[COMPLETED]
❝Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth.❞
Arielle is a studious young woman striving to be a chef. Her life is full of going to class, reading textbooks, and hanging out with her friends, until she meets Zayn. Zayn's an...
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➳ ARIELLE'S POV
I roll over, mumbling several curse words. I use my arms to slowly and carefully lift my tired body up in the bed. I immediately regret the decision to sit up in bed, placing my head in my hands, which is throbbing. Why did I drink an entire bottle of wine last night? How did I?
Something I hated about wine—the damn headaches. They're relentless. They're throbbing, bruising, skull cracking.
I head to the bathroom to relieve myself, flushing the toilet and stand to face the sink. I rinse my mouth and wash my hands. When I look in the mirror, I notice the harsh red lines in my eyes.
I run my fingers through my hair, noting that it's a knotted mess. Realizing that my breath must smell, I desperately search his cupboards for mouth wash. I spot some and put a cup of it in my mouth, swirling it around until I feel satisfied that the smell of horrid, drunken morning breath is gone.
When I take a step into the bedroom, it's near black. I stare at the window, which is now covered with a thick black sheet, blocking out the bright sunlight. I can make out the furniture—it seems as though everything's in place. I stumble through the bedroom until I'm standing at the side of the bed, which is empty.
Obviously, Zayn never even returned home last night.
I run my fingers through my hair again and make my way towards the kitchen. The sunlight streams into the hallway, making my head pound even more. I remember cooking with Zayn and him leaving. The last thing I recall is staring at a painting of my lower half wearing ripped jeans. The rest is all a blank slate.
I round the corner and head into the kitchen to find Zayn standing there, not realizing I've entered the room. He has a brown paper bag sitting on the counter and he reaches his arm into the bag and pulls out a small burger. He places it onto the counter and then turns to throw out the bag. When he turns around again, he notices my presence.
"Good morning. How're you feeling, babygirl?" He walks around the island, approaching me with a concerned expression on his face. Concern or guilt—I really don't know him well enough to decipher it.
"Sick," is all I respond, squeezing my eyes shut as if it'll diminish the pounding in my skull.
He smirks at me and then his eyes slowly rake up and down my body, which is barely covered. I look down, realizing that I'm wearing his shirt, which is barely covering my ass. My eyes widen and I avoid eye contact for a moment. "C'mere," he chuckles, reaching out for me.
I comply and walk forward towards him. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear, "I got you something to eat." Zayn takes a step towards the island, leading me by placing his hand on my lower back. I feel the shirt begin to ride up, exposing more flesh, but I ignore it.
