Zayn
Hot, black coffee steaming in my cup. A blast of cold air sweeps through the open window, birds chirping. These are the only sounds I hear.
Still quite relaxed I sit on the sofa and enjoy the first rays of daylight. Shouldn't I be excited? Today is the vernissage, the big day when I present my art to the public and hopefully get a good review. I'm completely calm, almost balanced. I mean, I'm good-looking, I have a healthy ego, maybe that's the secret. I've never had failures before.
In my profession I am masterly, because I consider myself to be brilliant. I reject superficial discussions and discussions in general. I'm only interested in people who are willing to immerse themselves in my world and not those who have to interpret everything. I need people who feel with me. I hate so-called art lovers who look for the extravagant, the deeper meaning and the train of thought of the painter behind every brushstroke.
Art for me is precision, combination of colours, an eye for detail and above all passion. A tree is a tree and the sea is the sea. I don't have to look for the higher meaning in it to understand the artist, because the idea behind it is often trivial. Passion is of crucial importance, to bring subjects on canvas that interest me, that enthral me.
Carefully I sip the hot drink. It burns on my tongue. My thoughts wander to Harry, with whom I lay on the floor panting during sex last night. Red and green paint covered our bodies. We enjoyed art with all your senses. A smile flutters about my lips. Harry, painted with emerald green paint, looked ravishingly beautiful. His muscular body shimmered in the glow of color and candlelight. Our loud moaning still echoes in my ear. I have to pull myself together and think about today's important thing - my exhibition.
In less than an hour, I will be surrounded by many strangers. Half the town will be there - including my wife. The last days we had no contact - in any form, neither by telephone, nor personally. It would be a lie if I said that I did not miss her. Of course I missed her. Gigi was the one who grounded me when I lost my grip on reality. She cheered me up when I was suffering from depression. My wife is my support, she boosts my morale again and again. Right now I want to chat with her, but I suspect it is the wrong time. Because when I left the other day, we had an argument. Doubts and lies cast a shadow over everything. Well, this would be a very bad time for a conversation.
Harry
After a long shower with Zayn, I returned to our house last night. Taylor hadn't been home yet and didn't notice my absence.
Tired as hell I doze on the terrace and dream of my eccentric Pakistani. Soon his exhibition opening begins and I am really excited about the many portraits.
Steps were getting closer and my wife comes into the garden. She casts shadows on me. Just as I was about to complain, I noticed that she was trembling all over her body.
"Taylor," I shout in horror. "What's going on? Are you all right?"
With tears and with a loud gasp she sinks beside my sun lounger. She tries to speak, but doesn't get a proper word out.
" Honey, I don't understand a single word. Stay calm and tell me what happened."
Something terrible is in the air. I am not yet able to understand her indistinct words. Again and again she holds her hands in front of her face, sobs loudly and babbles. My hands hold her wrists tight. Her face, wet from crying, lies on my chest.
"Haz," she sobs.
Well, she is trying my patience to extremes. I would like to know what upsets her so much that I can help her. But Taylor doesn't make it easy for me.
"Taylor, please. When you cry like that I can't understand a word. Calm down at last. What is it about?" I say insistently and slightly annoyed.
She loudly blows into a handkerchief - and I hate that sound. It is disgusting and destroys the silence of the morning. With her sleeve she wipes the tears from her face.
"Louis," she's stammering now, shaking her head wildly.
"What about Lou?" When she mentions his name, my heart beats in an unsteady rhythm and I' m getting bad vibes. Different thoughts flash through my mind.
"Taylor, can't you speak plain English?"
"He, he...had a car accident."
Finally I know what it's about and I'm scared to death. "He had an car accident?," I ask in a whisper. My wife nods and cries bitterly again.
"The hospital called me. Hazza, he's in intensive care," she cries.
As much as I hated my publisher in the last weeks, this news hurts me very much. We have known each other for many years and were good friends...until Zayn came into our lives and Louis fell in love with him.
"Let's go to Lou's, darling," I press out.
Zayn
The art gallery is slowly filling up with many people. Among them, I spot some well-known lovers of art who support my art and engage me in conversations before the exhibition officially opens. Also the press is here and asks for an interview. Cameras click, I smile friendly and say some nice words they expect me to say. The gallery owner paces up and down restlessy through the corridors and makes me nervous.
I keep looking at the entrance to see who's coming in. Actually, I'm just waiting for one person - Harry. Gigi suddenly stands at the door and scans the room with her blue eyes. She looks great. The tight dress and the black coat accentuate her feminine body. Her hair has been twisted into a bun and her subtle make-up completes her beauty. I love black - especially on my wife.
A little awkward I wave to Gigi and head in her direction. The situation is tense and embarrassing for both of us. Three long days we didn't see each other, three days without a word.
"Gigi," I greet her and kiss her on the cheek with mixed feelings. A little surprised by my restraint she tries to smile.
"Zayn," she whispers back.
The uneasy feeling in my chest doesn't go away. We greet each other like strangers and not like a happy couple. Two whispering names and a tender kiss on the cheek, that's all we show to each other.
"Ah, Gigi, you beauty," shouts the initiator of the exhibition and rouses me from my gloomy thoughts. "Angel, there you are," he says, looking towards her. "Your husband was already anxious. I think he missed you", he says and breathes a kiss on her other cheek.
"Really? Did he?" she replied and frowned slightly.
"But of course. You are quite a character that the sensitive artist needs," he jokes and claps his hands. "If he didn't have you, where would he be today?
"Well, I don't want to answer that question right now," she replies pointedly and reaches for a glass of champagne.
" Well, you two. It starts in a few minutes. Give yourselves Dutch courage and then let us begin. Zayn, I hope you can also say a few words about your paintings, even though I know you detest it." , he says laughing.
"Well, Malik, you have to overcome your inhibitions and your egocentric behaviour", he says and disappears into the crowd.
Gigi gives me an affected smile. "Egocentric behavior... that's really good."
"What's so funny about that? Huh?", I growl. "I'm an artist," I say in my defense, knowing that it's total nonsense and has nothing to do with it.
"Think about it, Zayn Malik. You're an egocentric through and through." She says and leaves me alone.
Great, it seems everything is conspiring against me today. Where is Harry anyway? I miss him, Taylor and that pushy Tomlinson in the crowd. Louis wouldn't want to miss it, how the crowd admires his portrait, especially since it has succeeded excellently.
Harry
On a hurry we go to the hospital to visit Louis. None of us still think about Zayn's opening. Our thoughts are with Lou. During the whole drive we keep silent.
Everyone's afraid of what's awaiting us at the hospital. I can't breathe, my chest is tight. We have no idea how he is. We know nothing.
As we enter the building, the receptionist leads us through the maze of corridors. Then we stand in front of the huge white wing door. ICU.
A short time later, Taylor and I are greeted by a young doctor in a white coat.
"Mr. and Mrs. Styles," he asks with a serious face.
We nod and don't want to hear his words because they don't augur well.
He shakes our hands and invites us to his consulting room.
"Well, we informed you immediately after the accident. Mr. Tomlinson has no next of kin we could call," he says monotonously, sitting in his large leather armchair.
We nod to him.
"What happened, doctor?" I dare ask.
My wife moves restlessly on her chair and fiddles with the handles of her bag.
"Well, where do I start? Your friend had a very serious car accident. Two cars collided head-on. One of them was his. The way things stand at present....." The doctor pauses and reaches for various x-rays he shows us.
"First, we had to put him in a medically-induced coma. His physical condition is very bad, not to mention the pain he would have. He lost a lot of blood. Normally, a person won't survive this amount of blood loss."
Taylor swallows and bursts into tears. I can't cry but nod silently and feel miserable. In my daydream I suddenly see the happy Louis in front of me, leafing through my manuscripts, looking over my shoulder and telling one joke after another. I am completely drifting in my thoughts. I am gripped by fear. Not a dream, as I hoped, but plain reality. The doctor's clearing his throat loudly and rouses me from my thoughts.
"How bad is he?" Taylor breathes with his eyes wide open.
"I don't want to fool you. It looks very bad at the moment, Mrs. Styles. Your friend has suffered very serious head injuries, so we put him in an medically-induced coma. The intracranial pressure is still way too high and is treated by medication. The patient needs rest. This should protect his nerve cells and also prevent the swelling from increasing. He will therefore remain in this state for several days. The next few hours will be of crucial importance as to how it continues."
Like paralyzed we sit there and are at a loss what to do next.
"Well, come back in the next few days. He's been in surgery for hours. What time of day you come doesn't matter. Bring books or music. Read him his favorite book so he can hear your voice. That's enormously important for his recovery and then we'll see. Tomorrow we will only grant you a short visit. Mr. Tomlinson urgently needs rest. I think in forty-eight hours you can start reading aloud," he says encouragingly and rises. Our conversation is over.
"Please go home now. We do our best. There's nothing you can do at the moment. AS soon as there is a change in his condition, we will inform you."
"Thank you doctor," I press out and squeeze his firm hand.
Out in the hall, Taylor and I are lost and unhappy.
"I'll get us a coffee, darling," I interrupt the sense of bewilderment. "Sit down here. I'll be right back."
My wife says nothing, doesn't react, just stares at the floor.
In the cafeteria I buy two cappuccinos and two sandwiches. My phone rings when I'm about to pay. I know it's Zayn and let it ring endlessly.
I don't want to talk to him now, I don't want to hear his voice. My life has changed within the last hours. What is more important - my love life or Louis health? Only Louis is important to me now.