The Light Behind Your Eyes (A Harry Styles ff)

Is it better to have loved and lost then to not have loved at all?


2. Absinthe and Art

Absinthe. Anyone who is familiar with the word and the drink, will tell you it’s the ‘Artists’ drink. I had been introduced to it just a few days shy of my 19th birthday party, it was at a friends house in East London. My buddy drank it like water, and blamed his extreme behaviors and bizarre mannerisms on it. Its not in my nature to befriend people like Nate Lionel, but im glad I did, because if I hadn’t dared to, Angel Rivera wouldn’t have ever crossed my path.


Nate paints watercolor portraits, most of them I have to squint an eye and tilt my head to appreciate. He has bizarre taste when it comes to the paintbrush, and even admitted that sometimes he uses Absinthe in replacement for water when he paints. Nate insists that he does it unlike purpose, and no matter what color pain the uses, the Absinthe adds a brown undertone. So the pinks look crimson like and the greens look muddy. And a painting of a daffodil suddenly appears dark and gloomy. I bring up Nate and his Absinthe fueled works of art because that’s where the story really begins.

Because he painted, and had a knack for excelling in the perpetual van gough types, he earned his own gallery. Being one of his few friends, he invited me. I never attended an art showing before, so I didn’t know what to expect. My mother told me most galleries served wines and an assortment of fine cheeses. Clearly she didn’t know Nate, if wine and cheese was typical for a art gallery, that meant it was commercial and nothing Nate did was commercial. If it was done before, it was too commercial for him, so he put his own spin on it.

At the gallery, servers wore plastic leather pants with mesh tops. Each one had jet black hair, opaque white skin and smudged black lipstick. In one hand they balanced a tray with shot glasses of Absinthe and pigs in a blanket rolls in cupcake foil. The walls were stark white, each painting encased in a thick black and gold frame. Nate had definitely thought of everything, even down to the music. A collection of Marilyn Manson’s most shocking tunes played in the backdrop. Standing beside me was Nick, he had been one of my best mates and completely bewildered by the art on display. We stood in front of a painting called “When the heart guides the Hand”, our heads tilting in unison.

“This guy is sick, and not in the good way. Since when did a painting of two bodies having sex become art?” Nick took his eyes from the painting and scanned the room. “I cant believe you convinced me to come here, you owe me Styles” with that, he wandered to one of the Goth waiters and took two foils of snacks. After Nick made his way to another painting, I stood stuck on stupid for a moment. I like to think that’s the moment that Angel Rivera came into my life. I was standing there, stuck between Goth waiters and Absinthe inspired paintings when the smell hit me. It was pleasant, and sultry, with hints of Bergamot and feminine gardenia. It was a smell that entered my senses and planted its memory like a seed. When I turned, she was standing there observing the painting beside the one I was at. Her eyebrows were puckered and her mouth a hard line as she glimpsed into what Nate thought to be “Alice in Wonderland”. Instantly, I noted how beautiful she was, in an weird way. Her skin olive and hair black, her cheeks high yet her chin dimpled. There was nothing rigid about her body, not even small, she was thick and soft looking.

“I always assumed Alice to be beautiful”, she says to me, under a thick accent that she owns proudly. “Instead, Alice looks suffered and grey” she looks at me now, her brown eyes catching mine immediately. Because they were brown but they had specs of honey, light sparks of light.

“The artist is unique” I sputter out in defense of my obscure friend. “For lack of a better term” and as I say this, she smiles, her red lips revealing straight white teeth. “I’m Harry”

“Angel” she replies and looks me up and down. “I know you, your from the boy band right?” she turns her body to me and folds her arms across her opulent chest. Not that that’s where my eyes instantly went, but as curvy as she was, it was hard to not notice. “Don’t worry, I’m not crazy”

“I didn’t think you were”, by this time I am taken by her beauty, her eloquence, and her Mexican accent that makes her English words roll off her tongue like foam from a wave. “And yes its me” our eyes divert back to the painting of Alice from Wonderland.

“Why does her skin look like that”

“it’s the Absinthe…it adds a different tone to the paints” I respond.

Three Absinthe shots later, and a change of crowd with hour, Angel invites me to her hotel room. Normally, any guy would jump at this opportunity. Heck, getting invited back to a girls room was sometimes the goal, but tonight it wasn’t and I didn’t want to go to her hotel room and take advantage of her….only to never see her again. To me, Angel wasn’t the kind of girl you hit and quit. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea” when I tell her this, she scoffs and smirks.

“Styles, I wasn’t inviting you back to my room for sex. Give me some credit. I just don’t know the area, I am here alone, I wanted company”

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...