graffiti - z.m.

{ 7 }

[zayn’s pov]

 

She seemed so utterly out of place with her flawless skin and perfect figure. With her high class dress and those fucking varnish black high heels, which made her legs look even longer and more attractive. Just like the rest of them with their diamonds around their necks and dollar signs in their eyes. All they knew were luxury. It was the same with this chick - her voice, smell, appearance everything about her was screaming money.

 

Even just the expression in her perfectly shaped eyes with the thick dark layer of eyelashes, and the way her hair clearly was well-cared-for just told me she was from the wealthy part of town.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” I watched with carelessness as her eyes widened in surprise over my frank question.

 

“Excuse me?” She stated with a better knowing tone, as if she couldn't believe anybody could talk like that. Talk without manners. Seriously had she never heard of keeping to oneself?

 

“I asked you what the fuck you wanted,” where was her limousine ride and Harvard boyfriend anyway? Had she gotten lost from the gucci fashion show or something?

 

She sent me a look which could not be anymore despiteful, but I honestly could not care less as I simply turned around to continue my work, as I plugged in my earpiece again. The heavy beat from the R&B song filled my ears, but couldn't block out the image of her attractive features.

 

I could still smell her heavy perfume, which seemed even more suffocating, as there was practically no wind and it was still very warm. I drew a few strokes over the wall continuing from where I had left, but still very aware of her presence. Couldn’t she just leave?

 

I felt her slender finger prick to my shoulder again. What the hell was wrong with this girl? I rolled my eyes and sighed annoyed, as I took out the earpiece again and turned to stare at her.

 

“Well I’m lost,” she looked at me as if that explained everything about the world and the meaning of freaking life itself.

 

“So?” I looked up and down her body again as I expected to find a tourist map or something in her hands. She sounded as someone from New York though - but I had always been shit at telling accents.

 

She seemed to have noticed my glance at her figure - of course misinterpreting the reason behind it and sent me a baffled look.

 

“I’ve lost my purse - so I have no phone to call anybody and I have no idea how to get home,” are you fucking kidding me? I wanted to say it out loud but didn’t. How the hell had she ended up here? It wasn’t exactly a place for an upper Manhattan girl to wander around for a place to freaking picnic.

 

Before I managed to respond she continued, “none of the cab drivers are willing to give me a lift home and it’s getting darker. Could you please help me? Maybe you got a phone I can borrow? Or some cash for a cab? I promise you’ll get it back.”