[COMPLETED]
❝Of all the races I've started, loving him is the one I never want to finish.❞
In this re-imagination of my most popular story, Arielle Hawthorne is an illegal street racer, just like Zayn Malik. Zayn's egotistical, flirty, and a major p...
"I want you within arms reach. I want your chest to get in the way of my fingertips and I want your neck in the way of my moans and I want your lips to steal the ends of my sentences. I want you to be in my way and to never let me go." — Unknown
A/N:
hello! i'm nervous about this one dksksk
if you could leave comments, it'd make me very happy and i'd appreciate it greatly :) unfortunately, i feel like i'm losing y'all and it breaks my heart bc i feel a connection to each of you 🥺
make a guess as to the contents of this chapter based on the title!
enjoy! 🤍
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A R I E L L E
I sink further into the couch, unamused with the movie I'd chosen to watch. It's boring enough that I don't remember the damn name of it and I can't be bothered to check.
All I can say is this—some woman was hopelessly in love with a taken man and he's just recently broken things off with her. Naturally, she's a train wreck without him.
It only reminds me of my current situation. Of Zayn and now, of James.
You read that right, in the last couple weeks since I last saw Zayn, James ended things with me. He sat me down one night—after a date where I'd cried about Zayn pretty much the whole fucking time—and he broke up with me.
It went a little something like—
"I can't expect you to ever look at me the same way you look at him." He sighs and threads a hand through his slightly curled strands of hair, "You don't just love him Arielle, he's an extension of you."
That knocks the air from my lungs. I can't explain why the words affect me so intensely, but they do.
"The thing is, when I first met you, you were single, so I didn't realize it then. No matter how much I like you—" he grabs my hands in his, but he doesn't hold eye contact with me, instead staring at our connection, "And I like you a whole fuckin' lot—you deserve to be with him."
"James—" I try to defend, "he's not even interested in me." The words are sharp on my tongue, foreign and distasteful, however, they're the truth. He's made it clear that he has priorities more important than me.
