably tell me that bad days are followed by good ones.
But she's not here, so I feel stuck.
"Here's the plan;" Zayn speaks as he sets his glass down and leans to me. "go get some sleep. Good sleep. Get up early tomorrow during the sunrise—I know how much you love watching the sun come up. It could give you some painting inspo."
I arch my brow, letting his advice sink in. "And what are you gonna be doing at the crack of dawn?" I remark with some sarcasm, biting down on a strawberry.
He looks down at the strawberries and picks one up in his hand, letting the sugar crystals glimmer in the setting sunlight.
"Stuff and things." he shrugs.
My brows furrow and I narrow my eyes, looking at his side profile. "Stuff?"
He nods. "And things."
"What would that be?"
Tapping his fingers on the table, he inhales through his nose as if he was hesitating to answer me.
"Zayn?"
"Look, some of my...friends are coming over tomorrow morning. They're visiting Italy and they'll be stopping by. They won't bother you. They'll only be here for like an hour or two." he says.
I relax my shoulders a bit and sit back in my chair. "Oh, well that's fine. Why didn't you just tell me that?"
"Because, they're a little..." he pauses for a moment to find his words, "unhinged...I guess."
My brow raises. "How?"
"They're just a little wild. They'll leave you alone though, so just do your thing." he says.
I still don't know what he means but it's not a big deal. Who am I to dictate who Zayn has over? It's not my place.
"So what do you think about living in Italy?" Zayn changes the subject, eating a strawberry. "You never really talk to me about whether you enjoy it here or not."
I look at him with a head tilt. "I love it here, of course I do." I say. "I wouldn't have moved here if I didn't. What makes you ask me this?"
"Well I don't know. It's just that you had a whole life back home." he says.
"Yeah, well, I'm grown enough to make my own life choices." I say in a quieter tone now, looking at my lap.
Zayn nods in understanding, but I watch as his lips slowly pull at the corners.
"How does he feel about it?"
I roll my eyes and toss my head back with a groan. "Stop." I whine.
He lets out a small laugh at my reaction. "I mean I'm just asking. You haven't seen him in three months."
I shake my head while standing up and taking my half empty wine glass to the sink.
"He's just fine, thanks. We talked last week." I say to Zayn as I rinse the glass.
"Ah, right. And did you tell him about who you're staying with?"
I roll my eyes to myself again as my back faces him.
"Why would it matter?" I say.
"Does he know you're staying with another guy." he says and I can literally hear his smirk from behind me.
"No, but good thing there's nothing happening between you and I."
"Yeah good thing." Zayn murmurs. "He'd probably be threatened by me."
I let out a small laugh as I finish washing the glass and dry it. It's not very late but if I was going to get up early then it was better if I just went to bed now.
"Night, Zayn." I pat him on the shoulder as I walk past him.
"Goodnight, Basset."
I leave him in the kitchen, walking up the wooden steps to my bedroom.
I had my own bathroom, thankfully. Zayn and I didn't have to share one.
I turn the tap on and splash some water on my face, using some soap to freshen my skin up. I was more tired than I thought. I had been out there painting for nearly seven hours today, and it wasn't even relaxing. I'm so stressed about this contest that it's causing me to wear myself out.
Zayn's right. I need a good rest tonight so I can focus tomorrow.
I will end up in Paris. That's a promise I'm making to myself.
I slip out of my overalls and t-shirt, putting on a white nightgown. It's my moms.
I get into my bed, climbing over top of the covers with my cheek resting on my hands. I curled up, trying to keep warm with just my body heat.
I don't like using covers.
As the sun sets deeper into the night, so do I. My eyes close and I get consumed by darkness.
A loud, blaring sound was what caused me to wake up, and I nearly threw myself off of bed because of the sudden noise.
...until I realized it was just my alarm.
I groan, rubbing my eyes and hitting my phone to turn that god awful sound off.
It's so easy to tell yourself that you're gonna get up early, but when the time comes it feels like such an impossible task.
I force myself to get out of bed, trudging my tired body to the bathroom and starting at my half opened eyes in the mirror as I brush my teeth.
This day is gonna be better.
You'll get shit done today.
No crying or throwing paint on the ground today.
If you tell yourselves these things, they're more likely to come true. I think.
I turn the shower on, throwing my nightgown off as I wait for the water to heat up.
But as I see the mirror begin to fog up, and the steam rise from behind the white shower curtain, I felt my chest tighten.
It's too hot.
I clench my jaw and quickly turn the tap so it was running cold water now. I step back with my hands in my hair, biting my bottom lip.
Why did I let it get that hot? I can't shower with hot water....because that's when the panic attacks start.
And the panic attacks are so, so bad.
I take a few deep breaths as I let the water run cold. I'm used to taking cold or at least lukewarm showers.
I'm used to not sleeping with blankets.
It's just better that way.
I eventually get inside the shower under the cool water, washing my hair and my face and body as my skin ignited with goosebumps.
When I got out, I was shivering as I dried myself off with a towel.
The good part about having my own bathroom was that I didn't have to walk across the house to get dressed. I had all my clothes just a few steps away.
My goal was to go out and paint, so I just got myself dressed in some baggy blue jeans and a black fitted cropped top.
I used a hair clip to pin my hair up. It was still wet and I had no patience to dry it, so I just left it up.
I grab my phone and stick it in my back pocket before leaving my room. It was so early, the sun wasn't even up yet.
That's why I was so shocked to hear voices downstairs. I remembered that Zayn was having people over, but I didn't expect it to be this early.
I make my way down the stairs, knowing I'd be met with people I've never seen before.
I'm not bad with people, I'm actually pretty fine when it comes to meeting new faces, so I wasn't nervous or anything.
I walk into the kitchen, causing the chatter to come to a steady pause and suddenly 4 heads turned to look at me, Zayn being one of them.
There were three new faces in here.
"Well hello." one of them say, looking at me. He had blonde hair. I give him a small smile in return.
"Elaina!" Zayn acknowledges me, walking up to me and wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "Boys, this is my roommate."
"You didn't tell us your roommate was a chick." another one of the guys says, brown hair and warm brown eyes.
"El, this is Liam, Niall, and Louis." Zayn points to each of the boys. "Boys, meet Elaina."
I raise my hand to wave as Zayn keeps me locked under his arm. "Nice to meet you all." I say politely.
"The pleasure's all ours, sweetheart." Louis replies.
I smile, then remove myself from under Zayn's arm. "Well, if you'll excuse me," I walk over to the fridge and grab an apple. "I've got some work to do."
"What a shame you're leaving us so soon." Niall says as I begin to walk past them.
"Sorry boys." I blow a pretend kiss and wave them off, tossing the apple up in the air and catching it as I walk outside the villa.
It wasn't light outside yet, but the sky was hinting at the sun rising by the slight orange tint coming up over the grass.
It's not cold, despite the sun being tucked away.
I walk over to the baby blue painted shed that was in the backyard. I painted this myself. It was an ugly white shade when I first moved here.
I perform the combination on the lock, 4 numbers that would allow me to get the door open.
When it opens, I'm met with the faint smell of paint and wood. Shelves of acrylic paints, oil paints, water paints, and every paint brush you could imagine filled the shed. I walk in and grab my easel and my canvas that I've been working on.
Then, I grab my apron that was hung up on a lonesome coat hook. I tie the white material around me, grabbing some brushes and paints and securing them in the large pocket on the front of the apron.
I then walk out, kicking the shed door closed with my foot because my hands were full.
I take the easel out onto the patch of grass. Zayn's villa was on a hill, overlooking a river and some other little houses. There were tall hedges that acted as our fence. Zayn loved looking after all the flora here. He kept to making sure the hedges were tidy and the flowers were blooming.
I set my canvas up on the easel, stepping back to look at what I already had done and what I could possibly add.
One week. That's all the time I have.
I exhale through my mouth and place my wooden paintbrush between my teeth then put some different color paints on my palette.
My brain works in such a weird way. I have trouble keeping my mind in one singular place. I can do three things at once without even realizing. That's why painting is so great for me. I can put my thoughts on paper in an abstract way.
But with that said, I can also procrastinate better than anybody on the planet.
I look down at my palette once more, realizing that I'm missing a shade of red. I silently curse to myself, rolling my eyes and setting the palette down, taking the paintbrush out of my mouth and tucking it on my ear.
I walk across the backyard, back to the shed.
My head was down and I wasn't paying attention, I just looked at my white sneakers carrying me across the green grass.
My lack of attention made me less aware of my surroundings, which is why I screamed out in startle when I saw a figure leaning against my shed.
I clutched my chest, looking ahead at the person. They weren't looking at me until I screamed.
I breathe heavily in fear, ready to run into the villa and shout for help. My first thought was that this person was an intruder.
They stepped out from the shadows and revealed themselves, a cigarette hanging from their mouth. It was a man that I didn't recognize.
He was dressed in blue denim jeans and a white shirt. He had curly brown hair that was slightly longer, hanging below his ears.
"Didn't realize I was that scary." he speaks in a british accent, taking the smoke out of his mouth.
"I— who are you?" I say, slowly taking my hand off of my chest.
"Who are you? Are you the housekeeper or something?" he looks me up and down.
I scoff and shake my head. "No. I live here."
He tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me. "Don't tell me you're Malik's roommate." he chuckles.
So this guy knows Zayn? Is he apart of his little friend group?
"If you're here with all of those other guys, they're inside." I tell him, watching him cautiously as he leans against my shed.
"Just having a smoke," he murmurs. "do you smoke?"
"No."
I really, really just want him to get off of my shed. I'm trying to be as polite as I can.
"What do you do?" he asks.
I shrug. "I paint."
A small chuckle exhales from his mouth. "Ah. Well, Picasso, you got a real name?"
"It's Elaina." I answer shortly.
He looks at me intently, like he was taking in all of my features. I stand a few feet away from him awkwardly, not knowing what to do with my hands.
"Elaina." he repeats my name with a small nod of approval, then he walks closer.
His closer proximity allowed me to see his features better. He had very naturally pink lips, green eyes that were almost striking. He was tall, not very muscular but not skinny either. He was very fit.
He also had a sleeve of tattoos on his arm, and a cross necklace dangled from around his neck.
"I'm Harry." he says before walking right past me and into the villa, leaving me alone once again out here in the backyard.
Zayn mentioned that his friends were unhinged but this guy just seemed different.
He was totally chilled, like someone who could watch a slaughter scene in a horror movie and show no emotion.
But whatever, they're only here for one day...right?
//
happy first chapter! what do you think?