Silence weighed heavily upon us as we walked side by side. My steps were slow and purposeful as I concentrated on letting one heel fall perfectly in front of the other in attempt to avoid eye contact. I knew better to have aroused a subject like that. What would it matter that our communication was severed? It had been two to three years already, who would even remember? I'm not at all too sure why I cared. But I did. I cared because of his reaction.
The tiles of white underneath me changed in a gradient to a sheen like matte black underneath me as we made our way up to his official interview room. After holding the door open for me, Zayn sat at his desk. A rush ran over me as he undid his blazer buttons to sit. The way his fingers teased slowly over the small contraption, keeping his eyes on mine as he did so. I sat opposite him, thinking that now it would probably not be appropriate to call him Zayn. I made a mental note to change to Mr.Malik.
"The next, and last, stage of your interview will need to be the most important out of all the stages, combining the styles from the room of inspiration with the skills and personality you have previously attained." His pause drew me too his eyes once again, a light streak of hazel reflecting into it. He was truly captivating. I watched his lips as he spoke, soft with defined creases, it was hard not to step closer.
As I fumbled around through Photoshop, one of the first editing sites that I chose as it would seem impressive that I could get around it, I found myself at a loss from all its complications. Even as a photography student in secondary school, I was used to using more simple programmes; it wasn't a great situation to be in. In the end, I just ended up using a website that I was more familiar with. I hoped it would show application of knowledge...
It was just me and the Apple products, spread across a desk. Mr.Malik had some other affairs in which he had to attend whilst I stammered through the most important stage of this interview. The thought made me smile a little, I was alone, in a large room, doing something that I would want to do for the rest of my life. Photography was everything to me and allowed me to express myself in ways that I couldn't in speech. Any anger, jealousy,hate for others - myself, I could display in my photography. This test was about how well I could collaborate my ideas in editing.
I picked out the photographs of Mr.Malik's associate, Hazza, and spread them out. Earphones in. I let the music envelope me and shut everything else out. Focus. All I had to do was to make the guy look hot. Hot but realistic, not Barbie - like. Hot but human. I could do this.
From what I could remember of the room of inspiration, the small painting in a golden frame and the large photograph of Skylar and I, I let my imagination run with the wind. It was still a little weird that Mr.Malik had this larger than life photo of us, just because he had previously seen me. It wasn't fate that we met, it was an interview. I couldn't see why we were such an inspiration. Then Hazza entered.
I was sitting in the total opposite direction to him. Therefore, when he slipped in, he came unnoticed; leaving me vulnerable in my ignorance. "I want yooou, to run away with me and experience something newwwww," I always found it so difficult not to sing with my earphones in, especially as I thought that no one was around. Cee Lo Green was blasting through my lobes, the scenery of skyscrapers through the enormous windows gave the perfect feel to the area. I was lost.
"Anything you already just won't dooooooo, cause I want you" I continued to sing.
"Is that so?" A questioning tone came from behind me. I froze and took out one of my earphones, letting it drop to the glass table with one tear drop sound. My cheeks flushed, hot with embarrassment. The voice was familiar but it wasn't Maliks. However, it didn't make me feel more relieved, in fact, it made me feel a much deeper mellow embarrassment. I fumbled around with the photographs on the desk. I was halfway through but I could tell that I probably wasn't going to get back to it.
I didn't even need to turn around. I could hear his footsteps coming closer towards my chair. His breath was warm on my neck. My hairs stood on edge as he talked, slowly. "Mmm, looks like you've done a good job on me so far" a smirk settled on his lips, his voice penetrated the music playing in my ear. It seemed useless now as my attention was fully absorbed in this guy, Hazza. He pointed down at my notes, his eyes brightening as he read.
"This one wasn't hard, was it?" When he looked up at me, finishing reading my notes, a dark smile was on his dark pink lips. His fingers trailed on my checklist of affects to do when editing, which read:
Make him look appealing, sensual and attentive.
The hot feeling in my cheeks was not lifting. "No," I paused briefly to add "actually" It was the truth and I didn't have a problem saying it but I wanted to tease him a little. "Actually?" The smirk on his lips left his face and his lips rose into a small pucker as he cross his arms defensively. I tried to keep an air of nonchalance about me it was too difficult with each questioning glance that he gave me. I giggled a little.
"Harry Styles" he held out his hand to me. Not straight but flat as if I had fallen over and needed help up. My fingers shook noticeably as I held out my hand to meet his. "Marie Mathis" My voice was weak but I didn't repeat it. As our fingers touched, a shot of electrical impulses rushed through me. I had never really felt like this with anyone before. With Malik, each glance was powerful and made my heartbeat tenfold quicker but with Harry, as he called himself, his touch gave me a cardiac attack.
The next moments were the slowest in my life. Harry lowered to kiss my hand, afterwards, meeting my eyes he unbuttoned the cuff of my silky jumpsuit, rolling up the arm to expose my skin. "You would look great in a lace shirt, Mathis, maybe you should model for me instead" The sentiment was unreal but as he did so, he exposed my scars, his eyes now fixed on the darkest part of me. He dropped my arm.