4 Chapter 3 (1/2)

She was standing on the bedside table facing the wall, painting. And then it hit me, I realized it had been her who've done all the beautiful paintings around the hotel.

She was wearing a denim shorts and a simple grey shirt. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun on top of her head. She was barefoot standing on the table, but I saw a pair of black chucks on the floor beside the table. Like the night before, her arms were covered with paint, now even her legs had smudges of color all over.

Old newspaper were scattered on the floor covering the carpet. Buckets of paints were everywhere. A ladder was standing on the other side of the room and briefly I wondered why didn't she just use it instead of the bedside table.

Her face was so close to the wall if she moved forward just a little bit she would probably be kissing it. Lucky wall. I wonder what it feels like to be that close to her? To be so close you could almost feel her warmth, smell her scent.

I wonder what it would be like to kiss her. What does her lips taste like.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Why am I thinking about that?

Her face was scrunched up in concentration, somehow it reminds me of how a child would look concentrating. There is peace in her face though, a glow about her, a light that called to me. She didn't even notice me standing by the door watching her. I doubt she even heard me come in, the music was blasting so loud I could feel every beat. It rivaled the loud beating of my heart.

Later she moved away and looked at her work.

I reluctantly removed my eyes from her and looked at the wall. I sucked in a breath when I saw what she did.

She painted a bird. Splashes of color that was made to look like a bird. It was blue with details of yellow, purple and green. It was beautiful, amazing.

The song changed into something I didn't recognize, it was soft and smooth. She started singing along, more like screaming along actually.

She had a cool voice, pretty no doubt about it. But not really the voice that's meant for singing. She couldn't hit any note, any pitch right if her life depended on it. Yet she didn't seem to care. She just sang – screamed – along while painting. There was the slightest trace of joy in her movements.

I couldn't help the laugh that came out of my mouth. She was a sight to watch.

As soon as the sound escaped me her head snapped up and slowly turned to look at me.

Grey? Her eyes were grey. Am I seeing this correctly? She doesn't seem to be wearing contacts. I've seen enough people wearing them to be able to identify one.

They're beautiful, but then again everything about her is beautiful. They were like the sky before a storm brews, they are clouds as they cover the sky warning us of the coming rain.

First there was confusion in her face then it turned to annoyance.

”What are you doing here?” She asked coldly, irritated.

”What?” I was slightly taken aback by her tone, still caught in her eyes. I couldn't think straight.

”I said what are you doing here?” she asked slowly, like she was talking to a child, or a crazy person maybe.

I shook my head slightly.

”Uhh.. my room.” I pointed behind my back. In the general direction of our room.

”What?” It was her turn to ask.

Her brows were furrowed, she was scowling. Why does she seem so annoyed to see me? She seemed okay the first time, or maybe she doesn't recognize me?

”My room is over there. I heard the music so.. I was just curious.” I answered slowly, mimicking the way she answered a while ago.

”You're checked-in in this hotel? In this wing?” she asked again jumping off the table.

I nodded as I watched her put on her shoes and marched towards the door, past me.

I froze when she passed me and I smelled her scent.

Vanilla, paint, and the faintest trace of cigarettes. And something else. I just can't figure out what it is.