Elaina Basset
Just some alone time. That's what I needed.
I felt so restricted in that villa with the five of them. I had to step out for a little while.
It's only the second day and I already need to get some space...we're off to a fantastic start.
In my defense, I don't feel very accepted there all thanks to Harry. He has such an intimidating nature about him that I can't really stand to be around.
And he clearly can't stand me for some reason, which doesn't make it easier by any means. I don't know what I did or what it is about me that he doesn't seem to...trust?
But I don't really care about his opinion, quite frankly. He's just some asshole that I only have to put up with for six more days.
I've been out of the house since 8 this morning. I went into town, down to the market where I buy my paints. It's nice here, crowded with people who are minding their business, doing things with their own lives.
This is the part I love about Italy. I love the scenic views and the busy lives. There's something quite comforting about it.
I ended up getting breakfast by myself at a little cafe before I picked up some paints.
I walk into the baby blue painted store with my purse hanging off my shoulder.
I had dressed up a bit to go into town today. I was in a tight blue sundress with my hair braided into two french braids, white sneakers on my feet. It's warm here around summer.
The little art shop was so tranquil and comforting. It had the faint smell of paint mixed with the lavender scented candles that were lit by the owner each morning. I loved the ambiance of this store, it's very inviting for people like me.
I receive a smile from the older woman behind the counter, her name is Marjorie. She was always here, she wasn't the owner but her husband, Derek, was. They're both very nice people.
I walk along the quiet shop. I was the only one in here today which is something I was used to, aside from the odd person coming in and out occasionally.
I head down the aisle where the they had sketchbooks and some pastels. I'm not much for sketching but I know that Zayn does a little drawing here and there...I could pick him up some supplies.
I suddenly hear my phone begin to ring from inside my little purse. I take it out, looking down at the lit screen.
Speaking of Zayn...he was calling me.
I accept and bring the phone to my ear.
"Yeah?"
"Where are you?" he says from the other end of the phone.
"Downtown..." I tell him with my voice full of confusion. "I told you this morning that's where I'm going."
"You've been gone for almost three hours."
"I'm just taking my time. I got some breakfast and now I'm looking at art supplies. Why do you sound so distressed...it's no big deal." I mumble as I look through a sketchbook with my cellphone tucked into my neck with my ear pressed against it. "Do you want a sketchbook?"
"Elaina, it is a big deal...I thought something might've happened." he says, ignoring my question and making me furrow my brows.
"Why would something happen?" I say slowly, confused about what he meant by that.
There's hesitation from his end of the phone call.
"Just...I don't know. Anyone could wanna hurt you, you're a woman walking around alone. Just keep me updated."
I shake my head a bit. "You're being really weird. I always come here alone."
I don't know what the hell has gotten into him this time around.
"Keep me updated, please." he repeats, his voice sounding in need of the reassurance.
I pause, processing his tone and what he was saying. I don't know what he's thinking but maybe he just freaked himself out because I was gone so long.
"Y-yeah. I will." I say into the phone.
"Thank you. I've gotta go." he says, before hanging up abruptly.
I take the phone from my ear and look down at the screen, puzzled. I don't know why Zayn was acting so weirdly.
I brush it off, I can ask him about it later. I leave this aise and walk down the one with the paints, grabbing what I was actually here for.
I needed a few new shades, so I picked up as many as I could think of. I pile them into my arms, wishing now that I had grabbed a basket on the way in.
With the bottles of paints piled in my arms, I make my way to the front counter where Marjorie was.
"That's all?" she makes the lighthearted sarcastic comment in her Italian accent as the numerous paint bottles dump onto the counter.
"Couldn't help myself." I laugh as I go into my purse to search for money.
"Big project you're working on?" she asks me as she scans the bottles and places them into a brown paper bag.
"You could say that." I murmur. "It's taking a lot out of me, actually."
"You'll be fine, I know it." she says.
"Yeah?" I tilt my head.
"Good things come to good people. You're good." she smiles at me.
My lips lift into a soft smile, feeling warm inside from her words. It made me feel good.
"Thank you," I smile. "How much do I owe you?" I ask, looking back down at the counter at the paints.
She shakes her head and waves off in a polite rejecting gesture. "On the house this time."
My mouth parts open as my hand freezes in my purse hanging off my shoulder.
"Oh no, let me pay—"
"No, consider it a gift."
"I couldn't possibly—"
"Elaina, sweetheart...you look like you could use some kindness. Take the paints and do something great."
I stand there, taken aback by her humanity with gratitude.
People like Marjorie give me some faith in this world.
She puts the paints into the paper bag and hands it off to me.
"Thank you, Marjorie. I will pay you back, I promise." I say as I head for the door with the bag in my arms.
"No you won't! It's a gift!" she repeats as she waves me off.
I smile as I walk out of the store, back onto the sunny Milan streets.
I walk down to the edge of the sidewalk, passing a few walkers as I stand on the ledge of the cobblestone in an attempt to wave down a cab.
It's moments like these where I wish I had my own car. I could ask Zayn for a ride back but I don't want to bother him...nor do I want those guys to be left alone in his villa.
A white car with the Italian word for 'taxi' plastered on the side pulls up to where I stood...much to my luck, because it's tough to wave down a taxi here.
I slide into the cab and give the driver the address to the villa before he begins to drive again.
I set the paper bag next to me and lean back against the cushioned seats, quietly sighing to myself.
Apart of me just wants to sleep when I get home but I know I need to work on the painting.
I take my phone out of my purse, calling Zayn because he asked me to keep him updated on where I was.
I press on his contact and hold the cellphone to my ear, listening to it ring.
It rings all the way through, making me frown.
If he wanted me to keep him updated so badly then maybe he should've answered his damned phone.
It goes to voicemail, so after the tone I leave a short message.
"It's Elaina. I'm on my way back to the villa now. Just keeping you updated." I murmur before ending the message.
Just as I press end, the sudden loud noise of a vehicle speeds past the cab, causing a bunch of other cars to sound their horns.
A black car was speeding down the road at an inappropriate speed that could actually get someone hurt. It zoomed past us at the speed of light and I could hear the loud engine as it sped past a corner.
"Idiots." I mumble to myself at the ridiculous driving.
As the taxi driver travels down the road, I take out my phone again and start mindlessly browsing through it to kill some time.
It was like a ten minute drive home.
I end up in my camera roll, and suddenly I feel my stomach twist a bit at one specific picture.
His arm was around my waist as he kept me in close to him, the both of us smiling with the ring on my finger.
My heart aches a bit in guilt. I feel bad for leaving.
The more I think about it, I can't decipher between what was the wrong and right decision. I could have stayed in Denver and worked my shit out. I could have tried to move past it in a more mature way.
But that's not the path I chose. I chose to escape to Italy with these extremely unrealistic hopes of starting over somehow.
And the people I left behind still love me...that's what makes it so hard.
I was doing this for myself, but now I'm not so sure.
The taxi driver arrives to the entrance of the villa. I thank him generously and pay him before getting out and waking through the black gates.
I wasn't prepared to go in and be crowded by the guys. My plan is just to stay outside and paint and pray that I'm not bothered.
I get to the front door and grab my key out of my purse to unlock it. Zayn always had the door locked, even if he was home.
I don't know why...we're pretty isolated up here, but to each their own I guess.
I open the front door and walk through the threshold, holding the brown paper bag in my arms.
"I'm back." I shout from my standing position, kicking the door closed with my foot.
When I'm met with no answer, I furrow my brows and walk further into the house.
"Zayn?" I call out again.
Nothing.
"Is anyone here?" I say into the emptiness.
I huff to myself when I'm just met with silence again, wondering why Zayn wouldn't tell me if he was going out.
Yet he expects me to inform him of every detail of my day.
I set the paper bag down on the kitchen table, along with my purse. I lean against the table and look around, having the whole place to myself and not knowing what to do.
I'm kind of tired.
I guess I could use my alone time to lay down. It's been a while since I let myself actually rest besides sleeping at night.
I stroll from the kitchen to the living room, crashing my body down on one of the brown leather couches, extending my legs across the length of it.
I turn on the television, gazing at it while it played some old black and white movie.
The softness of the couch was already making me tired, much quicker than I'd expected. It was this mixed with the sun peeking through the windows that set the perfect atmosphere for a nap.
I felt my heavy eyes begin to close, my eyelids covering my irises as the peaceful darkness overtook me and I slowly drifted off in my position on the couch.
Waking up wasn't so peaceful though, because I felt my body being shaken by my shoulder. I groaned a little, not wanting to wake up yet as my nap was disturbed.
"Elaina wake up." I hear the whispered tone, it sounded familiar.
I peeled my eyes open, in a confused and slightly disoriented state.
I saw Zayn's figure crouching next to me on the couch, causing me to become a bit startled at the immediate sight.
A gasp left my mouth but Zayn immediately puts his fingers to his lips, shushing me.
"Stand up." he whispers, taking me by the arm and helping me to stand.
I don't know what's going on.
All I know is I fell asleep here alone in the villa and now Zayn is leading me out of the living room.
"What's happening—"
"Don't talk until we get upstairs." he urges, his hand keeping a strong grip on my arm, just making me more confused.
He takes me through the kitchen quickly, my eyes catching all of my things on the table.
"Wait, Zayn. My purse and—"
"I'll get it after." he says, still pulling me up the staircase.
I'm getting nervous now. Zayn has such a strong hold on me and he seems extremely rushed, not even letting me speak until he got me into my room.
He shut my bedroom door behind him, and instantly I went to work asking him questions.
"What the hell is going on?" I say with frustration.
"We have a...business call, you need to be quiet and stay in here."
"What? Well let me go outside and paint then, I won't bother you."
"No." he says firmly as he stays in front of me to block the door.
I knit my brows together as I watch his frazzled expression.
"Please just stay in here, okay?"
"Zayn..." I croak nervously as he opens my bedroom door again, shaking his head as he shuts it behind him once he leaves.
I stand there in the middle of my room, completely puzzled as to what happened. I was also incredibly freaked out by Zayn's mannerisms and the way he was acting. He's never like that.
All my things are downstairs on the table. My paints, my purse and phone. All of it.
I could decide not to respect Zayn's wishes and leave my room to go grab those items at least...but something about the way his eyes were looking at me made me feel like I needed to take what he was saying seriously.
This seems like a lot more than some business call.
The rest of the day was weird. Zayn came up to my room an hour later and told me it's all clear.
It's safe to say that I wasn't in a good mood at all, being locked up in my bedroom.
I gave him and all of the guys the silent treatment for the rest of the day, not getting in their way at all while they did the same. I just pretended they weren't there.
Six more days, that's all I have to handle.
It was around 9 pm now. The sun was starting to set and I had no idea what anyone else around here was doing but I had my own plans to go out and paint finally.
I changed into comfier clothes, a pair of loose grey sweatpants with a white shirt.
I really don't care about my appearance right now. I need to get this done because I'm running out of time.
As I begin to walk out the door into the backyard, I notice someone standing against the exterior of the villa.
I turn my head quickly, seeing that this figure was Harry smoking a cigarette.
We make brief eye contact before I shake my head and keep walking over to my shed.
I'm just gonna ignore him like I've done all day.
I open up the shed and gather whatever I needed, walking over to the grass to set up my work space.
I'm gonna try to get as much done as I can before it gets too dark to see what I'm doing.
As I get started, I hear the shuffling of feet on the grass, making me aware that there was someone walking up behind me.
I knew it was Harry, because he was out here too and I could smell the cigarette smoke.
I turn around, seeing him just a few meters away.
I wondered what the hell he was doing, actually approaching me. I was under the impression that he hated me too much to even come near me.
"You dropped this." he murmurs with the cigarette between his lips.
I glance down at his hand, seeing one of my paintbrushes held in his fingers. I glance back at his eyes before reaching out to grab it.
He was in black jeans and a black shirt, a cross necklace around his neck and his fluffy hair tied back with a bandana.
"What? No 'thank you'." he says to me as the paintbrush transfers into my grip.
I swallow and turn around, my back facing him now.
"Thank you." I mumble quietly, not liking those words leaving my mouth when they were directed at him.
I don't want to talk to him. Today has been weird and unsettling enough. From Zayn's weird behaviour and them weirdly not being home unannounced, to that so called business call that I had to stay cooped up in my room for.
"So this is what you've been painting..." Harry says from behind me.
I shut my eyes briefly, just wishing he'd walk away and leave me alone.
"I don't need your opinion on it, so please—"
"I didn't even say anything about it." he scoffs from behind me. "Clearly you don't think much of your own work."
I furrow my brows, trying my best to bite my tongue and ignore what he said...but as he walks around my easel to stand on the other side of it, facing me, I knew he was going to push my buttons no matter what.
He rests his tattooed arms across the canvas, folded over top of each other while he rests his chin atop of his arms.
"Why don't you like what you do?" he arches his brow, a smug look on his face.
"I do."
"Hmm, but you don't." he remarks.
I shake my head and focus on the painting, dipping my paintbrush into a navy blue shade and starting to stroke the canvas with the bristles softly.
"If you liked your work then you wouldn't worry about what other people had to say." his deep accent speaks over the canvas as he watches me.
"Harry, why are you talking to me? You said last night that you don't prefer to talk to me anyway." I say, dropping my hand in frustration.
"Your cheeks get red when I talk to you." his lips tug into a smirk. "It's enjoyable to watch, really."
I suddenly feel my face get hot and I drop my gaze from his.
Now my cheeks are definitely red.
It's because he makes me feel uncomfortable...that's the soul reason. He's such an intimidating person and I don't like being around him.
And now he's smirking because he's getting what he wants. He wants to make me uncomfortable.
"Can you please go." I murmur as I keep painting.
I can feel his smug smirk peering down at me, but eventually he takes himself away from the easel and begins to walk away.
"Goodnight, Picasso." he puffs his cigarette as he walks back inside the villa.
I stand there, feeling like a huge fucking idiot.
'Picasso' seems to be this stupid nickname that he's coined for me. I hate it, especially coming from him.
I really don't know if I can handle the rest of this week...especially if he is purposely trying to make me uncomfortable.
I wish I had more confidence to use against him.
//
i'm excited for the next chapter ;)